I got an email today from our new head of school. It read in part:
At approximately 9:15 this morning, the body of a 39-year-old homeless male was discovered adjacent to the main parking lot between the south wall of the school and the bushes. The police and coroner came and went without incident. The children are unaware of what occurred, other than some noticed the police cruiser parked in the lot.
Jane was aware. In sixth grade they are becoming aware of everything. Alexander hadn’t noticed that his school was locked down. Same school, same event, two very different kids.
So when I picked the kids up from school this afternoon I was trying to prepare myself for the questions they would have. The kids hopped in the car just after three o’clock and I asked them how the day was.
Alexander had a great day, but Jane said that they were in “lockdown because of a hobo problem”. I gently corrected her, “It was a homeless man, and he died.”
“He did die? See the girls said he died and that they saw the dead doctor [coroner?] at school, but I didn’t believe them, and the boys said that it was probably a fight, and the security guard didn’t tell us anything.” As is customary she said it all in one big breath.
“Wait, what do you mean he died?” Alexander interrupted.
“I’m not sure about the details honey, but this morning a man died near the school. It’s very sad whenever someone dies.” I said.
“Who was he?” They both asked.
“I don’t know” Was my reply.
“Why did he die?” Someone asked. I was white knuckle, driving, hoping they wouldn’t ask me any difficult questions.
“I don’t know.” Was my next honest reply.
“Do you think he was murdered?” Alexander asked.
“Possibly,” I said, “though I hope not.”
“Where will he be buried?” Jane asked.
“I don’t know. If you’re homeless sometimes people don’t really know your name, so I think the city just does their best. Do you have any other questions?” I asked the kids.
“How old was he?” Alexander asked.
I blinked back tears, “thirty nine.” That’s one year younger than I. That’s just not long enough for anyone to live.
I pulled the car over.
And we talked about what a corner does. We talked about food pantries, and how important it is for us to buy good quality food for the pantry each week so people don’t have to decide between food and rent, and maybe they won’t have to be homeless. The kids recognized that he died because of homelessness.
And we talked about how homeless people are just like us, except that even if, even if, and even if a thousand different scenarios happened Jane and Alexander would have a home. A real home. And then I silently thanked G-d because I wasn’t lying to my kids, because with a thousand different bad luck scenarios taking place, my family would always be there. All my kids wanted to know was that they were safe. I could tell them they were. Honestly.
And then we all cried a little. Because Los Angeles is too rich to have people dying on the street.