My defining moment

I’m going to talk about one of the defining moments of my childhood.

When I was in high school I became president of my school’s Key Club. Key Clubs are high school version of Kiwanis Clubs. I still am not entirely sure what a Kiwanis Club is.

Regardless, I enjoyed participating in the run-of-the-mill high school charity things. I think we raised money for an animal shelter. I remember a pizza eating contest at the mall. But one afternoon sticks out to me this most

We went to serve food at at homeless shelter in Downtown Harrisburg PA. Have any of you done this? Its a scene you’ve seen in a movie or on tv a million times. I’m guessing there were hairnet and gloves and food trays involved.

But then I looked and saw my dad. But he wasn’t volunteering like me. He was there to get food.

See my dad was homeless for most of my life. Like many in the 80s, he became addicted to crack cocaine. He was also diagnosed with schizophrenia at one point. He was in and out of criminal and psychiatric institutions for my entire life.

I think it had been about 4 years since he lived with us. I would often go months without seeing him and then he’d pop up at my grandmothers or something. He’d crack a joke and make every laugh and things would almost seem normal.

I often wondered what his life was like. Was he in a shelter or on the streets? What did he do all day? That day in the food kitchen was the closest I ever got to his world. And I had a choice to make.

I could pretend I didn’t know him. My school friends and the Kiwanis adults didn’t know anything about my dad. I could stay on the respectable side of the invisible line between those who give, and those who receive.

Or I could say screw this invisible line. I know who I am.

So I ate dinner with my dad that day. My dad was the most popular person everywhere he went so he introduced me to the staff and the shelter residents and everyone told me how much they loved my dad. How I looked just like him

So that’s my defining moment. People get funny when I tell them about my dad. I often end up comforting them. “Don’t cry! Its gonna be okay! See! I’m fine and well adjusted”

But I keep his story with me and share it with others as a reminder that there’s always more to a person than what you see. We all hold traumas and resilience and joy and suffering.

The people we see in tents, or lining up for food or asking for money on the freeway — they belong to someone. Someone somewhere is just hoping they’re okay. That they made it through the night.

Being in a position to give to others is an incredible privilege. If you’re the type to give know that you’re doing something sacred. And if you’ve never had to stand in line for free food or sleep on the street,

Do me a favor any just take an extra second to imagine what it would be like to cross that invisible line .

And if you have been on the margins, share your story. For a very long time I thought my family was one of a kind. Hearing about and from people with similar stories has given me comfort in ways I can’t quite express.

Thank you