Sunday Night With John: Trust Me, It's Not Free

“Excuse me Sir,” the nearly 55-year-old-man said as he sheepishly entered the computer lab with his eyes glued to the floor.

“Hello, and come on in,” I said.

“Sir, can you help me?”

“Sure I can help you,” I said, “But I’m no sir, my name is John.” The man chuckles and says, “Sorry John, I’m used to people expecting me to call them sir.”

This scene played out over and over again with individuals as I interned at the local homeless shelter this summer. My life of service has led me to understand the struggles of the less fortunate but my time at the homeless shelter has created a window into the real cost of struggle. The insensitive posts on social media where people say how they are tired of the non-working portion of our population receiving free stuff has incited pain in my heart. A number of us seemingly think it is a lack of character, or the absence of a backbone that leads to people needing assistance. I have helped people with their master's degree in education locate employment.  I’m pretty sure no one falls backwards into a master degree without hard work. I have helped a lifer truck driver who was gainfully employed for the last twenty years have to figure out his next career because his eyesight dissipated. We never fully know the twists and turns or the price these people paid to end up homeless, or on government assistance.

Yes the services they are accessing are free, but watching people feel they need to call someone twenty years their younger sir says a lot about where they are in life and what they paid to the cruel harsh reality of life. Many of these survivors have lost their identity as they fade into the background and people either ignore them or they become a statistic. They no longer feel the world wants them. One lady swore Hy-vee didn’t want her to work there because the Hy-Vee website was experiencing technical difficulties. To have that little amount of hope is paying a lot. Not being able to have confidence to make eye contact because you think the person on the other end will look through you is paying a lot. To choose to be in a homeless shelter with your children because your husband was abusive is paying a steep price.

We partly define ourselves by the traits other see us display: A caring mother, a hard worker, dedicated employee, or a passionate believer. When we lose any of those, we know we paid dearly, we paid a part of our identity. The problem is we rarely lose our wonderful traits and there are only a few life situations where we lose them all. When you post about free loaders, you are posting about a domestic abuse survivor. When you walk by them and make some comment about getting a job, you are degrading a veteran. When you cross the street to avoid someone you are saying they are less than human. Those in need are not nameless, they are not invisible, I’m not their sir and they are not getting anything for free, they pay the highest price possible, their identity.