Water and Words

I don't have much, but I have enough. I have a warm, dry and safe place to live. I have lots of food. I have a vehicle. I have love. I have my health. I also have a big heart and a pretty good mind. Those last 2, the heart and the mind, I can use to help others.

I live in a small city in Northern Ontario. We have 75,000 people. We're sort of isolated. And we have big-city problems. Addiction, homelessness, child poverty, they're all running rampant here. There's not a day, not a literal day that goes by that I don't see someone passed out from drugs on the street, homeless people at the waterfront or poverty-stricken kids hanging around outside their apartment complexes.

I see them all because I live among them. When I made the decision to move north, my husband and I took an apartment, on faith and pictures, during the height of Covid. We didn't know it was smack dab in the middle of "da hood." We didn't know there was a hood to speak of. But here we are, 18 months later on the west side of town, a place stained by stigma and honestly, the city's dumping ground for "problem people."

It's been an education, I can tell you that. It wasn't one I was looking for, but it was one I needed. I was fortunate enough, or maybe unfortunate enough, to have been isolated from the real down and dirty grittiness of inner-city life. Until I moved here.

When I see these people, my heart breaks. I joined a local community action group, Jamestown Strong, soon after moving here. They're a great bunch of people, many of whom have spent their entire lives in this area. They want, I want, nothing more than for us to have safe streets, safe residents and happy, healthy kids.

It's an uphill battle. And Covid hasn't made things any easier. But, through them, I've found the courage to reach out with the little I have. And what I have are words and water.

Doesn't sound like much does it? But you'd be surprised. First, let's talk about words, the words I've used and the words I'm using.

I'm a retired lawyer. I'm also a writer. I know words. I'm great with words. Words are what I do. I know how to use them. I used words to communicate with our city's mayor and council when our local playground was riddled with needles and nobody was cleaning it up.

They listened. They were astounded that someone from "this area" could write a cogent email and called me personally to congratulate me on it. That was a bit insulting because there are several very intelligent, educated professionals that choose, yeah, you heard me, choose to live here. Nurses, teachers, managers, etc. The west end isn't just a wasteland of forgotten souls.

We had a meeting with the mayor and city council. It seemed to go well. We got a few commitments for change. Before the snow fell, work had started to revamp the playground to make it a safe and inviting space for our kids.

I've been able to do that. Through the power of my words, I'm on a first-name basis with the mayor and city council, as well as the local media. I can call them any time and they pick up the phone. It may sound awful, but, they know I know what I'm talking about.

But I'm working to use words in an entirely different way as well. There are several kids on my block. With Covid, most haven't spent much time in school. And some are too young to go. They all come from families struggling with poverty.

Inflation in Canada is the worst it's been in 30 years. But wages aren't rising that fast. And neither are social assistance rates. And if you're worried about food and rent, you're not worried about buying books for little Johnny or Jennie. It's not a judgment. It's a fact. We take care of immediate physical needs before we take care of other stuff.

Enter me. I wasn't raised rich. We struggled. But education was always valued. I was taught at an early age that my way out, my way to avoid the struggles of my mommy and daddy was to get an education. They bought me books. They bought me every book they could get their hands on. It worked. And I did the same thing for my kids. It also worked.

But what about these kids? The bright-eyed little scamps in the laundry room? Covid is still a thing right now. Otherwise, I'd offer tutoring. But for now, I can do what I can do. I can go to the local Dollar Store. I can buy 10 kid's books and another 10 YA books every month. I can leave them in the laundry room where everyone leaves free stuff.

My hope is the mothers will see the books and grab them. These aren't bad people. These are people that are too tired, too exhausted to think about buying books for their little ones because they're broke as hell. They want better for their kids, but they can't give it. They just don't have it to give. I have it to give. It's not much, but I can throw a few books in that laundry room to keep the kids busy while their mommies and daddies do the wash. And later, if restrictions ever ease, maybe I'll reveal myself as the word lady and open myself to tutoring. Education is the way forward, and in this small way, I can offer it.

On to water. Where I live the winters are cold and the summers are hot. I'm not kidding, I mean HOT. Like 40 degrees (for Americans, that's 104). There are services in the winter, but nothing in the summer. Homeless is homeless, rain, shine, snow, whatever. I can't count the number of times my husband and I have given spare change to the homeless people on the waterfront, sitting or laying on benches in the heat.

There's no place to get water in the summer. In the winter there are warming centres where a person can go to get warmed up and have a hot drink. But in the summer, the homeless are on their own.

Dehydration is a real hazard. I can't do much to fix it. But I can buy a case or two of water and put it in a cooler in my van when I go to the waterfront. I can and do give out bottles of water to the homeless, the addicted, I don't care, I don't ask. They're people. I'm not afraid, my husband's with me and he's a big, big dude.

There's never been a time where anyone has been a problem. Simple dignity is a HUGE thing. To speak to someone who might be struggling with kindness and respect; to offer them a humble kindness, a simple bottle of water, means the world to them. They feel seen. They feel valued. And that's the first step in the battle. If someone values them, maybe they can begin to conceive of a world where they value themselves.

My words and water might not be much, but it's what I have to give and at least I'm giving something. Treating people with dignity and respect, giving a child a book that makes their little eyes widen with excitement and fighting city hall, it's not too bad as far as fostering inclusivity and a kinder city up here.