“Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.” –Christian Morganstern
First let me start by stating, every other day or so I get the privilege of going to the 7-11 off of Broadway (which is a very “eclectic” street for lack of a better word,) but our neighborhood none the less. Now, I have seen some strange things in my life, but nothing ever quite compares to the daily dose of crazy that lurks inside the city of Denver…a kind of crazy I have grown to love if not admire.
So, there I was at 6:30 in the morning waiting patiently in the car for my boytoy who is once again standing in line at 7-11. I have done my usual “serial killer/rapist” check, noticing a few questionables…and I proceed to lock all the doors while trying not to seem racist to the nice black man in the beat up car to my left. Wishing he understood that it was the other homeless man who is fighting with an imaginary person that I am really more concerned with. It was a busy morning. My attention quickly focuses on the man who is standing near the dumpster talking loudly on his cell phone, he looks like the usual dirty Denverite. I imagined that one of those cars belonged to him, and he was on his way to a gritty construction job…or perhaps he was waiting for the bus? As he hangs up, he turns and starts looking in the dumpster *a light bulb comes on (dim) but on, ah, he works for waste management, this is all starting to make sense! He then jumps into the dumpster with a hop in his step and a smitten little grin…I did a double take, as he roots around some more (now this is a man of about 6ft, so when he is standing in the dumpster you can see him from the chest up.) Then I guess he went back to bed, because he never did come back out of that dumpster? So many questions are running through my head, like who was he CALLING? Does he not get reception in the dumpster? House than phone? But, more so…what really makes a home?
A home is more than a roof to keep out of the rain, four walls to keep out the wind, and floors to keep out the cold- because on the outside the dumpster has all those amenities, but a home is something entirely different.
Home is the one place in the world I know that I can always go to, it’s a place where the amount of love and support outweighs any of life's problems. It’s the laughter and smell of my mom, its my dad’s cooking and the look he gives me that assures me that he would never let anything hurt me. It’s the place where mistakes are celebrated and learned from, where your soul goes to grow, and the one place where being me is an achievement within itself. It’s where angels are disguised as little brothers and friends are family, and family are friends.
So you can take the walls, floor, and roof out of my equation because no matter what I will always have a home…and when in doubt, I’m sure I could always have a dumpster J
First let me start by stating, every other day or so I get the privilege of going to the 7-11 off of Broadway (which is a very “eclectic” street for lack of a better word,) but our neighborhood none the less. Now, I have seen some strange things in my life, but nothing ever quite compares to the daily dose of crazy that lurks inside the city of Denver…a kind of crazy I have grown to love if not admire.
So, there I was at 6:30 in the morning waiting patiently in the car for my boytoy who is once again standing in line at 7-11. I have done my usual “serial killer/rapist” check, noticing a few questionables…and I proceed to lock all the doors while trying not to seem racist to the nice black man in the beat up car to my left. Wishing he understood that it was the other homeless man who is fighting with an imaginary person that I am really more concerned with. It was a busy morning. My attention quickly focuses on the man who is standing near the dumpster talking loudly on his cell phone, he looks like the usual dirty Denverite. I imagined that one of those cars belonged to him, and he was on his way to a gritty construction job…or perhaps he was waiting for the bus? As he hangs up, he turns and starts looking in the dumpster *a light bulb comes on (dim) but on, ah, he works for waste management, this is all starting to make sense! He then jumps into the dumpster with a hop in his step and a smitten little grin…I did a double take, as he roots around some more (now this is a man of about 6ft, so when he is standing in the dumpster you can see him from the chest up.) Then I guess he went back to bed, because he never did come back out of that dumpster? So many questions are running through my head, like who was he CALLING? Does he not get reception in the dumpster? House than phone? But, more so…what really makes a home?
A home is more than a roof to keep out of the rain, four walls to keep out the wind, and floors to keep out the cold- because on the outside the dumpster has all those amenities, but a home is something entirely different.
Home is the one place in the world I know that I can always go to, it’s a place where the amount of love and support outweighs any of life's problems. It’s the laughter and smell of my mom, its my dad’s cooking and the look he gives me that assures me that he would never let anything hurt me. It’s the place where mistakes are celebrated and learned from, where your soul goes to grow, and the one place where being me is an achievement within itself. It’s where angels are disguised as little brothers and friends are family, and family are friends.
So you can take the walls, floor, and roof out of my equation because no matter what I will always have a home…and when in doubt, I’m sure I could always have a dumpster J
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