Lessons from Michael

Michael was the first person I met in the neighborhood. Apollo and I ran around Lake Merritt almost every day back then. We would pass Michael's station on Grand Ave where he would be standing almost every day selling Street Sheet, a homeless-advocacy newspaper. On one of his good days Michael is the type of guy that, as my mom would say, could sell snow to an Eskimo. He asked me my name one of those days, and I told it to him. He told me his proudly while standing upon his curb like a benevolent king reining over his dominion with polite authority. I hope he knows I don't care that he forgot my name since then.

I liked him instantly. The first time Apollo and I met him, Michael told me a story about a one-eyed dog his family had when he was still small. He described it as "the most vicious dog you'd ever met." Because of this, I'm assuming, Michael was hesitant about Apollo in the first few moments, but he quickly began to empathize with my little guy. Michael is a dog person of the true sort, not merely one of those people who claim to like animals all the while their body language is screaming "get this furry beast away from me!" Michael understands Apollo's nervousness. "I don't blame him," he said one day. "I'm afraid of everybody nowadays, too! In this economy you never know who's gonna pull out a knife on you!"

On Fridays and Saturdays, Michael likes to go to the movies. He tells me about them with enthusiasm, but his descriptions are constantly interrupted. People pass by and insist on saying hello to him, and those strangers that don't, Michael makes sure to tip his hat to, wishing them well. He is a skillful business man. He has bad days, too. On these afternoons he is less coherent. His eyes are jaundice and his thin, salt and pepper mustache is more scraggly than usual. Despite his status, he's there on his spot more days than he's not. He maintains of optimism. "I might have had a couple of beers this morning," he says, "but it's been 19 months since I've had any crack."

I learn bits and pieces of his story from time to time. It's like watching Law and Order, mostly we have all-inclusive chats that end about the same as they began, but now and then I get a little plot advancement in Michael's story. One afternoon he told me that when he was 15 he got his 23 year old girlfriend pregnant. He seemed to love her and his son, so he did what he could to be a dad. The story clearly did not end happily. He was only a kid, and, from what I gather, things went awry for the better part of his life. It seems he has little to no contact with his now-adult son, and he says his heart is permanently scarred when it comes to romantic love, but he still speaks with fatherly pride. He has lived in Oakland for quite a long time, if not his whole life. He does his best to stay clean and healthy, but I know it is a struggle for him. He sleeps in a men's dormitory at night. Today when I saw him, I pointed out his new jeans. This inspired him to launch into the description of how he sleeps with his alarm clock muffled under his pillow on Sunday nights. He sets the clock for 1am, about an hour before the Monday donation truck pulls in. In the past Michael said he watched all the men fight over the truck's contents like cats and dogs. He says everybody wants the nicest stuff, the most presentable they can find in order to make money on the street. But for the past 6 months he's had a deal worked out with the truck driver: he helps get the truck ready and then gets the first pick of the lot (donations from cleaners and individuals, apparently.) Then Michael goes into the hall to wake everybody else up, avoiding the scramble at the truck entirely. Despite the shelter, Michael doesn't like the rainy season. The occupants are booted out to the street at 4am. He says I have no idea how cold it is at that time of day. He's right.

I admit that I avoid passing him pretty regularly. He pointed this out one day recently by exclaiming, "Hey! How've you been? It's been a month since you've run by."
"A month?!" I asked with legitimate surprise. I really hadn't realized how long it had been since I went his way. Nor did I realize he might be counting. I suppose I feel guilty sometimes, or awkward and I chose to avoid him in an effort to avoid feeling that way. These are bad reasons to go the long way. The truth is, I might spend an entire day talking to no one at all until I see Michael's familiar face. We might shoot the shit about how much we are both rooting for Barack Obama, or about how the weather has been. This has been more valuable to me as I've established myself as part of this community than I realized in the beginning. As Michael pointed out one day, "we learn from each other." I probably learn more from him than he does me, even. I give him a buck or so and he gives me spontaneous nuggets of wisdom that seem simple on the surface, but leave me thinking for long stints. "Some days I might be down," he starts, "and you can help me see clearly. Another day it might be you, and I can help you up." He recognizes that we all need each other, because, at the root of it all, we're people. No matter how much or little we have, we can always be here for each other.