I asked Bill if he still remembered his father's phone number. He said, "I do, why?" Holding my cell
phone I said, "Let's call him, right now, and see what he has to say." Bill quickly replied, "No! Don't!"
He paused for a moment. "I'll leave, then call him. Tell me tomorrow what my father says."
Bill had been sleeping on the streets in Santa Monica for more than 10 years. He was an alcoholic, had
a lot of trouble with the law, and his health was declining. I met with Bill daily offering help and
encouragement, but he would reassert that all his hope was lost. According to Bill, more than a
decade ago he was banned from his father's house in Florida after a disagreement. "Don't ever step
foot in this house again," Bill recounted his father's words.
30 minutes later I dialed the number Bill had given me. A man answered in a southern draw, "Hello." I
asked him if he knew anyone by the name of Bill. The man said, "Yes," and the tone of his voice
elevated as he continued, "He's my son!" His voice was shakier now, "It's been a long time, at least ten
years. Is he okay? Is he alive?"
I assured him that Bill was okay and then asked, "Do you think it would ever be possible for him to come
back home again?" Without hesitation he replied, "You tell my son, that he is always welcome at my
house." I told him that I would work quickly to get Bill a bus ticket home. His father replied, "No son of
mine is gonna ride the bus. You tell him I'm gonna buy him an airline ticket home!"
The next day I found Bill at his usual place by the beach and relayed the conversation with his father.
Bill's eyes started to water. When I told him about the plane ticket home, Bill lowered his head and
began to cry. I called his father and handed my cell to Bill. After their emotional exchange he asked,
"How could I have been so wrong about my father for all these years?"
Bill is not unlike many of the homeless that we meet - the more isolated and withdrawn they become, the
more distorted their memories. Lack of accountability often turns little things become big things, and the
mind makes room for a false and hopeless reality. Like so many others who are homeless, Bill had
convinced himself he had no other options. The truth, of course, was that he did.
Bill stopped drinking that day. He boarded a plane for Orlando a few days later. A nephew greeted him
at the airport and his father was waiting for him at home.
Bill is clean and sober, and still with his family in Florida nearly two years later. For Bill, the cycle of
homelessness has been broken.
phone I said, "Let's call him, right now, and see what he has to say." Bill quickly replied, "No! Don't!"
He paused for a moment. "I'll leave, then call him. Tell me tomorrow what my father says."
Bill had been sleeping on the streets in Santa Monica for more than 10 years. He was an alcoholic, had
a lot of trouble with the law, and his health was declining. I met with Bill daily offering help and
encouragement, but he would reassert that all his hope was lost. According to Bill, more than a
decade ago he was banned from his father's house in Florida after a disagreement. "Don't ever step
foot in this house again," Bill recounted his father's words.
30 minutes later I dialed the number Bill had given me. A man answered in a southern draw, "Hello." I
asked him if he knew anyone by the name of Bill. The man said, "Yes," and the tone of his voice
elevated as he continued, "He's my son!" His voice was shakier now, "It's been a long time, at least ten
years. Is he okay? Is he alive?"
I assured him that Bill was okay and then asked, "Do you think it would ever be possible for him to come
back home again?" Without hesitation he replied, "You tell my son, that he is always welcome at my
house." I told him that I would work quickly to get Bill a bus ticket home. His father replied, "No son of
mine is gonna ride the bus. You tell him I'm gonna buy him an airline ticket home!"
The next day I found Bill at his usual place by the beach and relayed the conversation with his father.
Bill's eyes started to water. When I told him about the plane ticket home, Bill lowered his head and
began to cry. I called his father and handed my cell to Bill. After their emotional exchange he asked,
"How could I have been so wrong about my father for all these years?"
Bill is not unlike many of the homeless that we meet - the more isolated and withdrawn they become, the
more distorted their memories. Lack of accountability often turns little things become big things, and the
mind makes room for a false and hopeless reality. Like so many others who are homeless, Bill had
convinced himself he had no other options. The truth, of course, was that he did.
Bill stopped drinking that day. He boarded a plane for Orlando a few days later. A nephew greeted him
at the airport and his father was waiting for him at home.
Bill is clean and sober, and still with his family in Florida nearly two years later. For Bill, the cycle of
homelessness has been broken.
Bill
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