As I look back on our three weeks in San Diego I recall many meaningful experiences.  Dumpster diving for food and squatting with two of the street kids – how sad that for some kids, people’s discarded food is a significant source of nourishment, and a urine-smelling electrical closet is a coveted “high end” and “luxurious” squat.  I remember watching them sit quietly and timidly on a trolley watching some raucous teenage boys; as far as I could tell there were no interactions between the street kids and the group of boys, but the expressions on the street kids’ faces continue to haunt me – they were sad, longing (but not jealous), and rejected, and the gulf between them and the group of boys was so apparent that I found it difficult to just sit there with them.  Later when we talked, one of them mentioned that she had never really felt like she “fit in” with her classmates, and her sense of rejection was a significant factor in her being on the streets.  That night I was also impressed that the street kids were helpful to a stranger asking about trolley and bus schedules even after the stranger didn’t respond positively to their request for spare change; these are basically honest and nice kids who want to help out when and where they can – they don’t screw people over just for kicks.

I remember visiting the kids at the fountain outside HortonPlaza – going up to a bunch of “hoodlums” is something I would never have done before this trip, but now I’m comfortable doing it.  Go figure.

Hearing the girls talk about their rapes as so very sad.  One girl became pregnant as a result of being raped by an adult family friend; when she told him about the pregnancy he beat her until he killed the baby, almost killing her in the process.  I remember one girl describe being sexually abused by her father when she was a child.  I asked if her mother knew about the abuse and she replied that she thought this was normal and something every family did.  How sad that abuse is considered normal to some kids.  She was also inspiring, because she was basically off the streets and on her own now, and in fact the reason she was at the center that night was to have a good meal and get clothes to wear to a job interview the next day.  There is hope.

There are so many other memories – knife cuts, a miscarriage, a bungled tattoo, everyone shaving their heads, talking with one of the kids about his telemarketing job, watching them play foosball, listening with interest and cringing as one boy described various body parts he’s had pierced, celebrating an acceptance into college, watching in awe during the “drama” nights when practically everyone was in tears, etc., etc., etc.  I imagine many of these events are not particularly uncommon for teenagers today, and in this sense the street kids are probably quite normal.

I don’t want to be judgmental, but some of the activities I still find offensive.  For instance, petty theft, shoplifting (aka “merchandise liberation”), drug use and abuse especially during pregnancy, etc.  I don’t think that yelling at the kids would do any good, but I find these problems very frustrating since I don’t have any real answers.

I hope we did some good and in some way helped the kids get off the street and/or improved their lives somehow.  I also hope that this experience will inspire me to get more involved with street kids and homelessness issues and perhaps, at some point, help find solutions to these problems.  I know I will always remember the kids and their stories, the dedication of the Standup for Kids staff and volunteers, and our wonderful team.  It was a better experience than I could have hoped for, and I consider myself lucky to have been given this opportunity.

Doug - Depauw University