Toast and Juice

Last summer I spent a lot of time with the homeless individuals in Springfield. My favorite was Toast. The first time I met Toast I was sitting on a park bench on the square downtown with my roommate, Paige. As we sat a young man came over to us. He smiled as he smashed is hands flat against one another, began forming his palms and fingers around an invisible sphere, rolled it around a bit over his head and behind his back, then handed it to me to eat. It was an energy orb. It was meant to give me joy and happiness, and for some reason it did.

Over the following months I spent several nights downtown each week with Toast and other individuals without a place to live. I learned of the life they lived; never knowing where their next meal would come from, hearing about the newest abandoned house for them to seek shelter on rainy nights, listening to stories of their few possessions being stolen, and how rare it was for members of the community to express care and generosity to their brothers on the street. 

While it wasn't uncommon to encounter these men drunk or on drugs (honestly who could blame them) they seemed to keep their chin up more often than I think I would. This was especially true of Toast. At the age of 16 his mother had thrown him out of her house. She was an addict and was convinced that her son was after her stash. Now, at the age of 17, this young man had experienced more than anyone his age should. He had been beaten, abandoned, cast out, arrested for sleeping in parks, robbed, and "lost his face" to drugs, which he claimed he never got back. This kid was fried, hence his street name, Toast. Despite all of this, I never saw Toast without a grin on his face and the deepest love in his heart. 

One day I asked Toast why he was always so happy. He responded, "I'm like a cup of juice. Sometimes I spill, and that's bad. But then I just drink myself and everything is better. Sometimes when others are sad I give them some juice because it will make them better too."

We all spill over, lose confidence, get angry, become sad or depressed, lose focus…but we grow by spending time on our own and learning just from ourselves and what is around us. If we spill too much there is nothing we can do to contribute to individuals or the community around us. It is only when we have filled ourselves up that we have enough to share.

That's a pretty cool lesson to learn from a 17-year-old homeless kid.








*Artwork by my beautifully talented sister, Carsen Miller.