I once met an old man who made his own jewelry. He was incredibly proud of his work and had several pieces to show me. He explained to me what the colors and patterns of the beads signified. He had been making jewelry since he was a child. It was a skill that had been passed on to him from his father.

I once met a young man who was a gifted musician and poet. He did not play a musical instrument, but rather, he used spoken word to create dynamic, emotionally charged verses about the challenges of street life in our city.

I once met a woman who awed me with her fierce determination and strength . She was proud and beautiful. She was not above asking for help when she needed to, but would not compromise her principles for personal gain.

I once met a father who had a strong face, but a broken heart. He was in search of his daughter whom he had not heard from in far too long. He was hopeful, but acutely aware that the odds were not in her favor. He knew he would most likely never see her again.

I once met a clown who could make you laugh at the drop of a hat. He joked about himself, he joked about friends in a way that made them laugh. He joked about the authority figures that hounded him. He did not let his own misfortune make him a bitter person.

I once met a teacher who was kind and patient. She was proud of her heritage and culture, including her language. She taught me phrases in her language and helped me with the proper pronunciations.

I once met a traveler who was bursting with stories to tell about his adventures. He enthusiastically told me about the places he had been and what he had seen.

I met these people on the streets of my city. These are forgotten souls that we walk right by, or cross the street to avoid. We are concerned that they are ruining our city landscape so we make every effort to push them out of sight. We have no interest in the circumstances that led to them being there and see them, not society, as the problem. We certainly do not stop and chat.

But if we did stop and chat, we may begin to see them as people. People like you and I, who have been dealt a bad hand. Factors such as generational trauma, mental illness, physical illness have led to poverty, addiction and homelessness. Understanding this can be frightening, because it then follows that the man or woman on the corner could quite easily be you or me.