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Author: Sandy Sue
Today I watched a police officer escort a homeless family out of HyVee’s café. They had been in the booth behind me, so quiet I never even knew they were there—a mother, a father, a little boy about six and a baby in a stroller. I didn’t see them bother anyone or cause a disturbance. They were just resting, watching the big screen TV.
The young officer wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t kind either. He asked what they were doing. He asked if they were staying at The House of Compassion (our homeless shelter), then he got them up and out the door.
I don’t blame him—he was doing his job, I guess. But I’m furious at whoever made the call to the police in the first place. The family looked poor, but clean. They didn’t smell drunk or seem high on street drugs. The breakfast rush was over, so taking up space for paying customers couldn’t have been the issue. Maybe the sight of the sleeping mother was offensive. Maybe the whole idea of homeless people in plain sight was offensive.
I’m sure it never occurred to the complainant to ask if the family needed help or breakfast. Or to call their pastor instead of the police (because anyone who needed to call the police must own a strong sense of morality and, thus, have a pastor). And I’m positive they didn’t understand that a homeless shelter is far from restful, especially for adults who must protect their children. Leaving a shelter exhausted in the morning is the norm. Poverty is exhausting.
When I left HyVee, I spotted them far down the road—the dad pushing the stroller, the mom lagging behind with the little boy. Even at 9:30, the morning was hot and humid. I wondered where they would find a welcoming place to rest. I wondered if that was possible in this town.
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