Mending Bridges

Last night we taught at the Salvation Army to a group of veterans living there. I didn't realize just how stressed I was about it until we were about to walk in the door of the classroom (read: cafeteria).

I drove myself to the Salvation Army, an adventure in itself as I'm new to this town, around 6:00. I had no idea how serious Salvation Armies are, and I suppose it's because when I think of the Salvation Army my mind conjures up images of the store front windows of the SA in my small hometown where consignment clothes and other things are sold. The shelter, however, is a completely different concept. Upon entering the building, one goes through a metal detector the likes of which you see in an airport. Then you sign in at the front desk, and the receptionist unlocks the first door to lead you into a corridor. After a series of locked doors, one finally arrives in the heart of the shelter. Before you know it, you're in the midst of homeless veterans, yelling up and down the hallway at one another and shuffling past you, the obvious intruder. All this was, of course, a bit jarring to me, but my supervisors seemed undeterred and walked into the cafeteria/classroom with ease. I followed, afraid to make eye contact with the motley crue of veterans that were required to be with us.

It's important that you know that these classes, for the veterans at least, are mandatory. And a few of them are quick to let us know that they did not choose to be there but are required. One, in fact, continually complained about the length of the class (which, in reality and with a positive attitude, the 2 hours flies by) and chose not to participate at all. He refused to sign any consent forms or complete the pre-class survey. He went so far as to offer our free pen back to us, but we told him to keep it. For the rest of the class, he sat back with a sour grimace on his face and his arms folded decidedly across his chest, interrupting once or twice to remind us he wanted out early.

Aside from our one "bad apple," it was really encouraging to interact with the other veterans. The men who had at first seemed a bit frightening to me quickly became men with stories and complicated pasts. One man shared about his seven children--the obvious highlight of his lifetime, his struggle with drugs and alcohol, and his time in the armed forces. Another man told of his honorable discharge from the navy and his desire to go to school, graduate with honors, and eventually be an executive chef. The youngest man in the class talked briefly about his plans to write a novel. It was really uplifting to see these men receptive to our cause, searching for empowerment and someone to believe in them.

For the most part, I was merely an observer, but I hope to become more active in the classes and play some sort of role in the achievement of these down-and-out veterans' goals.