For Us And For Them

It was the pickaxe over his shoulder that bothered me. He stood shirtless in faded jeans near the railroad tracks with his back to my wife Amy and I as we walked our dog Jenny on the other side of the tracks. There were mirrored tattoos below each shoulder blade that looked like wings, but I wasn't sure because my eyes kept going back to the pickaxe.

We were on one of our usual walks where we take Jenny not too far from where we live. Jenny was oblivious to the man standing there, and if Amy noticed him, she didn't say anything at first. He faced a vacant lot where there was a makeshift wooden shelter semi-covered with palm fronds, which I assumed was his. The camp had been there for a few months already. Nearby are various businesses and a combined middle and high school (not where our kids go). 

The shirtless man with the pickaxe moved and headed toward his encampment. As he moved, I heard him say:

"These children with wicked tongues..."

And then it trailed off. I heard him say the first part again and then we were moving away from him as we walked our dog.

I asked Amy if she heard what he said and she did. There were teens everywhere being picked up along the street in front of the vacant lot, and it made us both very uncomfortable. I told her I should call the police department. Not 911, because there was no emergency; he didn't threaten anyone as he walked back to his camp. I called the non-emergency line to ask for a mental health check. They said they'd send an officer to check it out and would call me back.

According to the 2022 Homeless Point-in-Time (PIT) Count in Santa Cruz, there was a 6% increase in the number of people living unhoused in Santa Cruz County since 2019. The survey data indicated dramatic changes in health outcomes compared to those reported in 2019. For example, numbers of people self-reporting alcohol and drug use increased from 30% to 67%; reports of physical disability increased from 26% to 57%; and reports of chronic health conditions increased from 21% to 49%. These are quite dramatic increases since before the pandemic. 

Plus, nearly 40% of people experiencing homelessness self-reported psychiatric or emotional problems. The key here being self-reported (imagine how many of us in homes suffer from increasing psychiatric or emotional problems who aren't self-reporting). And maybe the shirtless man with the pickaxe wasn't really a safety problem for us and the teens getting out of school that day. The fact is we didn't know. 

When the officer called me back later that day, he asked me again to share with him what happened. Then he told me he'd check it out (although I thought he would've already done that), but there wasn't much he could do since it was private property, unless the man exhibited being a threat to himself and/or others, which he didn't when we saw him. I thanked the officer and still worried about what if -- the homeless camp is still there housing the man with the pickaxe who said out loud "these children with wicked tongues" while dozens of teens were getting picked up from school.

We've always supported allocating more resources to house and heal those who need help. We're also seeing more people breaking down everywhere resulting in senseless violence. We certainly don't want to live in fear, which is why being safe is so important to our family, and why I called for a mental health check on the homeless man. Too many times people won't call because it's inconvenient and they feel like there's always somebody else around who will (i.e., the bystander effect). 

We just can't do that. Amy and I are all about Kidpower's founding principle: Our safety and well-being of ourselves and those in our care are more important than anyone's embarrassment, inconvenience, or offense. That includes our own. This is something we live by every day, because our ultimate safety is for us and for them.

Reusing the Usable

As I approached the tipped over chair, now covered in broken Cheez-Its, I realized that there was something else in it. Something wrapped in a blanket. Something small, like an animal. Or a child. Something I thought was dead.

That was my first thought because it didn't move. I touched the chair to shake it a bit, and that's when the wrapped up thing breathed. 

I jumped away and backed into the street. I thought to myself, What the hell is this? A child sleeping in our old chair?

Then it breathed again. I didn't know if I should try to wake up whoever it was or not; it could be a safety problem for me. So, I walked back across our street and into our house. I also had a work call in only a few minutes and wasn't sure what to do, but I knew we needed to call the police. I asked my wife Amy to call and she did. She'd also be leaving soon to take our daughters to school and we had know idea who was sleeping outside in our old chair that was scheduled to be picked up by our city's garbage service. 

I went into my office and had my call. Once Amy returned from dropping off the girls, she told me that she'd gone back outside after calling the police and talked to one of our neighbors about the whoever it was sleeping in our old chair. 

That's when the woman woke up and uncovered herself. She got up and brushed the Cheez-Its off herself and the chair. She then told my wife something about wanting our old chair for her apartment, and then she got tired, curled up in it, and fell asleep. Amy had seen her before around town; she was most likely experiencing homelessness. Maybe there was addiction and/or mental health issues; we just don't know. She took off down the street not wanting to deal with the cops, though. A few minutes later the police drove by our house slowly and our old chair but didn't stop. 

The Day Before

We had put our old burgundy cuddle chair across the street the night before like the city asked us to do. But because we placed it on the property in front of us, and not directly on the street, they would take it. It's one of those situations where you think, But it's still right there. Why didn't you just take it? 

Ugh. It would have to stay outside on the street one more night. Which was a bummer because we'd have to look at it again outside for one more night. Although the recliner part of the cuddle chair had been broken for years, we still used it in our living room, in no rush to replace it. We loved that chair and had purchased it about five years before we had our oldest daughter. It went from our apartment to our first home together, with lots of family pictures in it over the years.

But it was time to go because Amy found a free street loveseat. Amy loves finding free stuff on the street. If there's stuff on the street with a free sign on it, Amy wants to check it out. And if she doesn't check it out the first time she sees it, she'll double back to check it all out. The girls and I always tease her about it, and the girls also plead for her not to take free street stuff. There are bowls and plates she's found and the girls won't use no matter how many times we've washed them. Amy's motto is reduce, reuse, recycle. I know my grandpa would've been proud. He always prided himself in reusing the usable. 

That's why when the girls got home at the end of the day to find a new (used) recliner loveseat showered in Febreze freshener siting in the place where our cuddle chair used to be, and after they heard the story, they looked at me and said, "Dad, why did you let Mom get a street couch?"

"It's in great shape, girls. It really is," I said.

"But it smells," they said.

"No, it's just a little musty. It'll smell like us soon. We'll be on it. Jenny will be on it. Don't worry, it's really a nice recliner loveseat," Amy said.

The girls frowned. "No more street stuff, Mom."

But we were already using it. Our dog Jenny was already sleeping on it (although she hacked a few times the first time because of the Febreze). Just like it had always been there in our house. Like it was meant to be. 

The Day Before That

I had a busy day ahead with staff calls and work planning, and the last thing I wanted was a monkey wrench tossed my way to sabotage my day. When Amy got home from dropping the girls off at school, she was excited about something.

"There's a free loveseat that's perfect for our house!" 

She told me the story of driving by it, almost saying no way, and then circling back to check it out. 

"It's really in great shape and the both recliners work," she said.

It was in front of a house that was for sale. She wasn't sure if it was from the house, but mostly like it was. 

"We should go get it," she said. 

Now, I've never been a very spontaneous person throughout my life, although that's changed a lot since I've been with Amy and we've had kids. But my old resistance response of no was exactly what I did. 

"No, I just have too busy of a day today," I said.

"Okay, we can just look at it tomorrow maybe," she said, with a subtle hint of disappointment. 

I wasn't necessarily resistant to the idea of a free couch that was in good shape, but it was the time involved of going to see it, trying to get it home, etc., that was the monkey wrench throwing me. My day was busy and I just didn't want any unplanned pivoting to happen. 

But pivot I did. We were thinking of buy a new cuddle chair soon anyway and I know Amy was thinking about saving a thousand bucks, which I liked, so I made room in my schedule and we went to look at it. 

I agreed it was in good shape, but it was heavy and I didn't think it would fit in our SUV. We got it halfway into the car, but that's as far as it would go. We were less than two miles from home and she convinced me it was wedged enough for her to sit behind it and hold it while I drove us home. 

And that's exactly what we did. We got it home and into the garage safely. Later when my neighbors were home I asked for their help and we moved the old cuddle chair out to the street and the put the found loveseat in its place. 

I'm sitting on the new (old) loveseat now as I write this, our dog Jenny sleeping next to me on one of the old crocheted blankets my grandmother made so long ago. But this story is more than just finding this free piece of furniture we were looking to buy and how that all worked out for us. 

No, if Amy hadn't circled back to check out the free loveseat; if I hadn't changed my mind to go look at it with her; if we hadn't driven it home hanging halfway out of our car; if our neighbors weren't available to help me move both cuddle chair and loveseat; if the city had actually picked up our old memory-filled cuddle chair off the street the first night we put it outside -- then it wouldn't have given that homeless woman a few hours of somewhat safe sleeping the second night it was outside. 

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe not. Whatever it was, reusing the usable was meant to be. 

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

We couldn't look away from the still smoldering burned out trailer camper. It was just outside of the city limits on Highway 1, and mask-wearing fire crews had surrounded it and were spraying it down with frothy fire retardant. 

"Homeless," I said.

"Yes, I'm sure," my wife Amy said. "I hope they got out."

"I know, although I don't see an ambulance or another vehicle that would've been towing it, so I'll bet they got out."

We have our own camper now, I thought. Scary.

We continued with our morning walk down the bike path to Wilder Ranch State Park, where just north of the park was the southern end of the CZU August Lightning Complex fires, the ones we nearly had to evacuate from in Santa Cruz. The ones that thousands did have to evacuate from. 

Over 900 homes were destroyed in these fires -- and there continue to be fires burning everywhere along the West Coast from Washington to Oregon to Southern California. These combined with the impact of COVID-19 on our economy and too many people out of work and renters nearing eviction, and the complexity of people experiencing homelessness may increase dramatically. The lack of affordable housing, social and economic inequity, mental health and substance abuse problems only exacerbate a problem that's not new to the Bay Area and many other communities through the U.S. 

During the Great Recession just over 10 years ago, we nearly walked away from our home before being forced into foreclosure having sporadic income at the time and being underwater with our mortgage. We had a newborn and a two-year-old and very little savings. The fear of not having a home for our family weighed heavily on us. We fortunately didn't lose our home and were able to make it work. 

According to the 2019 Santa Cruz County Homeless Census & Survey Comprehensive Report, a survey that's done every two years, there were 122 families with 419 individuals experiencing homelessness more recently (19% of the total homeless population). Slightly more than half (53%) were living unsheltered. Who knows where that number is now -- or where it might be in the next six months. 

We have a trailer camper now and it was ready to go when we thought we had to evacuate due to the fires. We also had multiple friends and family who said we could park it in front of their homes indefinitely if we needed to. We've learned a lot about camping in an RV, living in an RV at least for a few days at a time, and based on our own life experience, I can imagine having to live out of one for who knows how long. And wouldn't want to have to do that. What if our home had burned down? What if we lost our jobs and couldn't pay our bills anymore? So many what if's. 

And our daughters ask us "why are those people living there?", those people experiencing homelessness living in tents and RV's throughout our city and on the edges of the city, and the answers aren't easy to give. Many don't have a choice because they can't afford rent, although some choose to live this way. Plus, there aren't enough homeless shelters available in the city, there aren't any sanctioned and supervised safe parking/camping areas, there are those suffering from mental and emotional problems, addiction, just to name a few. 

Where we live there's a growing RV/tent encampment across the highway from us, still within city limits, but technically under the purview of Caltrans. Just a year and a half ago our city was grappling with short and long-term solutions on how to deal with this growing complex crisis where we live and elsewhere, with city staff researching successful communities dealing with their own homeless crises. At the time, we were also not supportive of any "safe sleeping areas" near us or anywhere in the city. 

According to our city website, The city of Santa Cruz invests millions of dollars each year in a combination of homeless services and reacting and responding to the externalities of homelessness. From law enforcement interventions for people in behavioral health crisis, to clearing encampments, to providing direct funding to local non-profit service providers, the City has addressed this issue from many angles. Despite this significant investment of City resources and time, the problem of homelessness persists and is growing. 

Persists and is growing. According to a 9th Circuit Court of Appeals legal decision from a few years ago, it's "cruel and unusual punishment" to enforce rules that stop homeless people from camping in public places when they have no place else to go. That means states across the 9th Circuit can no longer enforce similar statutes if they don't have enough shelter beds for homeless people sleeping outside.

A lot has changed in the past year and a half, and my wife and I are now advocates for safe sleeping areas in and around our city. There has to be a safe place for everyone in our community -- if they are sanctioned and supervised by the city and county. That was always supposed to be the plan, with millions available in funds from the city and county and multi-layer plans researched and recommended -- and then COVID-19 hit. 

That's the confusing part now. So much fo the information our our city website about homelessness is years old, and when we reached out to Caltrans, they passed responsibility back to the city and county. After reaching out to our mayor, city council, chief of police and one of the county supervisors, only the county supervisor responded. But we do know that law enforcement can't be responsible for it all. 

However, there are seemingly no plans in place, no fully functional transitional camps, not enough shelters to accommodate those in need of housing. And if they're are, we can't find the up-to-date information. There are local non-profits assisting the homeless and that's another channel for us to investigate further, like Housing Matters. 

What are we supposed to do? And what should we do? Of course we empathize, but these unsanctioned homeless encampments are a health and safety issue because there are no wellness checks that we're aware of, no animal control and no sanitation control (trash and sewage). They're a safety issue for the homeless, especially those families, children and young adults experiencing homelessness, and those of us with families and secure housing.

Here's the biased perception I'm working hard to move past -- the fact that we don't know who these people experiencing homelessness are (as of the 2019 census, 74% of respondents reported they were living in Santa Cruz County at the time they most recently lost their housing), and the same census shows they're not all criminals, addicts or mentally ill. They also don't know who we are, those of us secure in our homes, and the fact there are some of us who may be criminals, addicts and mentally ill. 

So, how do we build a bridge and help as community members beyond donating to local organizations and food banks? How can we volunteer more to help? Voting helps too, but the impacts aren't immediate and are also so polarized today. With local government budgets taking huge revenue hits going forward, a daunting fire recovery only just beginning, and with the weight of today bearing down more and more each day, what else can we do? It's not clear to us -- where's the clarity bridge for homelessness, hope and action? 

We love our community and we've survived earthquakes, fires, high cost of living, economic devastation, a pandemic (still surviving) and more. While many people may be leaving California for all of the above reasons, we are staying and raising our children here and will do what we can to help it heal, to build those new bridges and move forward. We empathize with those experiencing homelessness, because everyone deserves to sleep safely and to have access to the resources they need to improve their lives whatever their circumstance. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Be a Rainbow Lullaby

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby..."

–The Wizard of Oz

She overheard them tell the butcher they didn't get paid until after Christmas, so no, he couldn't help them. They were just checking out the assortment of seafood in the case. That's when she bought $20 worth of crab meat for Christmas dinner.

She, being my wife, Amy. She told me this when she got home, not because she/we felt bad about buying the crab meat, but because the two men who were at counter weren't able to buy anything. She didn't know their story, whether they had families or not, only what she overheard them say briefly in that moment.

The poverty rate grew in 30% of counties between 2016 and 2018, according to a Stateline analysis of U.S. Census Bureau county estimates released this month. The poverty rate is the percentage of people in households earning less than the poverty threshold, currently $25,750 for a family of four.

Close to 13 million children residing in the United States live in families with incomes below the federal poverty line, a threshold shown to underestimate the financial needs of American households. In the United States, although child poverty has dropped by half over the past 50 years, the current level remains a serious problem.

And a staggering 2.5 million children are now homeless each year in America. This historic high represents one in every 30 children in the United States.

Amy and I both grew up poor, probably falling below and just above the poverty line at certain points throughout some of our childhoods, and I grew up with domestic violence and sexual abuse. Years later, before I met Amy, I was married without children, but severely in debt, eventually leading to bankruptcy and divorce. And then years after Amy and I were married, when Beatrice was only two and Bryce had just been born, things were really tight financially and we nearly lost our house, this during the tail end of the great recession.

We're grateful for every opportunity we've had -- for family, friends and peers who have supported along the way -- and we were able to put two dollar bills together to make ends meet like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, one our favorite holiday movies. We're grateful for all the things we've afforded since, the places we've traveled to, the roof over our heads, the food on our table (including sometimes $20 worth of crab meat), and the community we live in (which had a poverty rate of just over 24% in 2017).

This holiday season (and throughout the year), if you can afford more than just getting by, then pay it forward somehow, some way. A little, a lot, somewhere in between -- whatever that amount is. It doesn't have to be money either; it could be time or donated goods. The past few years we've adopted a family experiencing domestic violence and buying them Christmas presents. This year Bryce's class also adopted a family in need and we bought a present for them.

A little, a lot or somewhere in between. Don't feel bad about what you have, but just know that little acts of giving gratitude and kindness can go a long way to help others experience the hopeful rainbow of dignity, stability, safety and a little happiness. However brief that may be for far too many today. Communities can only thrive when their members live inclusively together, helping and supporting each other -- not exclusively apart, regardless of the differences and misunderstandings that all too often drive us apart. We don't have to always like each other, because we don't, but we do have to see each other, to feel empathy for those who are less fortunate and to be grateful for when you are more so, because again, we are the others to each other, and many of us have been there.

However you celebrate this holiday season, be a rainbow lullaby for someone who needs it. Bless you all.

For Everyone They Impact

That's when he showed the open wound on the back of his right calf to the cars in front of us. He held a sign that said "NEED BANDAGES PLEASE" with a meek look on his bearded face. He stood in the middle of the median moving from car to car.

My first visceral reaction: disgust and anger. Empathy was no where in sight.

"What's wrong with that guy?" our oldest daughter Beatrice said.

"Don't look, Beatrice," my wife Amy said.

"Look at what?"

"This guy has a big wound on his leg and he's showing it to us all. It's gross and you don't need to see that," Amy said.

"What? What wound?"

"It's like his leg is cut open and you can see his calf muscles," I said.

"Kevin, don't tell her that."

"Gross!"

Beatrice could see, but our youngest Bryce could not. Thank goodness. The left turn lane light changed to a green arrow and we moved past the man, his bad leg turned away from us.

"God, he could lose his leg," Amy said.

"He should go to urgent care or to one of the emergency rooms. They most likely won't refuse him with an injury like that," I said.

"Maybe he doesn't know any better."

"Sure he does; why do you think he's out here begging for money for supposed bandages with that friggin' leg? It's a sympathy play for drug money."

"Sweetie, he may not know any better. He could be mentally ill. I'm calling the non-emergency line."

And so she did. We kept making our way to the store while she talked with the police department. They said they'd do a wellness check on the guy, and when we went back the same way to continue our errands, he was gone.

Like too many west coast communities these days, the growing acrimony between local community members and people experiencing homelessness seems to be at all-time high. Where we live is no exception. Crime and drug use are quite prevalent near the local unsanctioned encampment where conditions have only worsened over time.

And again, as I've written before, we have a family like many other families in Santa Cruz that we want to keep safe, and with 39 percent of Santa Cruz homeless having psychiatric and emotional health issues, 38 percent suffering from drug and alcohol abuse, and nearly 30 percent being incarcerated for a night in the past year (as of 2017 local stats). Many of us struggle with "not in my backyard" syndrome. Because they are literally in our neighborhood backyards and the city was considering opening transitional encampments in literally our neighborhood backyards.

We continue to educate ourselves as to what's happening in our community and we most certainly understand that this isn't just a housing crisis but a drug and associated crime crisis as well. Not to mention the safety of women and children experiencing homelessness today in our community.

But this guy with the nasty leg, he's somebody's son. He could even be a father himself. We have no idea about his story and the fact that my wife was compassionate enough to call the non-emergency line, was at least something. Maybe others called, too. Giving him money wouldn't have helped; he needed to a wellness check and emergency healthcare. Could he have faked the wound? Maybe, but it looked pretty real to us. And in the end, he's not part of our family anyway.

Yet, on some greater spiritual level, maybe he is.

These crises are escalating in communities like ours at an alarming rate. They are complex and there is no unifying clear solution for everyone they impact. And they most certainly impact everyone, and every family.

The Underbelly of Us

"Arrows in her eyes
Fear where her heart should be
War in her mind
Shame in her cries..."

-Foo Fighters, Arrows

I saw her in my periphery. She must've come from the 7-11 on the corner of Mission St. and Swift. At first, she stayed a few steps behind me on the sidewalk. I had been walking from home to my business mailbox to check for mail, just enjoying the walk with my AirPods pumping the Foo Fighters into my ears.

Then I sensed her coming up on my left. She reached me, step for step, and looked at me as we walked. At first I wouldn't look at her, not exactly sure if she was just passing me. When she didn't, I turned to see her, a white women in her late 50's or early 60's, blonde-gray hair, some makeup, fairly clean clothes. She smoked a cigarette and through the smoke was saying something to me.

With my Kidpower tingling, and not sure if this was a safety problem or not, I paused my music, but kept walking.

"Hey," she said. "Can you call me a taxi or an Uber?"

Without hesitation, I said, "No."

She mumbled something under her smoky breath and trekked on ahead. I watched her go, but waited to play my music again. She could've been homeless, I wasn't sure, and/or she could've been mentally ill or an addict. Or, she could've been none of those things, just someone who need a ride somewhere and didn't have the means to get there. She didn't seem agitated, just mad that I didn't help her with a ride.

I empathized, and yet I didn't do anything. The war inside me of "staying safe" and "it's not my problem" and "I'm just going to check my mail" and "she seems fine" and "someone else will help her" swirled inside my head, so I started up my music again and kept walking.

On the way back home, I struggled with the guilt of not helping the woman. Only a little guilt, but guilt nonetheless. I thought about the work I do with the Commission for the Prevention of Violence Against Women, and the fact that, if this woman was homeless, the chances of her being harassed or sexually assaulted or worse climb exponentially.

California's homeless population is about 25 percent of the nation's in total -- 130,000+ people on any given night. Because of the high cost of living and lack of affordable housing in California, nearly 70 percent of the state's homeless are unsheltered. Meaning, living on the streets, or in parks, or in motorhomes and campers in and around town, like in Santa Cruz where we live. At any given time, low-income families are one paycheck away from being homeless; any of us could be them. In fact, California comprises 12 percent of the nation’s population of homeless families with children. From 2016 to 2017, the state experienced one of the largest increases of homeless families in the nation, leaving 1,000 more families on the streets.

Some communities do a better job of cobbling together resources that result in more shelters, mental health services and addiction medical services. The City of Santa Cruz right now is doing its best to provide services to well over 150 homeless tent campers behind a shopping center right as you come into Santa Cruz. You can't miss it because it's a major intersection in and out of downtown Santa Cruz, when Highways 1 and 17 meet.

This unsanctioned homeless encampment had been tucked away from major traffic and out of view, near one of the main family homeless shelters in town. But just like it always goes, the homeless campers were told to vacate to other shelters, shelters that get full quickly, especially during a winter with record cold and rain in our area. Plus, some of the shelters don't allow anyone using drugs or alcohol. Then the unsheltered homeless are shuffled to another location, like the one behind the shopping center. And now, the over 150 homeless are to vacate and find shelter elsewhere by the middle of March. Forty-two percent of homeless families with children in Santa Cruz are unsheltered (as of 2017).

Which brings me back to safety. I can't imagine being homeless with children, whether a woman or a man, but especially a woman -- according to multiple studies examining the causes of homelessness, among mothers with children experiencing homelessness, more than 80% had previously experienced domestic violence. And 38 percent of all domestic violence victims become homeless at some point in their lives.

And yet, we have a family like many other families in Santa Cruz that we want to keep safe as well, and with 39 percent of Santa Cruz homeless having psychiatric and emotional health issues, 38 percent suffering from drug and alcohol abuse, and nearly 30 percent being incarcerated for a night in the past year (again, as of 2017 local stats). Many of us struggle with "not in my backyard" syndrome. Because they are literally in our neighborhood backyards.

Besides the local shelter and homeless service programs doing their best, there are other programs like Downtown Streets Team in Santa Cruz and other California communities helping homeless people get back to work and eventually into more stable housing (one of my good friends who's also on the commission with me helps run the Downtown Streets Team in Santa Cruz).

We can't just look the other way and hope it goes away, because it's only getting worse. And again, some of us might struggle with mental health issues, addiction issues and could become homeless at any given time after being laid off, with no means of mobility and having limited housing options. I can't imagine being a family on the street today, but too many don't have to imagine.

This eyesore is the underbelly of us, and it's all our responsibility as empathic local communities to help each other, whether that's volunteering or donating money. Whatever it takes to help augment the already strained resources of local nonprofits, churches and government.

I should've called her a taxi, because nobody else was going to do it.

Because We Could Be Them

“The future disappears into memory
With only a moment between.
Forever dwells in that moment,
Hope is what remains to be seen…”

—Rush, The Garden

We did our best to stay focused on our strategic planning, but the raucous laughter and marijuana smoke kept distracting us. The nightly homeless encampment outside city hall was bigger than ever and it had nearly blocked the entrance to the conference room where we met.

It was our planning retreat for the prevention of violence against women city commission. At one point an especially loud but indecipherable argument outside the door silenced us. One of our city advisors broke our silence.

"It's sad and ironic that only this wall separates us from where we could be. Many of us today are still only a paycheck away from being out there; we could be them."

I nodded and said, "I know. We're still crawling out of our last economic crater from what seems like a lifetime ago. But it was only a few years ago."

The painful memory of that distress welled in my throat like bile. What I didn't share is that we almost walked away from our home and our community back then. While I wasn't one of millions laid off from their jobs during the great recession -- one poor business decision by me, followed by a severely compromised income, and with two very young daughters in tow, we had to make some very difficult decisions.

Over 9 million people lost their homes in the U.S. during the great recession. In the development of 15 homes where we bought in 2006 near the height of the housing bubble, one-third either went through a short sale or foreclosed. At the time we could afford it until we nearly couldn't, and so we weighed our options on what to do next: either stick it out and work on keeping the house, or walk away and move to the midwest to be close to extended family. We didn't qualify for any of the public assistance plans at the time and our mortgage lender would not work with us at all. Even our accountant recommended we walk from the house, to get out and start over. Many economists echoed that sentiment for those of us underwater at the time.

But in the end, we never missed a mortgage payment, and we were never late with a payment. The unrelenting stress at the time of keeping a roof over my family's head motivated me to hustle, hustle and hustle some more. Both my wife and I hustled. Apocalyptic visions of living on the street were enough to keep us inspired to stay off it.

Of course homelessness is much more complex than that and a recent Santa Cruz City Council subcommittee analysis highlights just how complex it gets on a local level. And although homelessness is down today overall where we live, we're still living in a community with 60 percent of the homeless population living unsheltered within the city limits. Also, over half have been homeless for a year or more and also suffer from one or more disabling conditions like substance abuse, psychiatric conditions, physical disabilities and more. Sadly one in three have been in jail within the past year as well. Then there's the harsh reality for too many homeless is that there is a potential violence and sexual abuse that comes from living on the street.

The noise quieted a bit outside and we continued with our commission meeting. Afterwards we went went home and went on with our lives. The city of Santa Cruz has since converted the public spaces around City Hall from an open-access “park” to more restrictive office grounds, citing a purported escalation of homeless use and aggression. Which has certainly been the case. But everyday we witness the plight of what any of us could become at any time. We empathize and count on the fact that assistance from local organizations and countless volunteers, family and friends can and will help, along with sound public policy empowering safety nets from all levels of government that includes a continuous investment in public safety.

And the argument that dismantling most business and financial regulations today will free up the economy to keep us all employed, our savings intact and safe from being decimated by the greed of a few, and ultimately to keep us all off the streets, is simply ludicrous and ignorant.

Again, it's really complex and I don't know what the answers are. I only know that ignoring it, chastising it or criminalizing it won't solve the long-term homeless problem.

Because we could be them. And then what?

Where The Heart Longs To Be

"Kevin!"

The Mama called downstairs right after I heard the coughing, and I knew what it meant. I knew even before she called out for me what was happening. One of the girls was sick and throwing up. I reached their bedroom and sure enough it was Beatrice.

"Poor baby," I said.

The Mama consoled Bea and took her to the girls' bathroom. I immediately stripped her bedding and hauled it quickly it to our bathroom to rinse off, consciously closing off my nose to prevent that ever-present gag reflex. Of course we love our children, but nobody likes to be close to the vomit.

We got her cleaned up and mouth rinsed and back to bed while Bryce bounced off the walls. Bea's always an-early-to-bed great sleeper. Bryce is not. But on the other end Bea get's up even earlier than me now that school has started, at or right after 5 a.m., and Bryce gets up much later, around 6:30 a.m.

For now and at least the next few years they'll share a room, which has worked out fine to date, even with the growing differentiation of sleep patterns. They sleep snuggly in their own beds, safe and sound, surrounded by dozens of their favorite stuff animals, while we sleep comfortably in our own room down the hall.

All in the safety and security of our own little locked up home.

When we bought our house, we weren't going to have children. Less than two years later we thankfully changed our minds. The night before Bea got sick above, I had finished watering our backyard, something we only do sparingly these days because of the drought. When I came back inside I gazed out our kitchen window.

"I love our little house," I told the Mama. "We raised our babies here. We put that little backyard together ourselves."

"Yes, me too," she said.

I reminisced bittersweet. We made it through the lean times and I learned a lot about the rock bottom perspective. We held onto our house when so many lost theirs during the great recession (although some economists would argue we should've let ours go).

But something kept nagging at me, like when you're trying to forget something you never wanted to remember in the first place, but it's always right there in the peripheral of your frontal lobe.

The NPR article -- that's what it was. The one about homeless families in San Bernardino, CA and the fact that California ranks third in the U.S. — behind only Kentucky and New York — in the percentage of children who don't have a home, according to the National Center on Family Homelessness. (Read more about the things you never wanted to remember via the Los Angeles Times staff writer Joe Mozingo's series San Bernardino: Broken City.)

There are about 2.5 million children who experience homelessness in the U.S., which represents about one in every 30 children. And it should come as no surprise, but again according to The National Center on Family Homelessness at American Institutes for Research:

Research shows that homeless children are hungry and sick more often. They wonder if they will have a roof over their heads at night and what will happen to their families. Many homeless children struggle in school, missing days, repeating grades, and drop out entirely. Up to 25% of homeless pre-school children have mental health problems requiring clinical evaluation; this increases to 40% among homeless school-age children.

The impacts of homelessness on the children, especially young children, may lead to changes in brain architecture that can interfere with learning, emotional self-regulation, cognitive skills, and social relationships. The unrelenting stress experienced by the parents may contribute to residential instability, unemployment, ineffective parenting, and poor health.

If you're familiar with Maslow's hierarchy of needs, safety and security are the second tier of the pyramid, ahead of physiological needs (food and water). Unfortunately issues like homelessness are so emotionally and politically charged that no one cares about hierarchies of the many needs. This makes it difficult to shine a light on the fact that there are solutions that really do make a difference, including safe and affordable housing as well as education and employment opportunities for parents.

I'm also not suggesting we would've been on the street or in a shelter or motel if we would have lost our house. We were fortunate and still had resources, employment and a family support system. But my heart goes out to the millions of homeless children and families in this country (and throughout the world), thousands of whom are in Santa Cruz County, for whatever reason they lost theirs.

Pointing fingers at those less fortunate and saying it's their fault because they're homeless is not a solution, especially for the children.

Bea just started 1st grade and Bryce has one more year of preschool, and for them, home is where the heart is -- and they still have years to be a kid. But for those without, a loving safe haven is where the heart longs to be.

But then came the backstory

At first, it was just a picture of a rooster shared on my Facebook page with the Mama's caption, "Sweetie, look what I found!"

It came at an opportune time during a meeting I was at. I shared the picture with everyone at the meeting, who then shared some chuckles back, a moment of levity.

But then came the backstory -- the fact that the rooster belonged to a young woman living in her car up the street from us. She was from the Northwest and had picked up the rooster in Arcata on her way down to Santa Cruz. Her car supposedly had a dead battery and a flat tire. The woman told the Mama that she was living temporarily in her car, but offered up no other information, and the Mama didn't push.

The rooster ended up in our backyard because the woman wanted to go the beach. That's when I started firing off questions:

"The beach? Why? Did she have any track marks on her arms? Did she have pock marks on her face, like from using meth?"

Wow. Where did that come from, Dad?

The Mama answered, "Not that I could tell."

"You didn't let her in the house, did you?"

"No."

"Maybe she's mentally ill," I said.

The Mama sighed. "I don't know. What should we do, though?"

"Get that frickin' chicken out of the backyard, baby. That's what."

"Don't worry, she'll come and get it. But we should help her somehow."

"Were there any signs of abuse?" I asked.

"No, not that I could tell. We could recommend a shelter to her, right?"

"Yes, of course."

We discussed it further for a few, wondering what to do, how to help, but all I could keep thinking about was protecting my family. Why is this young woman traveling alone, living out of her car, with a rooster? What if she was casing our place? What if she was a druggy and/or mentally ill? What if she brought back sketchy guys to get the rooster, or worse, and I wasn't there? 

That's where I went -- immediately to the horrific side of human nature -- which actually surprised me a little. Usually I'm trying to see the converse, the promise of personal responsibility and being one of the good guys and good girls.

Like my own girls, one of whom could grow up and somehow find herself alone, living out of a broken down car, with a rooster...

The Mama and her mother ended up shooing the rooster out of the backyard at the end of the day, a comical event to witness. They tried to shoo it up the street to where the girl was parked, but it just frantically ran across the street to the field and hid in the bushes.

Shortly thereafter I saw her; the young woman came back for her rooster. She looked earthy and wore flowing, hemp-like clothes, and was thin but pretty, reminding me of the Dead Head dancers at the Grateful Dead shows I used to go to. I watched her track the rooster, pick him up, kiss him on the beak, then carry him off down the street.

I watched her and wanted to know her backstory, to see if I could help her, but was worried I'd scare her if I approached.

The reality, however, was that I was scared of her, because of the italicized thought above. A strange mix of empathy, disappointment and despair overcame me, paralyzing me. I could only watch her walk away down the street. The Mama had her mom to take the woman a bag of food, which she did. The young woman was grateful, even teary-eyed. We're trying to figure out how to help her with her car now.

But why is this young woman traveling alone, living out of her car, with a rooster?

I could just ask her, right? 

Good Intentions

When I launched this blog a month ago, I had good intentions to post a few times a week to offer my comments and daily learned insight on how to make a positive difference in our world.

Good God, I wonder how many bloggers (writers) have said, wrote, posted this. Probably too many to count.

But I’m back to try again. The whole point of this blog is to help me, and hopefully others, GET OFF THE GROUND and do something, however small, to make a difference in their lives, their communities, our world.

It’s comforting to stretch out under a blue, sunny sky or a starry night and dream about a better world – but I know we can do more than dream. I know I can do more than dream.

I’m reading Bill Clinton’s Giving now, and while the former U.S. president may not hold governments at all levels as accountable as he should, I’m finding it an invaluable look at the “giving” landscape and how any one of us can give money, time, things, and so on.

A few years ago I volunteered for a short time in our local library “book buddy” system delivering books to seniors who had no means to go to the library and check their own books out.

But besides helping my friends and family when needed, I’ve never really volunteered much or tried to make a difference in my community.

Until now. And although I’m busy with work and enjoying the fruits of my labor, I am the president of our HOA board, and my wife and I have started to make a difference in our neighborhood, and not just for the sake our home values.

It’s a start – one that takes a step beyond good intentions, hoping someone else will make our world a better place.

That’s where we come in.

Another place to start is VolunteerMatch. I found this in Bill's book and it’s what I’m checking out next.