What's on Your Name Tag?

My mother tells the story of a night when she and my father attended a dinner hosted by my father's employer. I imagine her excitement at the chance to dress up, leave the children with a babysitter and enjoy thought provoking, adult conversation. I picture them sitting at round tables covered with starched, white table cloths, crystal goblets and silver flatware, carefully solving the world's problems. Wine is poured and steak is cut. Wait staff in black uniforms look on from the sides of the room, keeping an eye out for an empty plate or half full water glass. As my father engages in conversation with a coworker, the stranger to the left of my mother asks, "And what do you do?" My mother explains that she is raising three daughters. Before she can offer up their ages or any further details, the man has turned away, making it clear that, to him, her chosen occupation is unworthy of conversation.

When mom first told me this very true story, I was angry, but also shocked that anyone could be so blantantly rude. I have always thought that she handled the situation with much more grace than I ever would have. Rather than tap him on the shoulder and ask why raising three little people to become productive members of society did not warrant a discussion, or whether he would prefer to talk about her Bachelor's degree in English, or her Master's in Counseling, my mother ate the rest of her meal and talked with other guests at the table. "Besides," she says, "He didn't want to talk to me anyway. What was the point of trying to make him?"

Several nights ago, I attended an open house for a non profit legal organization. My job requires a lot of interaction with this group, and I was excited to see their new office. I walked through the double glass doors of a beautiful building and paused as a valet called the elevator for me. I got in and began riding up to the top floor. I took a minute to examine my reflection in the mirrored doors. I was becoming more self concious of the ripped hem on my linen pants, where my heel had caught earlier that day. I tried to scrunch some volume into my hair and pinch my cheeks for a little color before the doors opened, but it was obvious I had had a long day. I wiped some mascara flakes from under my eyes, smeared on some lipstick and stepped into the hall with a smile.

Everyone in the office was well coiffed, pressed and perfect, making me feel all the more self conscious when a tomato flew off my plate onto the brand new carpet. I tried to laugh this off, muttered an apology and grabbed a glass of wine. I glanced at my watch to see how many more minutes I needed to stay before I could respectfully excuse myself to drive home and climb into my pajamas. A girl about my age started talking to me, and I jumped in the conversation, hoping that we would chat, time would fly, and I could eventually escape to my car. The young woman explained that she does fundraising as a volunteer for the organization. She then launched into a monologue of how she never expected to be eliciting funds for a non profit because she was a lawyer. She talked to me about law school, and how I wouldn't know, but lawyers are very competitive, and she was lucky to have made life long friends in law school. She told me about her husband, an executive at some prestigious company, and how she refused to let him apply for a promotion out of state because she was a lawyer in Texas.

Neither of us had name tags on, but eventually this LAWYER stopped to ask me if I was originally from Dallas. I shook my head and explained that it was a long story, but my husband and I had moved to Texas so that he could complete a PhD program. She smiled, cocked her head and said, "Oh, I see. You are one of those women that just follows her husband around, huh?" Ouch. Everything that was racing through my head seemed to be stuck in my throat and I could not get any words out. I smiled and mumbled something, trying to defend my existence as more than a follower, but she was already moving towards someone whose presence she respected. I was livid. I said my goodbyes and grabbed my co-worker, telling her it was time to go. As I relayed the story, my coworker said, "Did you tell her that you have your law degree?" I said, "I tried to, but I couldn't get it in." And then my mother's words came back to me. "Besides" I said, "She didn't want to talk to me anyway. What was the point of trying to make her?"

I brooded over this woman's comment for the rest of the night. All the nasty things I wish I had said came tumbling out when I told Mike what had happened.  My favorite, "B**** - get out of my face!" made me feel a little better, but I really wished I had had the nerve to say something to her. I emailed a friend who simply said, "Rest up. Let it roll" which was really all that could be done. I went to bed and woke up feeling less angry and more hurt. Who was this girl to make assumptions about me? Why did I care what she thought? Regardless of my personal issues, I think this interaction is a nice reminder not to judge a book by its cover. You never know who, or what might be hiding in those ripped linen pants. Whether you have a fancy degree is not the issue - it is life experiences that make people interesting. So give people a chance to tell their story - you might just be surprised.

Soapbox

This picture and its story have been making its way around the internet lately. Have you seen it? The gist is that the new pastor of a mega church disguised himself as a homeless man before his first Sunday service. Since no one had ever met him, the pastor stood out only as a gritty, dirty man asking for money. During the 30 minutes that he walked around, only 3 people out of 7,000 to 10,000 acknowledged him. Not just to give him money, but to even say hello.

After the "mix and mingle," the pastor took a seat in the back of the church. Eventually, he was introduced and began walking towards the pulpit. Everyone stared, shocked and shamed, as the "homeless" man unveiled himself as the newest leader of their congregation. The final words to this story read, "Being a Christian is more than something you claim. It's something you live by and share with others."

Initially, I read this story and "liked" it. I read other comments that read, "Awesome message!" "Really makes you think!" but for some reason I couldn't shake a feeling of irritation. I told the story to my husband, and then again to my mom, but was unable to put a finger on why this parable really annoyed me. My final discussion with Mike led me to the conclusion that I do like this lesson - I just wish that it had gone a little deeper.

My bet is that many people left church that Sunday pondering whether or not they would talk to the next homeless man they meet. Maybe it was discussed over lunch, with some people boasting, "I bought McDonald's for a homeless guy a few weeks ago" or compensating with a statement along the lines of, "I hear what the pastor was trying to say, but he didn't take into account that homeless people can be dangerous. And they really don't want something to eat, they just want the money for drugs and alcohol."  At some point, these church members were able to convince themselves that they are not bad people, and were able to talk themselves out of the guilt and shame they may have felt that morning.

I think this story is a great way to make people examine their prejudices and perhaps consider a different reaction in the future. But what is really changing? If we all walk around smiling and saying hello to the homeless people on the streets, what is that going to do? Are we going to have a a bunch of cheery homeless people?

Every weekday, I drive to a house 40 minutes south of my home. For at least eight hours, I sit in an office and work with individuals who are homeless. I can assure you that a smile or a kind word would definitely have helped my clients when they were living on the streets. During that moment, they might not have felt so invisible and alone. That McDonald's lunch DID help - they were starving and you gave them something to eat. But at the end of the day, they were still homeless, with nothing to show for the life they have led.

I get annoyed when I hear people insinuating that being homeless is a choice. That it could have been prevented. What person would choose to live on the streets and be treated like the dregs of society? To be branded as a dangerous criminal when life veered off the path you originally planned? Can you imagine watching someone cross the street so that they do not have to acknowledge you? There are so many issues involved when someone is homeless and unfortunately, a smile or a McDonald's lunch can't fix them. There are mental health issues and substance abuse issues combined with a lack of education and a broken family structure that is most likely completely foreign to you and me. Mix it all together and you end up with a mess that is very hard for one person to sort out alone.

And yes, I am generalizing. I am very aware that one bad apple can ruin the bunch. But what if, instead of assuming that all of these individuals are bad, we assume that they are good? What if, instead of talking about giving someone on the streets a nod or a smile, we begin considering how we can offer both good and affordable mental health and substance abuse treatment? Sound crazy? Even crazier still, how about making sure that all children are receiving the same quality education, whether they are in public or private school, rich or poor. Maybe then, mental health issues would be caught and treated early, before someone starts hearing voices at work, is fired, misses some mortgage payments and ends up on the street.

Still crazy? Perhaps. But imagine it was you sitting on that street corner this afternoon. Today it is 105 degrees in Texas and I am chugging water to stay cool indoors. If I were searching for shade in this heat, carrying my life's belongings on my back and dealing with depression or another mental illness that I can't afford to take medication for, I would hope that there was someone else in my corner who was not just going to offer me an Egg McMuffin.