It is 6:30am and Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I are just on our way from our early morning walk. I turn the corner from the main avenue onto the street that leads to the cul de sac where we live when I see a man at the intersection further ahead, the one that leads into our little community along the river.
He crosses the street towards Beau and I, sees us, stops, stretches as if casually releasing a kink in his back and then turns left and slowly begins to walk along the avenue leading away from our cul de sac. He goes a few feet. Stops and begins to twist and turn his body as if stretching during a jog.
I am curious about his presence. He doesn’t look like a jogger. He looks dishevelled. Possibly under the influence. Suspicious.
I keep walking, turn into our cul de sac. The neighbour who lives at the corner, opens his front door. He is holding his cell phone in one hand as he calls out to me. “Get in here,” he says. And he waves his hand quickly, desperately trying to get my attention.
I stop and look at him. He waves again and repeats. “Get in here. Quickly.”
Beaumont and I walk into his house. His dog, a beautiful big brown lab, is locked behind a door. Barking.
Beau looks a bit bemused by it all. He sniffs and pulls towards the door from where he can hear the barking.
My neighbour says, “There’s a guy with a brick in his hand. I’m on the phone with police. I woke up to him pounding on my windows.”
Oh.
“The guy in the beige t-shirt and baggy sweatpants?” I ask.
And my neighbour keeps talking to the police while watching out his front window for the man.
“He walked away down the avenue,” I tell him. “Going east.”
He relays the information to the police.
Just then, the man in the beige t-shirt and baggy pants comes back into view, walking back towards our cul de sac.
“There’s nothing in his hands,” I tell my neighbour.
I watch him. His walk is unsteady. He steps into the middle of the intersection, bends down and scoops up the brick he’d been carrying before. He must have dropped it when he saw me walking up the street with Beau.
The man stands in the middle of the intersection. Undecided. He starts to walk further into the entrance to our cul de sac.
I go back outside. Beau goes with me.
“Excuse me,” I call out to the man. “Are you okay?”
He stops, looks at me where I stand on my neighbours front porch. He is standing in the middle of the road, about 30ft away.
“Are you?” he asks somewhat belligerently.
“I am,” I reply. “But I’m concerned about you. Are you okay?
He looks at me again. Kind of shrugs, shakes his shoulders. He starts to back away into the intersection.
“You might want to put the brick down,” I call out. “It scares people when they see someone walking around with a brick in their hand.”
He turns his back and begins to walk back along the avenue, away from me, brick in hand.
Because of construction on the main road, there is only parking on one side of the street along which he walks. I watch him toss the brick onto the street, away from the parked cars on the other side.
He turns to look back at me and gives me the not so nice high five finger before walking unsteadily away. I realize he’s probably not drunk. He is suffering from a condition that affects his ability to walk steadily.
I thank my neighbour for looking out for my safety and Beau and I walk home carrying the image of that man and his brick.
Was the brick to break in or to help him feel safe?
By his body language when I asked if he was okay, he was not accustomed to someone being concerned for his welfare.
He also didn’t like people watching him, suspiciously.
He was angry.
Belligerent.
Trying really hard to be scary.
More than anything he looked lost. Broken. Beaten down.
And my heart feels heavy.
See, that man with the brick. He was Indigenous. His black hair was tied in a pony tail that ran down his back all the way to his waist.
And yes, walking around a quiet neighbourhood with a brick in your hand, pounding on windows is not a good, nor legal, thing to do.
But, when I called out to him and asked if he was okay, he answered. When I suggested he put down the brick because it scared people, he did.
I don’t believe he was a bad man doing bad things. He was a desperate human being doing desperate things to ease his pain.
It doesn’t make what he was doing right. Pounding on windows is not a good thing to do. Nor is carrying a brick in your hand.
What is a good thing, however, is to see him through the lens of a human being, a man carrying a brick and a long history of pain and suffering that has brought him to this place where he walks around carrying a brick.
It doesn’t change that what he was doing was wrong. It does make me feel less afraid and more compassionate about his plight.
And so, I say a prayer for that man. I pray for him relief and comfort from the burdens he carries. And, I pray for him a safer, kinder road forward.
And I pray for me, and all my neighbours, the same.
_____________________________
There is an addendum to this story.
When I returned from the garden centre later this morning, the man with the brick was standing at the entrance to our cul de sac with another man and the woman who does her 15,000 steps every day walking the hill.
He had frightened her earlier by throwing the brick close to her feet and had come back in the hopes of finding his bike, which got lost sometime last night, and…
to apologize.
I stopped to speak with the trio where they stood at our entrance and he asked me, “Did you see me?” Did you see my bike?”
I talked with you, I told him and went on to tell him of our exchange.
“I am so sorry for scaring you,” he said. “I could have hurt you.”
I don’t believe you would have, I told him. I don’t believe that is your heart.
He also wanted to apologize to my neighbour at the corner but he was out, so I promised to relay his message.
“I don’t remember much,” he said. “I was so drunk. I must have passed out in the woods along the river and when I came to, my bike was gone and I was all messed up.”
And then he said, “If you ever see me drunk walking around here, promise you’ll tell me to go home.”
And I replied, “I will.”
It took great courage for him to come back and apologize. Great courage and heart.
Louise …. that reads like a powerful opening scene of an important play that needs to be written …
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Mark.
There is an addendum to this story.
When I returned from the garden centre later this morning, the man with the brick was standing at the entrance to our cul de sac with another man and the woman who does her 15,000 steps every day walking the hill.
He had frightened her earlier by throwing the brick close to her feet and had come back in the hopes of finding his bike, which got lost sometime last night, and…
to apologize.
I stopped to speak with the trio where they stood at our entrance and he asked me, “Did you see me?” Did you see my bike?”
I talked with you, I told him and went on to tell him of our exchange.
“I am so sorry for scaring you,” he said. “I could have hurt you.”
I don’t believe you would have, I told him. I don’t believe that is your heart.
He also wanted to apologize to my neighbour at the corner but he was out, so I promised to relay his message.
“I don’t remember much,” he said. “I was so drunk. I fell asleep in the woods along the river and when I came to, my bike was gone and I was all messed up.”
And then he said, “If you ever see me drunk walking around here, promise you’ll tell me to go home.”
And I replied, “I will.”
It took great courage for him to come back and apologize. Great courage and heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. At this at 6:30 am.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s never boring by the river David!
And… I gave an update to the story in my comment to Mark — it is really quite remarkable!
LikeLike
I am so happy for your understanding and compassion. Many people would have reacted differently.
LikeLiked by 1 person
When I was relaying the story to my youngest daughter later that morning when we were out walking our dogs, she said, “Amazing how those days of working at the DI still help.”
She’s right. The DI is the largest homeless shelter in Canada. Before Covid, 1,000 people slept there every night. Indigenous people are over-represented in the homeless population in Calgary — 30% for adult singles (the majority male) and for families, 60%.
I worked in the sector in Communications for almost 20 years, ending my career two years ago as the ED at a family shelter.
I am grateful for all it taught me about our shared human condition and the power of compassion.
Hugs Beth. Thank you. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s amazing
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. And such a testament to the man. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
The ‘testament to the man’ refers to my comment on Mark’s comment — he came back to apologize later that morning. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤️
LikeLike
It took courage to reach out. Am I right in thinking ” your gut” felt something was amiss and that a gentle human reaching out to him was the thing to do?
LikeLiked by 1 person
My gut knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I updated the story in my comments to Mark above. It is quite remarkable!
LikeLike
“see him through the lens of a human being” ❤️ If only that was our first thought.
LikeLiked by 2 people
My dream, dear Kelley, is that one day, it will be so for all of us. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hugs ❤️
LikeLike
The compassion you showed is such courage and kindness. It makes all the difference to him and the world. Fear stops us from simple acts of humanity.
LikeLiked by 2 people
So true — fear does stop us. Courage draws us out. Thank you. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙏🏼💛
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are amazing, most would be like your neighbour including me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was blessed Joanne with working in a place where our humanity called for compassionate responses every single day. ❤
LikeLike
I think your past, as your daughter said, helped you assess the situation. Your neighbour probably thought you were nuts but I feel like this was the right thing to do. Kudos to you and double kudos to him for apologizing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. It was quite remarkable and courageous of him to do so Bernie — Thank you. ❤
LikeLike
What an amazing encounter, Louise. Your compassion is profoundly moving. I don’t know if I would have been so brave. Maybe that poor man will seek help now…
LikeLiked by 1 person
This morning, on our early morning walk, Beau and I met the woman towards whom the man had tossed the brick. She told me that in between our encounter and his coming back, the police did pick him up and they took him home — I am grateful that compassion was also part of their response.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. That is both a sad and beautiful story. Compassion in action. Yes! 🌷
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. On the compassion front, even the police treated him with care when they picked him up and took him home to sleep it off. Very grateful. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bless you for being understanding, Louise. So many people would have reacted without kindness and who knows how it could have escalated. Everyone needs to be more empathetic, while of course being cautious!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Tiffany. I was grateful for my experience and learning from working in the hoemeless-serving sector for so many years. Compassion, empathy, non-violent crisis intervention — they are so very important in these encounters — and yes, empathetic while being cautious. ❤ Hugs
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely story. Thanks for sharing
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. ❤
LikeLike
What a morning! And good of you to stop and try to connect to him. He was definitely courageous to come back and try to apologise.
LikeLike