To the One We Call "Other"
We’ve all seen this man. He sits on street corners and uses newspapers for insulation. He sleeps under the bridge to stay out of the way of the wind and the rain. He stands on the off-ramps holding a sign. He’s a nuisance. He’s going to ask for money. He has sores. He’s unkempt. He’s dangerous. He’s other. What if he tries to attack me? What if he wants my car? What if I talk to him but I can’t help? What if I realize he’s crazy? What if he smells? What if he touches me? What if he sees me looking? What if he sees me turn away? What if he hears my car door lock? What if . . . In Atlanta alone there are over 50,000 men like this. They sleep where they can stay warm. They eat what’s available. They are poor. They are dirty. They have sores. But they are also someone’s brother. Someone’s son. Someone’s friend from second grade. They have a favorite color and a memory of childhood they never seem to forget that only makes them laugh when remember