thanksgiving

Those of you who knew our family was going downtown to share a Thanksgiving meal with some of our local homeless might be wondering how it went.

There were so many volunteers at the Duke Energy Center that I think we almost outnumbered the hungry folks who came for the free haircut, live music, turkey dinner and warm coat.

We sit down at a table to wait for homeless people to whom we could be friendly. The kids are very impatient and their anxiety is building rapidly, so I ask if they want me to go make friends with someone on the coat line and invite them to join us once they have chosen a coat. "Yes, please, mom!"

The last person in the long, snaking coat line is a tall, sturdily built man with deep lines carved across his broad, luminous, ebony face. I tell him we want to invite him to sit with us and have a meal together. He agrees, and I lean forward, about to invite the next person in line as well, when he stops me.

"I just want to have a conversation with one person," he said. "When you are homeless, that is really important."

OK, so we are going to be up front about this. All right, fine. Trying to pretend I am unfazed by that statement, I ask him his name and whether he is from Cincinnati. "It's Benny," he tells me, and "and no, ma'am, I'm from southern Georgia."

Benny says he moves around a lot but says he has been here since 2005, and that it is probably about time to move again. He needs to move to search for work. He's in the construction field, works as a day laborer, gets up every day at 4:30 in the morning, because the early bird catches the worm. He never has breakfast or lunch, but he looks forward to getting an evening meal at the City Gospel Mission. Later, afte having eaten, Benny mentions that he meets people all the time who haven't had a meal in days.

His voice is so low that I cannot help but remark upon it. I ask if he sings and Benny's face lights up. He volunteers that his singing voice is even lower than his speaking voice. "Wow. That must be something," I say, then ask, "Do you sing in Church?"

"Yes, ma'am," Benny says, "that is the best place to sing." and I get to see his smile. We talk about how our singing can be a way to connect with God and that it also can help others to feel closer to God. It is an instant connection. Now, we are friends.

I tell Benny that my son had offered to bring his guitar and sing today but that they turned him down because they are full up with musical acts already. Benny tells me that Max should not to lose hope; he says that things change all the time, when you least expect it.

Isaac comes up to give me an hug and I introduce them. Isaac is impatient for me to come back and sit with him. Benny smiles, releasing me to my child, and I tell him that since I am really tall, he can watch me walk back to our table and that way, he can find us after he gets a coat.

"Are you 6'2"?" he asks.

"About 6'1"," I tell him, but then I lift one foot and look down at the sole of my shoe, and say "okay, you are right. Today, I am 6'2"," and Benny gives me a high five.

Then the guy next to us says "Man, those are awesome shoes!"

"Thank you" I say, "I made them myself."

"Really?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I got a box of upholstery tacks from the hardware store and hammered them into the sole of some old boots."

"You did that yourself?" he asks again.

"Yeah."

"Well, let me shake your hand. That is truly creative." We shake hands and exchange a grin.

Then I raise my left hand and keep it extended up in the air as Isaac and I walk back to our table. After we sit down, I look back toward the coat line and Benny waves at me over the crowd. I wave back. Our table is full but I have a plan to add a chair from the adjacent table when Benny arrives.

When he comes over, a half hour later, he tells me he has found another place to sit. I tell Max I am so disappointed. I really wanted them to meet. Max decides to go over and sit next to Benny and get to know him on his own.

The people Paul, Sam, Isaac and I eat and chat with - about gratitude, prayer, drug addiction, 12 step programs, a higher power and faux finishes - eventually get up to leave and are replaced by another homeless family that refuses to make eye contact. The kids are both texting and the mom is working hard to avoid looking at us. The kids and I decide that it is becoming less likely by the minute that we are ever going to talk to each other. We declare it a fail and excuse ourselves, leaving our seats open for more people to come and eat.

We go over to Benny and Max's table and find that there are two empty chairs. Isaac sits down, I sit down, and Sam sits on my lap. I look across the table at a pregnant woman and say "we both have our laps full of baby". She beams at me and says "but mine fits better."

"He used to fit" I say, "ten years ago," and she says, "I hope ten years from now this baby will still be on my lap like that." Again, an instant connection is established and we launch into conversation with Sam about his favorite subjects in school (Math and Science).

Before Benny gets up to go he says this has been a really great holiday and that he has truly enjoyed himself. Later, Max tells me he is so glad he met Benny, and that before I came over they had a really good talk.

"My head is swimming with status updates from our conversation," he tells me, which I think is about as au courant as a mother son Thanksgiving conversation can get.

When I check Max's status later on facebook, I see this is what he has chosen to post:

Benny, a 51 year old construction worker and singer whom I just met told me "This is a great life; its okay if it's hard as long as you recognize the sweet parts..." Happy Thanksgiving!