Today I want to write in my blog about my friend Stanley. Some of my friends have heard me talk about him now & then. I've been thinking about him a lot lately because he has taught me so many lessons, lessons he has no idea he's taught. I want to write about Stanley because he deserves to be noticed, to be acknowledged, something I highly doubt he's had much of in his hard, humble life.
I met Stanley last December while doing a "project" with my friend Barry. I've written in past blogs about how I like to always have a project. It keeps me centered and grounded and gives me a purpose other than the usual responsibilities I already hold. When life doesn't feel right, or when nothing seems to be going my way, I start a project! It always puts things in perspective and gets me back on the right track. It raises my level of awareness and clears things up for me. THIS project involved talking to, and giving time and small comforts to some of our city's homeless folks.
The street people have been a focus of my compassion ever since my oldest son was one himself. He spent some time living on the streets of Portland and it changed my life forever. (I also wrote about him in a previous blog) I had always felt sad for homeless people sitting on the street corner, but my son's experience taught me to look at the homeless community through different, deeper eyes. Not eyes of pity, but eyes of compassion and connection. When I see a homeless person, I first remember that they are someone's son or daughter, just as my son was mine. I wonder what kind of a home they came from, is their mother worried about them, had they ever been loved or cherished. I always try to acknowledge and smile at them, knowing myself that something as simple as just being acknowledged can feel so good.
When I first noticed Stanley, even before I saw his grease stained coat,or his overgrown dirty salt & peppered beard, or his extreme lisp due to his missing front teeth, I was drawn to his most kind, soft, gentle gracious eyes. I wondered what those weathered eyes had seen. I walked over to him, said hi, and asked him what his name was. He smiled and his eyes squinted so cute, showing the many leathered lines on his temples. If I could guess his age I'd say he was mid to late 60's, but I'm also guessing that living on the streets can age a person prematurely, so he could be younger. He told me his name was Stanley. He said that people made fun of his last name. I asked him what it was. "Little Man" he told me. (I later found out his real last name is Little BOY. How stinking cute is he?!) I smiled and told him I thought it was a really cool name. How awesome to have a name given to you that tells a story about your family. I have some blessed Native American friends with the coolest last names. I told Stanley that I was born and raised on an Indian Reservation and names like his were pretty neat. A name like "Stanley Little Man" sounded pretty normal to me. He smiled and I could feel him warm up to me a bit. I asked him where he was from and he told me about his growing up and how he was raised in an orphanage. We had a great 20-30 min conversation and we laughed and shared. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed our visit. He had the best disposition and was just happy to visit. I could have talked to him for hours. I hated to leave Stanley (and the others) that night as I drove home to my warm house and my comfy bed, knowing Stanley would be sleeping on the street somewhere, in single digit weather. I really don't know how they make it.
I thought about Stanley off and on for days and told a few friends about him and how he affected me. I hoped that someday I would see him again. I made several more trips down to visit and bring food cards etc to my downtown friends, but never saw Stanley. I would think about him when it was real cold outside, hoping he was somewhere warm. And I would remember him on hot days too hoping he had some water and a place in the shade.
Last week when I made my trip downtown, I saw a man limping down the sidewalk. At first glance, I thought it might look like Stanley, but then it kind of didn't. I watched him walk down the sidewalk a ways and something urged me to find out. I got out of my car and yelled at him down the sidewalk, "Stanley?". He kept walking. I yelled again. This time he turned around and I asked him if he was Stanley. He said "yes".... I didn't know if I should believe just any street person telling me he was Stanley so I asked him his last name. Sure enough he replied, " Little Boy". As he started to walk towards me, I could see it really was him. He was dragging his leg and making his way towards me. I offered him some coffee that I had bought at the convenient store on my way downtown. I was so glad to see my friend Stanley. He looked a little different, maybe a little more aged, even tho it had only been 6 months since I'd seen him last. His eyes looked the same tho and that's the part I was most excited about. Those kind eyes. I asked him if he was okay and why he was limping. He told me he had been ran over by a car a month or so back. He had spent some time in the hospital but was feeling better and healing. The way he said it was surprising to me, he said it as if it were a normal occurrence. Like it was no biggie. Maybe on the streets it IS normal to get ran over by a car but I just don't hear about it? Who knows, but it surprised me how calm he was when telling me. He told me he was crossing the street and a lady who was trying to beat a red light, hit him and ran over his leg. I immediately felt angry and protective of Stanley as he was telling his story. I told him I hoped the lady got in trouble. He looked at me with his soft kind eyes, tilted his head to the side and he said, " oh no, I wouldn't rat on her. I wouldn't rat on anybody." His mustache was moving along with his lips as his words clumsily came out of his toothless mouth. "She didn't mean to hurt me".
Wow. Wow. wow. What a guy. A friend told me once that she felt homeless people were more Godly than most. I have to agree. I think Stanley, in this moment, proved just that. Stanley doesn't have the comforts of this world. He doesn't have a fancy car or any car for that matter. He doesn't have name brand clothes, or clean clothes. He doesn't even have his front teeth. He is who he is. He's not angry that he doesn't have a home to live in, or a car to drive. He's not complaining that his shoes aren't the newest style or that the world is so unfair to him. He isn't even angry that a lady ran him over with her car! I wish I could be more like Stanley. How freeing it must be to shed the material things of this world. To not have to keep up with the Jones's and the social club status's. Wouldn't the world be better if we all were as forgiving and humble and REAL as Stanley? I'm not saying we have to be homeless and throw out all of our comforts to be real, but Stanley sure made an impact on me that day.
I got to visit with Stanley for a bit more. I let him know that I thought about him often and hoped and prayed he was ok. He couldn't believe that I prayed for him or even thought about him. His illustrious eyes twinkled. I sure hope I get another chance to see him. I hope I get the chance to thank him for the lessons he's taught me.
Now whenever I get upset because we lost a ball game that we shouldn't have or my lunch that I ordered is taking too long, or my car is low on gas or my yard doesn't look just right or someone has been unkind to me, I try to think of Stanley Little Boy and what an example he is for me. I'm so thankful he was put in my path not once, but twice, and like I always say.....this is NOT the end of the story. I can't wait to find out what else Stanley will teach me. :)
