A couple of days ago, walking in downtown Charlotte, I stepped over a man sitting motionless on a street corner.
"I'm waiting for my sister," he told me, "I wait for her a lot." He sees her six days a week, every day but Sunday. She works at a restaurant and he waits for her. "I'd be lost without her."
He said that he has lived at the homeless shelter since 1991 and that he's handicapped ("I'm slow").
We planned to meet again, and he agreed to be recorded and photographed. His sister, when she got off work, said, "Tell your story, maybe people will understand you."
The following day, Kevin, who is 38, talked about his life. He said he moved with his mom to Charlotte from Florida in 2006, and then she moved on again, leaving him alone and homeless. Shortly after that, "in ninety-one," he began staying at the Men's Shelter of Greater Charlotte. "I went to the shelter in '91 and have been in the shelter from '91 until now." He didn't seem bothered by the discrepancy in the timeline–that he’d been homeless since 2006 but had been staying at the shelter since 1991. When it was brought to his attention, he just continued with his story.
He told about being robbed at gunpoint while waiting for the bus on Central Avenue to go to a previous job at the airport. "Out of nowhere this guy comes out of a car, walks straight toward me, puts a gun to my head and says, 'give me everything you got or die right here.'" Kevin gave him everything, including his cellphone, money and a sheaf of uncashed paychecks, and begged him not to shoot. "My eyes were on the trigger and I thought for sure he was going to pull it." Before getting into the car, the robber handed Kevin his ID and social security card and drove away. "I was so scared. I was like, 'I will never ever stand on Central again.'"
He talked about his mom and stepdad leaving Charlotte unexpectedly in 2006. He was living with them in a townhouse and one day he came home to find his belongings in a pile outside with a note saying they'd gone to Virginia. He gathered up his things, hid them in bushes around the city, and began sleeping on a bench near Discovery Place.
He told about a recent visit to his mother in Virginia but all he could think about was how much he missed his sister in Charlotte, with whom he talked daily on the phone. At one point he confessed to her, "Sis, I want to come back home to you–I hate it here." So he cut short the trip, and bought a bus ticket to Charlotte and once off the bus rushed to find her. When he reached her he was crying, and said he never wanted to leave her again. "I love my mom, but my sister has done more things for me than my mom."
Every month Kevin gets two checks in the mail from the government–for social security and disability. How much are thechecks? Kevin doesn't know, he brings the unopened envelopes directly to his sister, and she handles his money. Last year, after enough had accumulated, she helped him get into an apartment, but without a job he wasn't able to pay the bills and ended up back in the shelter.
He talked about how his sister is helping him learn social skills, encouraging him to stand up straight, walk without shuffling,teaching him how to count money, dress himself neatly and how to respect personal space. "Every time I'm with her she's always telling me something to make me learn…I have a habit of doing this," he dangles his left hand loosely in front of his chest, "and she tells me 'stop it.'"
The reoccurring theme of the conversation with Kevin was his love for his sister and gratitude for her role in his life. "I tell her all the time, 'Hey Sis, I love you,' and she says, "I love you too.'" Every topic and aspect of the conversation somehow came back to his sister, something she'd said to him, done for him or how much he loves her. "We're so close. Ever since my mom has left, my sister has taken over. She's done a lot for me."
The most surprising aspect of their relationship is that she isn't his sister. There's no relation. This woman he sees six days a week, who helps him manage his money, who constantly gives him advice, and who encourages him daily is someone he's known for just three years. They were connected when she volunteered to serve in the Big Brothers Big Sisters mentoring program.
He was a wreck when they first met, he said, but now his life is turning around. "When I heard her say she wanted to adopt me as her brother, I cried. I thought nobody wanted to bother with me because of the way I look or the way I'd been living."
Later, when speaking with his with his sister-mentor, it became quickly clear why he adores her so much: she treats him like a little brother. In other words, she's hard on him. She rebuked him for not looking for a job and then contradicted his own rosy account of his job search. She said, "He's got plenty of money, but if he wants it, he needs to get a job." As Kevin stood listening, she offered a long and animated list of habits and behaviors that he needs to change in order to be a successful citizen. When asked if he wants to make the necessary changes, he said yes.
What if every homeless man, woman and child in Charlotte had a mentor like Kevin's "sister"? Imagine a legion of people willing to sacrifice time each day, setting aside their own lives to help our region’s neediest people. What if every broken, discarded and neglected person was paired with one caring individual who faithfully called them each day with words of encouragement and confident hope; who visited them in their need and assisted them in times of trial? Imagine mentors who are tough, pushy, have high standards for those they’re helping and always do it with love.
No doubt there are plenty those people out there, operating beneath the radar of public notice, changing lives with their love. But we need an army of servants like these, each quietly making a difference in a single person’s life.
"Now I think my life is pretty good," Kevin said. "You have to appreciate what you have and not complain about it." He is thankful for the Men's Shelter and for its amenities, like food, showers, and beds. It isn't perfect, but when he thinks about the alternative of sleeping outside, he's grateful. "I'm really lucky to have a place to come to like the shelter."
Even so, he doesn't want to make the shelter his permanent home. "I'd rather be in my own place," he said, paused and added, "with my sister."
Find more photos of Kevin on Flickr.
