One For You. . . But None For You
I was walking down 14th Street and past a man who begs for money at the same spot every day. He is a white man, most likely in his twenties. He has long hair, a tattooed neck, is grimy, and I could pretty much bet any large amount of money that he is a junkie—mostly because I’ve seen him nodding off junkie-style, which is to say, while he’s in the middle of asking for change. I never give him money. Until a few days ago, that is. For whatever reason, I gave him a dollar. He was nodding off when I did it, so he didn’t see me put the money in his cup, which is maybe part of the reason why I gave it to him.
Or was it? Did my conscience finally bother me enough? Because even though I don’t like to admit it, I have criteria for giving to panhandlers just as much as I do to any of the myriad charities who invade my mailbox on a near-daily basis (not to mention the ones who call all the time but hang up if they get the answering machine; note to those charities—I can’t help you if you don’t leave a message, and if you call anonymously, I won’t answer if I’m at home, and I can’t call you back if I’m not, because I don't know who called).
So back to neck tattoo guy. He’s a junkie. And although I have no real moral arguments against his habit, I’m not interested in feeding his need to self-destruct, either. Still, he’s a mess, and if not me, then who is going to help this guy, even if it’s with just a buck?
That leads me to someone I do give money to, on an almost daily basis; a lovely black woman, about my age, Tina. She panhandles under the auspices of the United Homeless Organization, which basically takes a certain amount of money for itself ($15 a day, I think)—the rest she gets to keep. I stop to chat with her, and know things about her life. Why is she homeless? I have my ideas, but prefer not to put her business on the street. Let's just assume she's homeless for some of the same reasons neck tattoo guy is, although I’m quite sure she has no drug habit—after living in this city long enough, you can just tell. Tina’s been out there on that corner for much, much longer than anyone I’ve seen asking for money in the neighborhood. She's got plans, but hasn't been able to get them off the ground, not yet. Do I look at her, see me, and say “therefore but the grace of God I go?" Do I give her money because she is a black woman? Did I ignore the junkie for so long because he was a white male?
What are the criteria for giving?
I always give to old men and women, regardless of color; women with children; people with missing limbs, or who are physically disabled.
I often give to people with pets, although there are exceptions. I don’t give to Trust/Crustafarians. You know who they are; suburban teens and college-age students who leave home for the summer to either annoy their parents, or find themselves. They don’t bathe. They stink to high heaven. They get in the way. They ask for five dollars. I once saw one on a pay phone yelling at his parents because they wouldn’t send him more money, just a train ticket home. While I admit there are troubled kids out on the street from seriously dangerous and dysfunctional homes, most Trusties ain't them.
I rarely give to obvious drunks and junkies, or to people with lame stories (“I’m just trying to get home), although maybe they need to fabricate stories to salvage whatever shreds of dignity they have left over after begging. It must beat sitting on the street looking like you hit rock bottom.
I'll never really figure out why I'm more charitable on some days than others. I do know I'll keep giving. In the past, the city has put up all sorts of posters admonishing us not to give money directly to the homeless. Give it to legitimate charities, they say. I say mind your beeswax! At least I know that the cash is getting to the person who needs it most, and not being funneled and siphoned and sifted, and filtered until all that is available is a dubiously sanitary bed in an often-dangerous shelter. I say let a homeless person retain some dignity and decide for himself what he’s going to do with his dollar. And if it helps, in any way, then my motive for giving should be utterly beside the point.
Or was it? Did my conscience finally bother me enough? Because even though I don’t like to admit it, I have criteria for giving to panhandlers just as much as I do to any of the myriad charities who invade my mailbox on a near-daily basis (not to mention the ones who call all the time but hang up if they get the answering machine; note to those charities—I can’t help you if you don’t leave a message, and if you call anonymously, I won’t answer if I’m at home, and I can’t call you back if I’m not, because I don't know who called).
So back to neck tattoo guy. He’s a junkie. And although I have no real moral arguments against his habit, I’m not interested in feeding his need to self-destruct, either. Still, he’s a mess, and if not me, then who is going to help this guy, even if it’s with just a buck?
That leads me to someone I do give money to, on an almost daily basis; a lovely black woman, about my age, Tina. She panhandles under the auspices of the United Homeless Organization, which basically takes a certain amount of money for itself ($15 a day, I think)—the rest she gets to keep. I stop to chat with her, and know things about her life. Why is she homeless? I have my ideas, but prefer not to put her business on the street. Let's just assume she's homeless for some of the same reasons neck tattoo guy is, although I’m quite sure she has no drug habit—after living in this city long enough, you can just tell. Tina’s been out there on that corner for much, much longer than anyone I’ve seen asking for money in the neighborhood. She's got plans, but hasn't been able to get them off the ground, not yet. Do I look at her, see me, and say “therefore but the grace of God I go?" Do I give her money because she is a black woman? Did I ignore the junkie for so long because he was a white male?
What are the criteria for giving?
I always give to old men and women, regardless of color; women with children; people with missing limbs, or who are physically disabled.
I often give to people with pets, although there are exceptions. I don’t give to Trust/Crustafarians. You know who they are; suburban teens and college-age students who leave home for the summer to either annoy their parents, or find themselves. They don’t bathe. They stink to high heaven. They get in the way. They ask for five dollars. I once saw one on a pay phone yelling at his parents because they wouldn’t send him more money, just a train ticket home. While I admit there are troubled kids out on the street from seriously dangerous and dysfunctional homes, most Trusties ain't them.
I rarely give to obvious drunks and junkies, or to people with lame stories (“I’m just trying to get home), although maybe they need to fabricate stories to salvage whatever shreds of dignity they have left over after begging. It must beat sitting on the street looking like you hit rock bottom.
I'll never really figure out why I'm more charitable on some days than others. I do know I'll keep giving. In the past, the city has put up all sorts of posters admonishing us not to give money directly to the homeless. Give it to legitimate charities, they say. I say mind your beeswax! At least I know that the cash is getting to the person who needs it most, and not being funneled and siphoned and sifted, and filtered until all that is available is a dubiously sanitary bed in an often-dangerous shelter. I say let a homeless person retain some dignity and decide for himself what he’s going to do with his dollar. And if it helps, in any way, then my motive for giving should be utterly beside the point.
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