When the Man in Front of Me Simply Wants to be Seen

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Several weeks ago, I needed to run an errand that took me into the city, where I had an experience that I am still thinking about…and having a hard time shaking.

Since I live about 25 miles outside the downtown Denver area, it’s not often that I have a need to go there, aside from arts and cultural events, or the occasional evening or weekend away. In fact, it’s not often I need to leave the confines of my Mayberry-like suburban town at all. (Or maybe it’s just that all the shuttling of my kids leaves me with precious little time to even think about venturing out further.)

The errand I needed to run wasn’t to the downtown Denver area. It was probably as far on the outskirts of Denver as your can get and still be considered within city limits. But as I returned to my car after running into the office building, I saw a man who appeared to be homeless, walking up to woman sitting outside on a bench.

The man looked disheveled and dirty, and I started walking a little quicker to my car than I normally might have to get safely inside.

That was actually the thought I remember having…wanting to get somewhere safe.

It wasn’t nighttime or even close to getting dark outside. But because I was in an unfamiliar area that was decidedly more city-like than my town, I consciously thought about my safety. I also remember feeling irritated that men don’t have to worry about things like that. Would a man have started walking faster to his car, or changed the way he was carrying his keys, in order to use them in self-defense in case it was necessary?

I want to be clear, first of all, that I have a giant bleeding heart. I am that person who will always hand a few dollars to a homeless person I see by the highway off-ramp if I have it, and if it’s convenient enough to hand it to him or her between green lights. At one point in the past few years, I made sure I had McDonald’s gift cards in my glove compartment to hand out, as it seemed like I never carried cash anymore.

So on this particular day, I felt confident that my reaction to this man walking through the parking lot was not about him being homeless and worrying about him asking me for money. Instead, it was all about my safety and not feeling comfortable in this unfamiliar area of the city.

When I reached my car, I immediately locked the doors. Which I tried to blame on growing up with a retired Fire Chief as a dad, who locked everything all the time—and not at all about this particular gentleman.

As I breathed a sigh of relief, I looked down at my phone to answer a quick text before driving back home. When the knock on my window happened, I wasn’t expecting it and it scared the daylights out of me. I had simply assumed that the man would have kept walking and not approach me in my car.

I looked into the man’s eyes, and he immediately held up his hands, apologizing for scaring me. Not really knowing what to do, I rolled down the window and felt comforted when I could see the woman behind him, still sitting on the bench, watching us.

When I opened the window, it was like lifting the veil between what I was seeing and what was really there. The man had a sweet, gentle voice, and perhaps the kindest eyes I had ever seen. He told me that he and his daughter, who was not with him, were homeless after a bad car accident, and that the recurring medical bills left him unable to keep up with his bills, including their rent.

He asked if I had any money at all to spare, and I knew on this day that I actually did have a few dollars in my wallet. I told him that I think I did, but that it was only a couple of one-dollar bills. He said he would be grateful for anything, even if it was just spare change.

I pulled out the money and handed it to him, while I told him I was sorry for the tough time that he was going through. At that point, he asked me if he could show me a picture of what he usually looks like. I thought it was an odd thing to ask, but told him yes, not really understanding.

He pulled out his wallet, and showed me his driver’s license and told me that he was veteran. He said he just wanted to show me that he cleans up pretty well and that he doesn’t usually look like this.

What I saw in the photo was a man filled with pride and dignity, and confident in his good looks. As he shyly showed me the picture of himself, he repeated the fact that he just wanted me to know that he doesn’t usually look like this, and that he simply couldn’t afford a haircut or beard trim lately.

But what I know now is that he just really wanted to be seen.

And until that moment, I was most definitely not seeing him. Even though he was standing right in front of me and I was handing him money. I still wasn’t seeing him.

But when he showed me that picture and I was able to see his humanity, I saw very clearly.

I hate now that it took him showing me that picture to see the man—the human being—that he was under the long hair and unbathed skin. And ever since then, I’ve been wishing for a second chance with that man. I wish I had seen him—truly seen him—earlier, and been less worried about what might happen to me.

Maybe I would have done the same thing, but maybe not. Maybe I would have seen him and instantly realized how the majority of us are only a few paychecks or one medical catastrophe away from his situation.

Maybe not.

But he has definitely stuck with me, and I will think about him the next time I am approached.

The next time someone is standing in front of me, simply wanting to be seen.