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<p>Well, there are the places-YOU-don’t-go. Much to my husband’s chagrin, there aren’t any places-<em>I</em>-don’t-go. I live in Midtown Houston, two blocks south of downtown, in a point triangulated by the Greyhound Station (where they drop of people who’ve just been released from Huntsville), the Social Security Administration, and most of the homeless shelters. The whole area’s kind of a mid-gentrification jumble, and I take the bus downtown to work. Major homeless population. Granted, I’m not real worried about getting shot, but I am worried about getting knifed, robbed, or raped… but I’m not <em>that</em> worried. A gal’s gotta live her life.</p>
<p>From what I’ve seen, there are two problems that plague the homeless in my area: drugs and mental illness. No personal experience here with drugs. With mental illness-- well, there but for the grace of God would go my own mother. Thankfully, we’ve got the resources to take care of her, or she’d be on the street, too.</p>
<p>So I try to take care of the homeless. I’ve checked their breathing and called 9-1-1 when they’re passed out on the sidewalk, as others step over them and prod them with their feet and yell at them to get out of the way. I keep water bottles in my car to hand out when it’s too hot for anybody, even the least helpless of the destitute, to be outside in the Houston heat. I carry around and hand out care packages with high-protein and high-carb snacks, paper and pencils, bandages, alcohol swabs, and lists of resources for homeless veterans, the mentally ill, homeless women, homeless children. I don’t give out money. I give out of every paycheck to the United Way and I tithe to the downtown Cathedral. Most importantly, I smile and say hi, every day, to everyone I pass. Usually, they smile and say hi back. (Homeless people are the funniest in LA, where I lived last. Great sense of humor. Homeless people are friendliest in Houston, where I live now, and almost always return a smile or are happy to talk to someone.)</p>
<p>So, I’m doing everything I can think of, on a daily basis. I wouldn’t go out and prance around at night, though. I hear the sirens. My brother got whacked across the face by an irrationally angry homeless guy while he was waiting for the light rail one night; sent his glasses skittering and taught him a lesson about personal safety. Another homeless guy chased the attacker off the rail platform, screaming, “Get a job if you want a dollar!!” and went back to make sure my brother was okay. (Now, when caught out at his favorite downtown dive past sunset and reliant on public transportation to get himself home, he’ll give a five to the nearest homeless person and ask to hear how they ended up in Houston. They’ll ramble and walk with him, he’ll hear a great life story, and they’ll chat until the train arrives. He now knows several of the downtown denizens by name, and they make sure he doesn’t get knocked around by the more harmful guys.)</p>
<p>Chicago’s the same way. It has its problems, but you have to acknowledge the problems. You have to act on the problems, but still be wary of how those problems might adversely affect you.</p>
<p>I don’t know how the Olympic committee would deal with the homeless if Chicago caught the bid, but I don’t think they’d lend any kindness to them. Poverty and homelessness are not problems that can be fixed easily. There’s not a lot of help out there, aside from grassroots sorts of things.</p>
<p>So I’m just going to stick with my grassroots things, my “interesting attitude,” and sense of caution, and do what I can in the meantime.</p>