As children we are told to believe what our parents say. However, I have come to the realization that I’m not a child anymore. See, when I was little, I was told to believe that the world was full of evil. That the only thing scarier than the monsters under my bed were the perils of the homeless. That at every corner lay some big, bad man that wanted to hurt me. But, I have come to the realization that it’s hard to get anywhere in life without turning any corners.

Somewhere on the Northside of Iowa City, on the corner of Clinton and Washington lies a group of men. Their weary bones collapse on park benches as they sit waiting. As I walked by them for the first time, I made eye contact with one. He breathed not a word, but his mouth widened into a toothy smile. I nodded my head and he told me to have a good evening.

My second encounter with these men came the very next afternoon as I walked by. Without making eye contact, one of the men called out to me, “Ay little bro, you remind me of my father.”

“How so?” I said as I deepened my voice trying to sound more mature.

“’Cuz I aint never seen him before either!” He launched his friends into a holler of laughter.

I was stunned, not because of what he said. But, how he still had a sense of humor among everything else he had lost. I smiled, and he took that as invitation to start a conversation.

“Nah man, I was just playing. What I really wanted was to see what you would do. See, you’re different, my man. My boys call me Oscar, and I can just tell with you.” He proclaimed.

Oscar then told me that thousands of people walk by him every day without giving him the time of day. For what seemed like minutes we stared at each other, contemplating the other’s next move. He then said something to me that changed my opinion on the homeless forever:

“Before you run of little bro, lemme tell you sumtin. “The poverty of being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for is the greatest poverty of all”-Mother Teresa.”

I looked at him. I looked at his friends. They looked at me. And then I looked down. I reached into my pocket for my wallet. See, Oscar had seen this before and knew what was next. He said, “That’s far enough young man. I don’t want your money. And I certainly don’t want yo sympathy. What I really want is your words.”

“My words? Man, how am I supposed to give you those?” I questioned.

However, I never got my answer. See, Oscar bent down, collected his bag of belongings: a couple shirts, a pair of raggedy camouflage pants, and a pile of change that shook as he stood up. He set off onto Washington Street and turned his last corner onto Clinton. I looked over to his friends all they smiled at me, I think they saw what Oscar saw too. I turned the first corner of my life that night. Those were the words that Oscar wanted from me all along.