2 of 28

Write now Article Tools

Restless Vagabonds in Chains

For the sake of this article on homelessness, I'm about to do something I rarely do: disclose a somewhat personal insight into my life. While I'm not particularly fond of the story, I do believe its history and experience brings a somewhat unique perspective, to this highly charged social issue.

Homelessness sounds so lonely and misfortunate. Depending upon your particular world view, the very mention of the word strikes a chord of sympathy or it inflames a feeling of contempt. Either way, there is little chance the homeless will escape a certain stigma that just seems to go with the territory. On the other hand, the very mention of the vagabond, seems to conjure up pulp fiction images of footloose, free spirited romantics on endless adventures. My particular adventure began on an October morning shortly before dawn, when I was born to an unwed, sixteen year old mother in 1955. Almost immediately I became a ward of the state. It's incomprehensible to think that, over the course of the next two years, I would be placed with seven temporary foster homes.

When I was two, I was returned to the home of my grandparents who took oversight till I was five, whereupon, I was enlisted for my eighth and final foster home. I remained there till I was thirteen and then returned to my biological mother and step father. Before the transition from my last foster home, I learned that my future step dad was a long distance truck driver. For some reason, that I am still at a loss to explain, the idea of a long distance truck driver seemed to light a fire deep down inside.

I would soon learn that life with mom and dad was anything but stable. I had my first of many experiences with mobile homes. I have nothing against mobile homes. My point for the sake of this article is that mobile homes have wheels for a good reason: they are by design, built for mobility and mobile we were. Over the next three years, we must have moved more than five times and I changed schools at least three times. My grades went from A's and B's to D's and below. That didn't seem to matter very much though because I had developed a strong passion for the life of open roads, on a long distance truck and I traveled with my step dad frequently. While I wasn't homeless technically, I was certainly on my way to becoming that footloose, free spirited vagabond. I was struck with a care free, irresponsible wanderlust.

My next course in social grace came with an introduction to full

• 1
• 2
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Assessing the issue of homelessness in the USA?
We want to hear your view. Write now!