Hobo Prejudice

Whatever happened to the innocent image of the kindly hobo quietly sitting around a campfire near a railroad track, cooking up a tasty shoe on a stick?

The unshaven yet dignified gentleman who, despite his unfortunate disposition in life, would travel the world with an unbound, carefree view on life. You might even envy this old guard of the hobo species. As we're slaving away at the wishes of our corporate soul sucking jailers (read: employers), these wayward men are enjoying a meek existence free of shackles instituted onto the rest of us from government, family or work.

Well, perhaps these images were created in popular fiction and cartoons to soften the blow to young minds. Think about it. If you are a child brought up in a cozy suburb, your first encounter with a real life homeless person on a downtown street would be somewhat puzzling and a tad frightening. Living in the city in my early years, I had come across various vagabonds, so for me, it was simply not a big deal and a part of urban living.

A few years ago, I invited my young niece downtown to stay with me and Dani for the weekend. I wanted her to experience everything the city had to offer. The frenetic pace, the culture, the shopping, the sights and the sounds. But i also wanted her to see the city for what it was in all it's forms. We walked through various downtown districts, including St.Lawrence neighbourhood, the yonge/dundas core, Kensington Market and Chinatown. It was in Chinatown where she saw her first living, breathing hobo. Ever. And let me tell you. He was a doozy. A broken, soiled, sad man. Crumpled into a doorway, and, missing a limb. She was flabergasted. Amazed. In one moment, the relative cushiness of suburbia collided head to head with urban reality.

But, i hope that the experience overall will stay with her. I hope that it will remind her that not everyone has it as good as us, and this little dose of reality (delicately served up by myself and Dani in a digestible portion - too much would be a bad thing for a young developing mind)would play a part in the development of her character

So for me, homeless people are just a part of the landscape. Along with the great amenities living downtown has to offer, there are also these elements the gritty underbelly has to offer. You have to take the good with the bad.

So this post is not intended to be a commentary on the societal problems that may cause hobos to be..well..hobos. It's just a note on my changing views, for better or worse. I have never had any real problems with these people. At the same time, I do not give them change and i have never bought a hobo a coffee or a sandwich. Perhaps i'm wrong, but my thinking was that a man should learn how to fish, and not just be given a fish. Otherwise, what's the motivation to stop? This is particularly true with the hobos who sometimes ask for change outside of a local Tim Horton's near my condo. If I or others continue to provide money, that corner is considered a goldmine, and the guy has no reason to ever leave, thus affecting me in a couple of ways. First, i've got to be asked for change, yet again. And secondly, what of my property value?

In any event, for the most part i've remained mostly neutral on the topic of the homeless problem. However I finally think i'm leaning towards...how would you say...stabbing them all to death?

Yes I know those are harsh words. But that's exactly what i wanted to do when Dani and I went downstairs to the parking garage recently. It was a pleasant Sunday and we were off for a family dinner with her clan. I can tell you that if you've never had the joyful experience of approaching your car that has been broken into, you surely are missing out. Dani noticed it first. About 30 feet away from the car, she gasped and said "my car's been broken into!". Your heart and stomache sink, and then you view the devastation, which is tantamount to a violation of your personal world. The smashed passenger side window, with hundreds of pieces of sharp glass sprayed throughout the entire car. The 30 or so cd's strewn about the seats and floor. The torn open car accessories.

Now I realize that we shouldn't really get too upset about "things". It is, after all, just a car, and there are a lot of worse things that can happen to someone. I get that. But at that moment, at that precise moment, the one thing I feel is violation and rage. I could visualize myself catching this lowlife scumbag in the act. In my mind's eye, I see myself grabbing him firmly and throwing him headfirst directly into the concrete pillar next to the car. I see me grabbing him by the hair and smashing my fist directly into his face, and I see me kicking him hard in the knee. I don't want to kill the man. No. But i do want him to remember who he's decided to screw with.

You might think my rage is an over-reaction. Perhaps it is, but it's very very difficult to contain said rage when this has happened not once, not twice, but three times. Three times in three years. Nice huh? But you know - it goes back to what i said earlier. Living downtown, you need to take the good with the bad. And I do. I really do. (As an aside, the laugher of the moment was that the parking "security" had apparently come across the vehicle throughout the night, and left an "incident report" in the windshield wiper. A report that has absolutely no purpose whatsoever, considering insurance deductibles and such).

So now, I see hobos differently. I'm now prejudiced against all of them. I know that not all of them break into cars, and certainly all of them i see aren't the ones that broke into Dani's car.

But just yesterday, we took a pleasant stroll over to the St.Lawrence market near my building. As we approached a corner, a homeless guy asked me for change. I immediately had flashbacks of when we first saw that the car had been broken into. He looked directly at me, holdin out his cup, and I said:

"I'd love to help you out, but unfortunately your buddies wrecked it for you, as they broke into my car three times."

I think he was confused, not just normal hobo confused, but confused by my response. I didn't yell at him, I wasn't about to pummel him. I calmly said this and walked on by. Dani got mad at me, but at the moment I didn't care.

In a tiny bottled up sort of way, I felt better. Just a tiny little bit better. Perhaps i was wrong for saying that to a guy who i'm sure had absolutely nothing to do with the break ins.

But it was better than stabbing him to death.