Growing up, my dad regaled me with stories of his time in college. They were not your typical frat party nights and weekend study sessions. Not even close. He went to school in the late sixties, during the draft for Vietnam. In order to avoid being drafted, he did everything in his power to stay in school. He transferred from a private school to a state school for more affordable tuition. He worked on the docks as well as a teaching assistant to pay for books. He lived minimally, in a house with a hole to the ground in the shower, a mattress filled with roaches, seven tables and one chair and a rat the size of a St. Bernard that lived in the oven in his furnished apartment in what was essentially “the projects.” But when a semester began where he could no longer afford tuition and rent – he made the choice to forgo his apartment. He wandered the campus, eating the entire cactus garden and catching the occasional pigeon for sustenance. He was a homeless student, desperate to remain a pacifist in this country during wartime.

Finally the day came where he could not afford tuition for the new semester. And that, is when his parents decided to call the draft board. His number had been called, but he had a student exemption. His parents were not patriotic by any means, but they felt they had their reasons for turning in their oldest son. He had stopped sending them money. That is when he ran. He made it to an abandoned Native American village like the cliff dwellings in Mesa Verde, CO. He lived in the cliff dwellings until he was eventually caught, trying to flee to Canada.

This time in his life made my father avidly paranoid of being homeless again. The experience was a harsh reality that punctuated his already difficult life. Homelessness became his soft spot for humanity. If an old man with a beard and ragged clothes approached him for some change, my father would readily empty his pockets and take the guy to get a cheeseburger.  This was his Scarlett-O’Hara –I-Will-Never-Go-Hungry-Again-Revelation.

Ironically enough, I had my own Scarlett-O’Hara –I-Will-Never-Go-Hungry-Again-Revelation because of him. When I was in seventh grade, I knew my dad was getting sick. I saw him struggle to make it through each day. I knew he was vomiting up blood. I knew he was in pain. And, I knew he couldn’t keep up the pace he had set of working all day and night. The emergency room trip that changed everything seemed normal. He drove himself with me in tow. I did my homework in the waiting room, while he was seen to. I was in the middle of the second book I brought with me when the sun came up and my mother appeared almost out of nowhere. Someone must have called her. My dad was being admitted and he would not be leaving anytime soon.

There were so many things wrongs that I can’t even remember them all, but I do remember the doctor pulling my mom and me into a room that was different than the rest. It had a floral print that looked newer than the waiting room – less sat on. The lighting was from a lamp on the side and was dimmer than the normal florescence. There were two boxes of tissues on the table with lamp. Everything had an eerie pink glow. The doctor came in and spoke directly to me. My dad was not ok. He would most likely not be coming home with us. We needed to be prepared for the worst.

While he was in and out of operations, removing his stomach, some intestines, looking at his heart and trying to figure out what was causing his body to shut down, I spent my days at school and my nights doing my homework and sleeping in the waiting room at the hospital. We didn’t go home for days at a time. When we did, I heard the voicemail message – apparently the rent had not been paid in many months. The landlord had sold the house, and the new owner wanted us out immediately. I looked around at the mess our house had become over the years as my dad had gotten more and more sick. Newspapers were piled to the 12 foot ceilings. Trash was scattered everywhere. There were little more than small pathways to move from one side of the house to the other. Rat and mouse droppings were everywhere. The kitchen hadn’t been used in over a year. The one bastion of sanity was my bedroom and bathroom, where I spent much of my time. I hadn’t had friends over since I was in preschool. And, now – we wouldn’t even have this.

My mother withered under the stress. She fell further into a depression and anxiety-filled state that had consumed her since I was born. Everything fell to me.

So, at twelve years old – I found us an apartment. I moved us. I started working, supporting us. I did everything I could to keep the bills paid and a food in the fridge. But before everything evened out and we were able to get disability insurance and social security for my father and before I had a steady enough income to really support us, there was a period where we had nothing. I applied for food stamps, Medicaid and welfare. I called the local organizations, some that my mother had sat on the Board of Directors of previously, to get assistance with utilities and rent. I scoured food banks, looking for the bread without mold and canned goods that were yet to expire. I knew the timeframes of all the local food pantries for how long you had to wait before going back for more. I knew bus schedules like the back of my hand. And, I knew that this was not a situation I ever wanted to be in again. I worked hard and as much as I could.

Eventually, my father came home from the hospital, after a several month stay. He and my mother hid in the apartment, recovering from their separate maladies and becoming all the more depressed together – feeding on each other’s stress. And, in the meantime – I went to school and I worked.

Three years later – I couldn’t do it anymore. I was now the one with the bleeding ulcers and sleep deprivation.  I was working 60-80 hours per week, while going to school. I was starting to hallucinate. I was completely cracking up.

 So, one day – I just left. It seemed so easy. I just walked out. And, unlike my dad’s situation when he first became homeless – I, at least, had a car that I could sleep in.