By Rawlins Gilliland, KERA 90.1 commentator
Dallas, TX –
Living near the forest, I try to escape and explore daily. Or when working at home gives me cabin fever. As with anyone who frequents a park, one gets a feel for others who are regulars as well. I began to notice an old black man in a cream 1970s Mercury arrive early each morning. After a while, seeing him set up his stadium chair and holding his transistor radio, it dawned on me that he lives in his car, and because of curfews, leaves before midnight and returns before dawn. Not long ago, an '80s Suburban with blacked-out rear windows began to also occupy a predictable spot each day. The 30-something Hispanic occupant walked to the portable toilet. Clearly he was also calling this entrance to the forest parking lot his daytime address.
I thought back years before, when an older black man had approached me at a car wash to wipe down my car. Drawn as I am to spontaneous conversational encounters, I had learned that this man, whose shoes were literally falling apart off his feet, had once been the first African-American manager for EDS in Atlanta before his life began to crater into disability. I recalled that earlier man when watching these men in their cars.
I also recalled having heard for years that an old white man lives in a makeshift tent near an eastern corner of the forest. I hiked into the hilly trails to find this locally legendary hermit's site and saw the ropes and draped tarps, and quickly left. I have been told that he only leaves to get his medicine and Social Security checks. I have no idea how he eats. I only know where he lives, and when it is cold or rainy, I think about him. And when it is clear and sunny, I feel relived knowing he is unthreatened.
Dallas counts its homeless population downtown. But these persons I see when I go to the forest are not part of those statistics. They are private citizens of three colors, with three stories, men who fell and cling to life in isolated aloneness. It felt sad, seeing them Christmas morning, a white Christmas in the forest where it is often ten degrees cooler. As my dog romped in the icy leaves, I thought about the two men alone in their cars, and the hermit beyond in the woods.
I have never assumed that the impossibly unthinkable was something that only happened to someone else. I've had too much proof to the contrary. These men are not where they are because of destiny, but rather, circumstance. They were once young. They had their health, their teeth, and hopefully, as Al Green said, "love and happiness." Now they tread water and mark time.
These three wise or unwise men, whom I have never met, gave me a Christmas gift; the sense to clearly comprehend the inane shallowness of buying into holiday angst - the expense, pressure, scheduling. The hype. For a change in my adult life, I had none of it, relaxed and savored the moment. My Christmas list was to list my blessings.
Rawlins Gilliland is a writer from Dallas.
Read part 1, "That Walk in the Woods"
Read part 2, "The Value of Perception Versus Perceived Value"
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