Knowing full well that I wouldn't be traveling back to Ontario this season to visit my family and take part in our Christmas tradition: a Christmas morning trek to the Good Neighbour Club in downtown Toronto where we spend 4 or 5 hours preparing for, serving, and cleaning up after breakfast for hundreds of Toronto's homeless, I knew I had to do some sort of "feel good" experiment here on my own.
The Good Neighbour Club experience has, for the past 7 years or so, been a source of both heart-wrenching sadness and heart-warming glee. It's a time when I always realize how fortunate I am.
This year, Paul and I decided to make gourmet turkey sandwiches with our leftover turkey dinner and walk them down to our less fortunate friends on the East Side (Canada's "ghetto" as it has been referred) to ensure that they, too, had the opportunity to eat well this season.
The idea was met with both praise and repulsion. One friend said to Paul: "She's taking you to the East Side? You don't want to go there." And, although he knew that I wouldn't take him anywhere unsafe or where we may be in jeopardy, he was cautiously optimistic.
On December 29th, we woke up early, bought some fresh multi-grain bread from the bakery, some organic veggies, some mayo, etc and began our assembly line of excellent sandwich-making. Our 3-inch thick sandwiches were loaded with cranberries, turkey, mayo, tomatoes, lettuce, mozzarella, and more. We coupled them with tangerines and cereal bars, tied a ribbon around our little packages, and a note that read: "You ARE important. We believe in you. You can do anything (it's true!)"
We made 24 meal kits in all, packed our shopping bags full, and began our 8 k walk to the East Side.
"Where are the homeless people in this city?" Paul joked after 45 minutes of walking downtown and no sign of anyone in dire need of a sandwich.
"Just wait," I said. "They are all in a three block span. We're almost there."
The downtown East Side is probably THE saddest place I have ever seen. It is also a four-block span that both appalled me and frightened me when I first saw it. Once you cross Carroll and Hastings, the buildings are instantly grim, the people are sad, and the air is desperate. There are hundreds (literally) of homeless and impoverished men, women, and children roaming the streets, selling garbage for pennies, shooting up heroin in the daylight, profferring sex for money, stumbling around, leaning against buildings, sitting on stoops, being sad. It is a shame that this place exists in Canada. In the world, actually.
The worst part is that most people here in Vancouver try to pretend it doesn't exit. Because it is just a four-block concentrated area of poverty, most people overlook it. It's kind of like litter when you see it on the street. Most people just get angry that it's there but keep walking. A minority will actually stop and pick it up. Paying attention and doing something is what makes a difference.
When we crossed Hastings and Carroll into the hear tof the downtown East Side, Paul let out an overwhelmed and quiet "whoa."
"Ask him" I said and nudged Paul to speak to a jittery young man pacing on the street edge.
He asked if he would like a sandwich; the man looked into his eyes and said "Thank you."
There's something to be said for asking a homeless person if they would like some help. They are people too. And they have their pride.
Within five minutes (quite literally), our bags were empty, all of the sandwiches were gone, and what we once thought was a huge heap of food suddenly seemed small and inconsequential. There were at least 100 more people outside on the street at that very moment that would have appreciated a bite to eat.
Once we started handing out food, people crawled out from the woodwork. News of free food spread like wildfire and we instantly had a small and gracious crowd of people asking us if it was true. Were we giving out food?
When it was all said and done, Paul looked at me and said: "Those were 24 of the most gracious and genuine Thank Yous I have ever received in my life. Thank you for taking me here."
We crossed over Hastings and Carroll again to the West Side, and the street lamps lit up, and the people looked richer, and the bustle of the season hummed with glee. We were changed people. It sounds dramatic, but it's not. Making that crossover — literally 20 steps across a street — is a painfully obvious divide between rich and poor, fortunate and unfortunate. It is, by my experience, the saddest place on earth. And all of those people are just down on their luck. They need a friend. They need someone to love them. They need someone to believe in them. And they need a sandwich...
We'll be back again. And not just at Christmas. Every time we have a little extra food or money or time, we will be back. Because it matters. Those people matter.
And I've never in my life been more grateful for the roof over my head and the love in my life. Man, does it make a difference.
