How I became Homeless: By Jim Mandelin
My whole childhood was filled with violence.
My mother escaped that violence.
She ran away when I was three, brother was one, she was only 18.
She never came back. I never got one hug after that. I became homeless!
My Father was a member of the Klu Klux Klan
He drank, then beat up everyone, including me. He would punch me to ground and when I could stand up and not cry, He would say, “That’s my Boy” “Gotta be tough”
My Father sexually assaulted me in his drunken darkness.
His sister molested me by night.
By day she was just mean, I was terrified by 4, peed my bed until fifteen.
My uncle beat me often, I never knew why.
See, I was always a good kid, always obeyed.
One day at gun point uncle made my brother and I kill our puppies. I was twelve and brother was 10.
He made us hold the puppy’s heads under water, they all died,
I started to hate that day and Crime entered my life.
I was bullied every day at school. Even some teachers were cruel, One teacher, wouldn’t let me go to the toilet, I pooped my pants 6 times that year, in her class.
She gave me the strap for it, I was in grade two, I was only 7 years old
I endured several concussions from older kids who bullied me, through smash downs, an attempted drowning, and many suffocation attempts,
I was afraid to go to school and afraid to go home!
Severe Poverty is what I have had to live with as a kid, never had a pair of shoes that fit.
Never saw doctor or a dentist, pulled one of my own teeth out, used a pair of pliers, was only 11 at the time.
Slept on a spring mattress, with no padding on.
I did have a grandmother, who needed me for personal health care (In wheelchair throughout my childhood) and she did not abuse me.
It seemed to me that I was the only one to help her, took care of her, hugged her when she would cry, defended her when her adult children became mean to her.
That spark of love I felt for her would come to save me later
So, at 15, I too escaped the violence, but then, in the streets, there was just a different kind.
Fear and Poverty was my constant companions, could not even stay in a shelter, lived with men attempting to touch me.
I was homeless, became a drug user, drug dealer and I went to prison.
In prison I was recruited into a gang, where I finally got a hug.
My new gang family swept me up, then, soon, I too became violent.
At 22, a drug and alcohol seizure led to my cardiac arrest, and I was pronounced dead.
That was over 45 years ago, and I am still here.
With the help of some remarkable counsellors,
I forgave myself, my family, and, I have moved on.
I pride myself on becoming vulnerable, this has become my greatest strength I learned that hurt people, hurt people.
Now, I dedicate my life to helping hurt people, heal that hurt.
In my place of death, I had an epiphany which brought me back to life.
What was my epiphany you ask; “I experienced a few random acts of kindness by strangers scattered throughout my young life”
While I was in this place of death, I was puzzled when these random acts of kindness came to my realization and it made me ask the questions,
“Is that what love is, what love feels like, and why didn’t these strangers take something from me”
I stated to myself, “maybe I need love like my Grandma needed love”
I found this love in Alcoholic Anonymous, not with everyone but with a few key people, in counselling and this love has carried me through my life, now I pass it forward!!
I dedicate this poem to all the people, who have stories were like mine, who's stories will never be told because, they didn't survive.
My whole childhood was filled with violence.
My mother escaped that violence.
She ran away when I was three, brother was one, she was only 18.
She never came back. I never got one hug after that. I became homeless!
My Father was a member of the Klu Klux Klan
He drank, then beat up everyone, including me. He would punch me to ground and when I could stand up and not cry, He would say, “That’s my Boy” “Gotta be tough”
My Father sexually assaulted me in his drunken darkness.
His sister molested me by night.
By day she was just mean, I was terrified by 4, peed my bed until fifteen.
My uncle beat me often, I never knew why.
See, I was always a good kid, always obeyed.
One day at gun point uncle made my brother and I kill our puppies. I was twelve and brother was 10.
He made us hold the puppy’s heads under water, they all died,
I started to hate that day and Crime entered my life.
I was bullied every day at school. Even some teachers were cruel, One teacher, wouldn’t let me go to the toilet, I pooped my pants 6 times that year, in her class.
She gave me the strap for it, I was in grade two, I was only 7 years old
I endured several concussions from older kids who bullied me, through smash downs, an attempted drowning, and many suffocation attempts,
I was afraid to go to school and afraid to go home!
Severe Poverty is what I have had to live with as a kid, never had a pair of shoes that fit.
Never saw doctor or a dentist, pulled one of my own teeth out, used a pair of pliers, was only 11 at the time.
Slept on a spring mattress, with no padding on.
I did have a grandmother, who needed me for personal health care (In wheelchair throughout my childhood) and she did not abuse me.
It seemed to me that I was the only one to help her, took care of her, hugged her when she would cry, defended her when her adult children became mean to her.
That spark of love I felt for her would come to save me later
So, at 15, I too escaped the violence, but then, in the streets, there was just a different kind.
Fear and Poverty was my constant companions, could not even stay in a shelter, lived with men attempting to touch me.
I was homeless, became a drug user, drug dealer and I went to prison.
In prison I was recruited into a gang, where I finally got a hug.
My new gang family swept me up, then, soon, I too became violent.
At 22, a drug and alcohol seizure led to my cardiac arrest, and I was pronounced dead.
That was over 45 years ago, and I am still here.
With the help of some remarkable counsellors,
I forgave myself, my family, and, I have moved on.
I pride myself on becoming vulnerable, this has become my greatest strength I learned that hurt people, hurt people.
Now, I dedicate my life to helping hurt people, heal that hurt.
In my place of death, I had an epiphany which brought me back to life.
What was my epiphany you ask; “I experienced a few random acts of kindness by strangers scattered throughout my young life”
While I was in this place of death, I was puzzled when these random acts of kindness came to my realization and it made me ask the questions,
“Is that what love is, what love feels like, and why didn’t these strangers take something from me”
I stated to myself, “maybe I need love like my Grandma needed love”
I found this love in Alcoholic Anonymous, not with everyone but with a few key people, in counselling and this love has carried me through my life, now I pass it forward!!
I dedicate this poem to all the people, who have stories were like mine, who's stories will never be told because, they didn't survive.
