by Annette Shaw

Recently on a Saturday morning while ignoring my traditional routine, I opted to make a run to my local Albertson's bakery to acquire some donuts for a nutritional family breakfast. In doing so, I swung my car into its usual parking spot as if on auto drive. I opened my door on this unusually brisk morning to witness something that shook my comfy cozy surroundings. A mother and father were standing against a jalopy of a car the color of an Olympic gold metal gone unpolished for aeons. But what I saw, past the father's cardboard sign, was a gut wrenching sight of three children peering out of the auto's open window. Although these children had uncombed hair, dirty faces and runny noses, they bore mischievous grins like any other deserving child in America. I didn't even read the sign. It didn't matter. I'd read many cardboard signs in downtown Seattle enough to know the usual request. I turned on my heel, as if on auto, not unlike my car, with a heavy heart. I lamented on what action to take, if any, in this situation I'd regrettably stumbled upon in my carefree morning where my biggest concern was the reckless breakfast I was about to feed my family.

There are certain things I expected from working in downtown Seattle: a long commute, that odorous aroma of century old buildings and dealing with the homeless in their public expression of poverty. My usual response was a defensive maneuver, ignore and walk around them on my way to work. If I was directly confronted by a transient, I would avoided any eye contact and deny assistance. This harsh policy came as a result of a mistake I once made by giving to a homeless peddler. He then issued a campaign to hound me on my walking route to work for weeks begging for more money.

However, this was not Seattle, not even Spokane, this was Liberty Lake, WA, a small rural community of working families containing a grocery store, a post office and a school. This family was here proclaiming their disparity. This family living in their broken and beaten down car represented the quandary of the rural homeless; despite government programs and community involvement, they exist without being counted.

Rural areas are not as equipped to house and care for the homeless as urban areas. In fact, the definition of homelessness differs greatly between urban and rural homelessness. According to The National Coalition for the Homeless, "There are far fewer shelters in rural areas; therefore, people experiencing homelessness are less likely to live on the street or in a shelter, and more likely to live in a car or camper, or with relatives in overcrowded or substandard housing." This difference of the homeless out in the open or habituating in a broken down vehicle enables HUD, the government agency that provides assistance to the homeless to refine their definition to those who the general public most often run into; mainly those on the street out in the open. This is also a favored definition amongst politicians. According to an article written by Joel Blau's, The Visible Poor, "…people in shelters; people in shelters and the streets; or people in shelters, the streets, and at risk of losing their current housing"(171-72), is most often used to define the homeless to produce the lowest numbers, thus enhancing political gains. When in fact, there are few shelters in rural areas and people living in their cars or temporarily housing with relatives are not considered homeless by this limited definition. Consequently measuring such data of homeless people in rural areas is difficult by nature.

Counting the number of the rural homeless to compare those of the urban areas is almost impossible. Even HUD and the Census are only able to make probable guesses based on individual states. There is no definite count of the rural homeless nation wide published. In doing so they might compromise funding reserved for urban areas.

Upon entering the store with this new dilemma, I conceded that this family, because of the limited resources in our area, was deserving of an individual handout. I know this acknowledgement of my revelation seems pretentious, but nevertheless my conscious allowed me to overlook my arrogance. While in the store, I bought the doughnuts for my family along with some other items I needed. I also bought some basic necessities, such as diaper wipes, a gallon of whole milk, a loaf of bread, a pound of roast beef and a bunch of bananas. I asked that these items be bagged separately and added a twenty-dollar bill to the bag before exiting to the store. I strolled apprehensively to my vehicle making eye contact only with the father while handing him the bag. With a loss for words, the mother spoke first pleading, "thank you" while looking down the entire time during the exchange. The father never uttered a word, but threw his eyes I received a range of emotions from 'thanks' to 'anger of desperation.' I didn't linger on the moment. I again turned on my heel and walked to my car with my own groceries, never looking over my shoulder hoping the best for them and being very thankful that I myself was not in the possession of that father's eyes.

Today in America our urban homeless are numerous and apparent for the world to see. Our rural homeless are less fortunate and need individuals as well as public support and recognition. For we could easily be one of theme on any given day.

Works Cited

Blau, Joel. "The Visible Poor." From Community to College. Ed. Jeff Sommers and Cynthia Lewiecki-Wilson. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1996. 165-74.

"Rural Homelessness." Online posting. National Coalition for the Homeless. Mar. 1999 <http://nch.ari.net/rural.htmlhttp://nch.ari.net/rural.html >.