Back in the innocent days of 1997, I was walking to wherever, as I crossed a bridge over the river, I saw a young man, a homeless man. What was different, I knew this person. I never talked to him, but I watched him being ruthlessly bullied in high school. Far worse then I was. It was the same two partners, same two that would bully me, so I had an idea what he was going through, but he wasn’t me. He was especially noticeable with his bright, fiery red hair. Something must not have been right at home because he had slightly odd mannerism, and extremely quiet. I can remember seeing him walking home with the two partners mercilessly harassing him.

I thought a lot about the classmate in school. By high school, things changed for me and I wasn’t the target I once was, but I could see this kid was taking the brunt of what once was directed towards me. I can remember watching all this, wishing I could do something, anything to stop it. Of course, all I did was acknowledge within myself the pain and hurt this young man was going through, while matching it to the pain and hurt experienced far too much by me. It really was hard on me watching this happening, remembering it happening to me, and being unable to do anything about it.

By the time 1997 had come along, I had served and returned from the Army. I had a little more of a worldly experience by then, made it to several countries. This guy, that didn’t happen. He went from house to homeless.

For the first time, I talked to him. I don’t recall any of the words, but none of them mattered, the picture was the memory that mattered. I just remember talking to him. He didn’t make it out of San Jose, he didn’t make it into another home. He just became homeless. I remember knowing he was smarter and better then what his circumstances would suggest, but more then anything else, I recognized this was the price of bullying. I can remember he didn’t deserve that, he was a human, and good human, and he deserved more then being forgotten.

That young man was never forgotten by me. I never forget the guilt of being too weak to stand up for him. I have every reason to believe that the issues were far greater then the partnered bullies, and probably bullied by people much closer to him, but it still hurts knowing I couldn’t do something but watch and acknowledge.

That was in 1997, he was an outlier. This is 2020. Now I see these hurt people on the streets that have made it further in life then him, or even me, but they are now living in tent cities because there are so many bullied by our American Capitalism, that we treasure like a religion.

It was hard seeing that single person left behind, now I see communities of persons left behind. That guy didn’t have time to make the wrong decisions, he didn’t deserve what he was experiencing. The vast majority of today’s homeless did exist as productive citizens. They did have success, to often, more then me. They did do what they were told they should do, but now they are in the same place. None of them deserve what they are experiencing either, and it is still overwhelmingly painful knowing that these people deserve so much more, they have worked so much harder then me, but there still is nothing I can do but acknowledge and listen.

So I cry. So I cry, a lot.

– Duckin’ Kev