that time i fought back and won

Do you remember that show Fight Back with David Horowitz?

I think I was 10 or 11 years old and at the time a gigantic fan of shrimp Cup of Noodles. When I was allowed to have it I would lovingly prepare the water, steep the noodles, and wait impatiently for those three long minutes. Then I'd carefully eat the noodles and leave all the shrimp till the end, a sort of last course hurrah. But one day there was no shrimp in my shrimp cup, and the dismay, Oh The Dismay.

So my father, a consumer advocate and writer of letters encouraged me to write the cup of noodle people and let them know. I sent the letter off, wounds still raw and still unable to believe there is a world where shrimp flavored noodles arrive in your home without any shrimp. A few weeks later to my undeniable joy I received a huge box from the good people at CON. Inside was every product imagineable. Boxes of shrimp noodles. Boxes! And other flavors! Wonton soup! I didn't even know what that was! I hoarded that huge box, it lived in my closet and every so often I'd pull out a treat and lovingly caress each package, thoughtful in my decision of which to sacrifice, conscious that the box was slowly emptying. My younger brother would beg and plead and I'd eventually give him one or two packages, the vegetable flavor of course.

My father then suggested writing another letter, this time to David. So I wrote Dave a letter complete with purple flowers and mailed it off. A little while later we got a phone call. David Had Seen My Letter! I Had Fought Back And Won!

They aired the segment one ordinary weekday night, long before common folk had VCRs. My family crowded round the set, a scene right out of the 50's, mom and dad on the couch, the children getting radiation poison right up close. They showed my letter, purple flowers and all. They read my name and told my story, boxes of noodles filling the screen. And then David said the magic words: Jenny Talia Fought Back And Won!

Oh, The Fame!

The next day at school a classmate came up to me and said she saw my letter on TV. I remember being so proud. So proud. My words made something change. Pen and paper. It mattered. And I learned from the small but important lesson: our words matter. We can change things for the better by speaking up. So I've kept writing, sometimes successfully and other times not. But I learned we have a voice. A say in the matter. We can Fight Back. Noodles or Women's Rights or World Peace - we can stake our claim and have our voice heard.

american beauty

A few days ago I wrote about a recent struggle we had with keeping one of our programs open. I had asked if there were a few clients who might be willing to speak on our behalf, no small request given the crowds and the pressure I knew would be associated with it. A few clients took us up on it and one woman in particular was so incredible I can't not share it with all of you.

I saw them arrive and noticed them hanging around outside. I walked over and thanked them for coming, all of them looking mildly petrified. This woman in particular seemed very nervous, chain smoking and panic stricken, and a bit rumpled in a hot pink linen blazer, the old kind with shoulder pads sewn in. Stockings on her feet, I noticed a run. Shoes were older but dress shoes just the same. She'd obviously pulled out all the stops and looked absolutely lovely. Heartbreakingly so, because of the reasons why.

You know, you don't have to do this I say. I want to. I have to. I just have no idea what I should say, and there are so many people in there, she replies. What should I talk about? Oh honey, I can't tell you want to say. Just speak from your heart.

The process moved along and eventually it was time for the public to speak. At a certain point her name was called and she glanced at me, still stricken, and walked down to the front of the room. She stood in front of the audience facing the chief and his council, and voice shaking as she began: I was a nursing assistant for 30 years. In all those years I never once considered I'd become homeless one day. But I stand here today homeless. I lost my job and slowly lost everything else. I had nowhere to go. And these people took me in and gave me a place to live. It may not seem like much, but to me it is everything. They saved my life. And they save people's lives every single day. They make sure you have what you need and help you find a new place to live. I don't know what I and so many others will do if this place isn't there for us because this is our home. People think of homelessness as a nuisance, but I am here to tell you it's much more than that, that we are people with lives and dreams and that this can happen to anyone. If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. And then she paused, and looked each one of these important people in the eyes, and for a minute time stood still It can happen to each of you. So as you sit there, remember that.

And she thanked them and turned and walked back, meeting my eyes on the way up, the panic still ripe on her face and yet now it was tinged with relief. I realized I hadn't been breathing during her words and inhaled deeply, tears in my eyes. She was extraordinary up there.

And it drove the point home for me and hopefully for everyone in that room. We are a part of these decisions, sure. But no matter the outcome we go back home to our lives, our four walls and beds and food in our fridge. But to some it is a matter of life and death. It is their home.

I keep thinking of her and her disheveled bravery, about how much she cared, about how fiercely she stood up. I will never stop being humbled by the people, all the beautiful homeless people that I've had the honor of meeting over the years. They have so much to say and we still have so much to learn.