Door-To-Door Begging

Today I went begging door to door. Never done that before but there’s always a first time for everything. I went to six different churches today asking for assistance to find housing. A couple of the churches were closed, but the rest all took my number and said they’d get back to me if they found anything. I’m betting they won’t, but you never know, right? Okay, Beth, if you say so… Anyway, I didn’t even think to offer to barter services in exchange for housing – working in the owner’s business, doing chores for them, etc. Ellen asked me once I got home if I mentioned that to anyone and I honestly didn’t think about it because I was almost in tears the entire time, talking to these people. I felt really humiliated. Actually, I think ‘humiliated’ isn’t strong enough but I don’t know what word would fit. You get the picture, I’m sure. I was begging for a home. ‘Nuff said.

There was only one other time in my life that I felt like that and that was the first day I went to Social Services, in Independence, MO, to apply for food stamps and cash assistance. I was 39 years old, had two pre-school boys and was pregnant with Dolly. I was sitting in the Social Services waiting room amongst a crowd of under-aged pregnant girls, who’d brought their moms or dads with them for moral support, I guess; or because they didn’t understand how to complete the forms. Whatever their reasons, I was way out of place. I wasn’t a pregnant teen who still needed mommy and daddy to hold my hand. I was a grown woman who should have been able to take care of myself and my kids.

Because of circumstances beyond my control, however, I was forced to become part of “the system.” I hated it and I felt smaller than small that day, especially when my caseworker spoke to me like I was a disgusting kid who’d just spit gum in her hair. What the fuck? I didn’t ask to be there, I was forced because I had no other options at the time. Once I got the paperwork completed and got my approval for emergency funding and food stamps – my approval for monthly funding would come a few days later – I left the office and cried the whole way home. When I got home I called a friend, someone I’d known since I was 15 and who’d been through the process before, and she made me feel a little better. She told me to look at receiving State benefits as payback for all the money I’d put into the system over the 18 years I’d worked. She said it was just me getting back what was mine, at a time when I really needed it.

I guess when you look at it that way it doesn’t sound so bad, does it? I understood what she was saying, and agreed that I could look at it that way but it took me a while. I was still in shock over having to actually go into the office in the first place. Even though there were others there, I felt like they were all staring at me, and I’m the only one who had all my teeth. Maybe that’s why they were staring. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know was that it was humiliating and I didn’t like it. Don’t get me wrong; I’d been poor all my life so I knew what it was like to be needy. This was poor beyond poor – having to beg for money from the State. I knew the stigmas that went with receiving food stamps. It wasn’t fun.

I also knew the stigmas and stereotypes that were attached to those of us who lived in Hawthorne Place (I didn’t at the time but a short five months later, there I was) but I didn’t have a choice with that either. Fuck, even the police that patrolled Hawthorne thought we were just trashy people sponging off the government. They didn’t care about our complaints and sometimes even showed up with their McDonald’s order on the seat beside them. McDonald’s was a short, five-minute drive from us so we knew that, when the officer had his lunch or dinner on the seat, he’d been sitting in the drive-through when he got the call. What they didn’t know was that I wasn’t like any of my neighbors. I was raising three kids on my own (yes, Paul paid, and still does pay, child support but he wasn’t there); I was working part-time from home doing online tutoring, and I was earning my Bachelors degree. I wasn’t there just to live off the State as were so many of my neighbors. They figured they didn’t need to work if they State would pay their bills.

I wasn’t like that, which is why it made it so much tougher on me. I wanted them to understand, “them” being anyone outside of Hawthorne who judged me without even knowing me, that I wasn’t a freeloader; that I’d worked hard all my life to contribute to the system; and that I was actually using the system for what it was designed – to do what I needed to do to be able to get myself back on my own two feet and out of the system. Unfortunately, nothing is working the way it’s supposed to right now. Did I mention that I went out begging for a home today? I shouldn’t have to beg for anything. No, it shouldn’t just be handed to me on a silver platter but I’ve worked hard to get where I am and I just need help one more time to get me going. Once I get a place to live, I’ll be able to whore my paralegal services in every attorney’s office I encounter.

Just one more bit of assistance and, I promise, I’ll work my ass off to do what it takes to make myself successful. I just need to convince someone of that. The problem is that I don’t know who that “someone” is, yet. Maybe I’ll get semi-lucky and somebody from one of the churches will call me back with a contact or a connection. Then I’ll be able to speak to that person and convince him or her to give me a chance to prove myself. Once that happens I’ll be off and running. I’m just not convinced that I’ll even get a call back from anyone. A few did say they’d call me either way – whether they found something or whether they didn’t. I’m guessing they’ll all say they didn’t. Regardless, I’ll be back out there on Monday finding more churches to see if they have any contacts for me. More begging, I can’t wait. Maybe if I wear a costume, like it’s Halloween, I can be more convincing. Either or someone will stall me long enough for the wacky shack to come get me. Whatever…fingers crossed, please, that I can find what I need in short order – sooner rather than later. I’ll keep you updated.

Until next time…peace to all.