The Experience: Beasts Of Burden; Din of Inequity

The Grind Of The Mind 

There becomes a process of routine by which one has to adapt  to psychologically maintain semblance of order and the sense of progression and sanity simultaneously: you can not continuously be reminded that, in all reality, you live on the street, even if it is inside an aluminum-sided, wooden framed living space where your heat and electricity do work, it still has 6 wheels and a license plate,its still an RV .


You still reside in a vehicle..though it has beds, a dining area, an operable stove that runs on propane and functional bathroom with a working shower stall. It still has a steering wheel connected to the motor. This is our 'home'...


But it's still a vehicle.


 We live on the streets in our vehicle. A 'motorhome', yes..but this not a vacation in the wilderness. It is a family residing in a vehicle that has to wrestle with parking safely at night, keeping fuel levels up enough to run the generator, which powers the coach  lights and water pump on the daily. Propane levels have to be monitored for the stove operation as well, so that we can actually cook food. There is even a  refrigerator on board, but works intermittently. Fresh foods bought or donated are consumed almost the same day to prevent spoilage and food poisoning


Another tenant of this reality: I am still unemployed. Joblessness happens, but an extended period of time and trying: sending, on average 2-5 resumes out per day for 4 months with no offer of work, shades your optimism, coupled with the compacted (and not entirely safe) living situation. Having to don a suit for interviews (when the opportunity actually occurs) becomes a challenge, because as one attempts presentability:  you have to carry on as though your a million bucks..when your bank account is -$75.00, and you live in a vehicle..


and you have been battling illness for a month and a half. And you still have to interview, make casual conversion with the Director of the Security department who is monitoring your every response to check for any 'chinks' in your personality that could disturb the ebb and flow of his department by hiring you. The game face has to stay intact, even though you have constant congestion, and you have been deaf in one ear for nearly 2 and a half weeks, because the intensity of the congestion , as you have discovered  from a previous visit to the clinic , has pulled down your eardrum over the bone in your left ear.


Yep, carrying on like your ready to rock, yet you have to strain just to listen and respond on cue..because your deaf in one ear: your illness is having an extended holiday using your immune system as a swimming pool and spa, largely because the weather-proofing in your RV (which you live in with your family), is about as well-insulated during cold nights as an empty soda can, Your never really 'rested' at all, just rebooted without the luxury of completely unplugging to benefit capacity to recover. Water, caffeine, nicotine, sudafed and amoxicillan become an actual augment to your diet just to function.


All this combined turned an already doggedly difficult circumstance in to a grind that at times, tested the very fibers of my own sanity. The symptoms of which where not going away quickly, and finding respite from this addled state became somewhat of a battle against a sort of mental claustrophobia: I couldn't escape my physical, and couldn't find that 'quiet spacing' mentally. 


Pushing forward became monumental. Yet, there I was in mid March conducting an interview with a hotel Director who needed someone with experience, as the plethora of applicants (totaling 75 by his account) did not possess what he was looking for in this single job opening he was seeking to fill quickly. From what I was starting to gather  over this 45 minutes of questioning and casual conversation, he had made up his mind.


But it would take nearly two more weeks, and second interview with Human Resources to find out.


There is a quiet but alarming pathos that can develop when your homeless. It can overtake you without warning, and the longer the displacement, without any concrete evidence of progression that is palpable enough which to draw hope from can occur. It can create complacency, unhealthy acceptance of kestasis, materializing itself as a sense of 'comfortable' compliance and resignation..


You become used to it.


The 'New' School: A 'Different' Corruption

The children had spent 2-3 years of their collective development being home-schooled, as the Los Angeles School system was absolutely without meaningful academic compassing, and had placed focus on numbers to retain its funding per child per school rather than render meaningful education that enhances knowledge. Since 2007, American schools have seen a rise of lay-offs, school closures, pension raiding and being a tool for both local and national political posturing by both 'parties'. this toxic cocktail had resulted in the schools themselves in L.A. turn into nothing more than wherehouses for funding: fiscal favoritism based  on how many families ask for meal assistance through school lunch programs , which for a school, turns into a sort of ancillary revenue stream to bolster funding from local, state, and federal sources. Clearing state mandated levels of academic performance through standardize testing has become the primary revenue generator. The school system has been reduced to nothing more than a self-interested institution more concerned with its survival through these means rather than maintaining focus on meaningful curriculum and enrichment.


It has literally become a factory of 'shit in, shit out' for children, a place where mounds of homework is stuffed down the throats of students; and parroting information is more the goal  for clearing yearly state mandated testing every May, rather than developing skills children need to manage their academic lives and improve their cognizance skills. 


Having to home school them in a stable environment since our displacement was no longer feasible; they had to return to a brick-and-mortar school until we could find permanent residence. My wife and I also needed time during the day where focus on elevation out of this displacement could be given more attention.


My wife and I had enrolled at them Monarch Academy: a school directly serving the need of San Diego area homeless children in March. The school was a gold mine, as it not only provided a proper school structure for our children, but also three meals a day for students, and meals to homeless parents twice a week. They also provided 'shopping days ' assigned to each class every six weeks, where the children 'shop' for clothes (all new, unsold inventory donated by local business and individuals). Provided, also, was the option for children to shower at school as well. Toiletries and towels were regularly donated for their use.


The day before my children were to start, my son had expressed excitement about returning to school, in the hopes making new friends, and my daughter was extremely anxietal: worried she would not make any. It appeared, at first glance, that my son seem to also be given a sort of 'reward' for all the challenges he had faced  being patient and strong: he had been enrolled just in time for an opportunity a curious-minded lover of the outdoors could only possibly dream of:


An all-expenses paid field trip with his new class to a wildlife research facility stationed on Catalina Island. All his outdoor explorations and exploits seemingly to culminate at this well-suited apex...


My son had never been away from 'home'; from us. There were controversial feelings that resided within my wife and I. For two months, it had been just the 4 of us, which had brought a closeness that still resides to this day, and suddenly, there was this spectacular thing my son was being given. My wife was not comfortable with setting him out under these unusual cirmstances. I had reservations, so I asked him what he thought. His answer?


"I want to go!"


And off he went: his first day of school he was on a bus bound for Long Beach: himself and about 20 other homeless children from his class all crowding into the chartered bus in the evaporating night sky giving way to early morning; chattering loudly as kids do knowing a repreive from the mundanity of scholastic routine was upon them. To honor this auspicious occasion, we elected to bring the 'home' with us to give him a proper send-off. We pulled the 25-foot beast around the corner to an adjacent parking lot, opened the side door , handed him his back which was meticulous put together for him the night before and walked him to the loading area in front of the school.


As my son took his seat in the middle of the bus, I remember the promise I made to him: that I would land this job I was currently interviewing for.


'Dad..get that job..get us a home..I want to come back to that. I think you're going to get it.' 


While this was going through my mind, and my wife's emotions began to overtake her seeing her only son leave the sanctity of family for the first time, the celebratory air of pre-dawn was ripped by an obnoxious voice belonging to a frail and obtuse looking young lad wide-striding toward the bus as if to announce his presence to all within earshot..


'I'm sexy and I know it!', his lanky, spastic frame bouncing nervously by us, then  disappearing into the bus itself. He then suddenly stopped at the presence of my son's new  teacher, Dana Harwood, whom was standing mid isle, and I studied passively for a minute. She then directed him to take charge of the other students. The boy then turned around and stared at my son with an odd look of immediate disdain.


As the bus departed in that moment, my wife turn toward me asking "Do you think that kid is going to be a problem for our son?." It was a question that would unveil itself in the coming months, and expose yet another force of corruption: that being one of the psychopathy of 'celebrity'.


A very complex relationship in regards to Monarch Academy and its charity-based status.


This relationship, as  I would soon witness directly , compromises  the safety and welfare of these students for the sake of such 'public relations'. The evil being the allowance of violent behavior of a few students that damages the majority, who are already damaged, to continue.. so that certain senior administartors can have the opportunity to be portrayed as heros on talk shows and cry accordingly ..all for dramatic effect, and shameless self-promotion and advancement. This is the dark side of a 501(c) school which draws 45% to 60% of its operating costs from public and private donations; dependent on its public persona as a safe haven for families displaced. The nuance being between that of  the most unique sanctuary for at-risk children in the U.S. who have the genuine need so that their education is not completely compromised, yet being a repository for ego and manipulation through certain 'poster' children who are exploited for the goal of profit in the form of donations...


An April 2012 episode of Ellen Degeneres featuring Joel Garcia, Monarch Academy Principal, whom is being awarded for his 'heroic efforts'. It is unfortunate his 'heroism' did not lend itself to providing my son a safe environment to attend this school, and was more focused in preserving certain 'poster children' to continue this type of public relations and adulation  unabated.  Amazing how even the slightest bit of celebrity can corrupt one. But , at least the 'crying' is convincing..perchance Mr. Garcia should've been an actor..


As in all adversity, the weight of the emotional  outcome is decided by the parents. I would see in these controversial and strange three months a strength emanate from both my children that will shape thier very character for years to come. The return to public school life would be a hard transition for both, in particular my son, beyond the expected 'norm' of pre-adolescence.


These are 'the days', spectacular in the unbelievable harshness and bare exposure to elements both in the physical and the mental ; the reality of being 'in  battle', as we are still ultimately 'alone'..it was redifining all of us. Quietly.

The Longest Days & The Haze of Survival

The Experience: Part II

 

The Kids Are Alright

In the days since our displacement and being relegated to living in a motor-home since January, the one astonishing element that has been the highlight between the stress and strain of maintaining and dwelling within the RV, hunting for parking spaces at night and keeping it properly fueled for generator/hot water use coupled with attempting to get ourselves elevation via employment and public assistance, is our children's resulting adaptation to this transition..

They have been having the time of their lives.

In California, before you can register your children for school, you have to have a physical address in which to enroll them, which is kinda hard to do if your 'address' is on wheels that has to move periodically to avoid problems with law enforcement, residential-dwelling metro-sexual whiners who complain of your unsightly rig in their pristine and manicured neighborhoods, and avoiding other RV'ers who are known registered sex offenders parking near you (more on that one later). Making adjustments and readjustments as part of our learning curve for survival in this situation had become a full-time job in itself for my wife and I. The children have been the benefactors in one major way:

This has been one elongated camping trip, replete with day-trips to the beach to hunt  rock-dwelling  hermit crabs as temporary pets, ride bikes , make sand castles, explore local aquatic life , play with lizards and do the things they were never allowed in West Hollywood: just be kids. Because of delays, bureaucratic hiccups and a need to be more efficient with our situation, the children were allowed to roam a little farther and longer than they ever had, and have benefited also in one important aspect that neither public nor home-schooling could teach: the art of creativity and exploration of the world around them. It was also building character.

After settling in San Diego to regroup and re-plan our next course of action, my son said to me one day in February  'Dad, I notice when things get stressful with you and mom, you tend to get calm. I am going to start doing that' 

It was a comment out of nowhere..but made me stop and think. I had struggled with getting our generator working in the start of this chaos, but did so..knowing nothing of how it operates. I had to change the flare pipe on the propane tank so we could actually cook food utilizing the RV propane-driven stove. I also had to learn on the fly how the waste and water tanks on the vehicle can be regulated to determine when its time to fill or empty, and my wife and I had to learn where the dump sites were located. We also had to break the trend of augmenting our living arrangements by shopping for Hotels when these issues were being handled. It is a full-time operation to live in this manner: it is nothing romantic nor to be embellished upon. It is a one-day-at-a-time type of stasis, and is by no means mundane, especially for a family.
 
There are times I have been so aggravated at the limitations it presents that I grow quiet..and just deal with it as it comes. Things like weather, safe areas to park and dealing directly with life on the street are enhanced in as far as their impact on us daily. I have learned to just be calm, even in the face of being hassled by the police over complaints of our mere presence in a particular neighborhood, dealing with dodgy and nefarious people who want to get into your business either due from their insanity, loneliness, or both. My son has seen his Dad protect our 'home' from the elements , mechanical issues, and confronting (or dodging) people who are not 'all there.'
 
My son said further during this conversation

"I am going to be fearless, but cautious like you. It seems to be the best way when it gets stressful'' 

Conversely, my youngest Daughter made an observation around this time with regards to some ongoing disconnect between of ourselves and other family members whom have not been entirely understanding and morally supportive:

"Dad, it seems like nobody in the family is really acting like family. Nobody will help us except us."

"What do you mean, sweetie?" I asked.


"Well, I noticed you and Mom try to explain things to*(our older adult sister), but all she does is yell at us, or  try to tell us what to do, or tell you what you're doing wrong." 

This was honest disclosure and evaluation on her part, un-coached and non-partisan, as she had watched her mother and I receive some very harsh words from their eldest sister upon our arrival to San Diego permanently in January. It was unexpected, as this person had been our biggest unconditional advocate until the reality of the complexity of our current stasis literally visited her front door.

 It was too much for her to witness, and the eldest elected to pontificate her 'disapproval', rather than see the exact nature: she began the practice of 'telling', not 'asking': purporting her superior 'wisdom' of a situation she herself did not endure, being single with a steady government job with no one else to account for other than herself..


 "How do you feel about that?" I asked

"It hurts. We are on our own." She replied in matter-of-factly; with a hint of anger registering in her 10-year-old  tone. 

The anger being that purely of defense over her parents. When all this began, my children assumed roles driven by their innate characters: my son assisting with leading the 'exploration' and to help maintain the peace within or four-wheeled home, helping Dad with loading and unloading various things such as groceries to placement of clean clothes in assigned bags kept in limited interior closet space at the rear of the RV, and acting as co-pilot, being my eyes when I have to lane-change or exit off the roads, while my Daughter assume the role of assistant to the 'executive' in running day-to-day cooking, cleaning and organizing the space alongside her mother.


She also assume the role of the family defender, making us aware of any unsavory person or activity while out on the road that could pose a threat or problem. Even if the 'problem' was members in the family.

As her father, I had made it regular practice to allow our children to express themselves at will; allowing for honest perspective and expression of feelings irrespective of how it might possibly wound my wife and I's somewhat-fragile self image of ourselves, being homeless and jobless. My children's emotional well-being is first and foremost, beyond whatever inferiority, debasing self-imagery that was in my psyche, imposed or self-imposed, real or imagined. 

I'm grown; they're not. I still have set strong examples and facilitate healthy development  for them, whether we reside in a mansion, an apartment or an RV.

I'm still 'Dad', and 'Dad'  must come through. That never stops..and shouldn't


"Is that O.K. with you..that we just do this on our own, sweetie?" I asked, wanting truth, not comfort in her response


She paused, looked upward toward the car ceiling for a moment, as we were taking a break  in the parking lot from doing some much-needed linen cleaning  at the local laundromat, The Beast parked nearby;  a look of deep assessment came over her face ..


"Yeah, we need to take care of ourselves..Hey Dad, does that make her selfish?"


Now I paused; a response with an unanticipated question..the defender wanted answers.  The defender was making correlation between the ill treatment we've received and a 'character flaw' that might be associated with it.

My response had to be measured. It was not in me to attempt turning one child against another due to some unforeseeable events and behavior. I was still reeling from  our most recent falling out (late February), and some of the cruel diatribes that came from my daughters eldest sister. I had raised this eldest Daughter like my own unconditionally, and watching my wife, her Mother, be severely hurt by the her sudden lack of of discernible compassion was jarring. We were helping ourselves as best we could, and 'judgement' was being 'passed' at our expense, the reasons unknown to us at that time. I had absolutely disowned her for it..


The defender had bore witness to all of it


I responded: "Unfortunately..Yes. But do  you understand what I mean by that?"


Without  pause or prompting, she stated with great resonance and clarity, " Because she could help us, but doesn't want to. She doesn't ask us anything or check to see if we're O.K. She just gets angry and tells us what to do...

Yeah..that's selfish. Very selfish. I would never do that if my family needed help"

My wife and I have to be doing something right.

In  saying this, things get dicey out on the streets living in a 25 ft caravan...


Outliers in The Shadows of The Unknown

I woke up one morning and found our car's trunk had been broken into, my family's dirty laundry which was being temporarily stored in the trunk was scattered throughout the sidewalk, and we were fortunate nothing was taken. During this same time (March) I actually had two job interviews in one week..and  little money to get gas to attend both, but manage to pull it off...

Things like a simple shower, internet connection and charging up our only cellphone all become milestones of challenges when  your self-relying on an RV generator that takes it fuel directly from the main gas tank to operate the engine of the vehicle for your water  and internal electricity, and a separate propane tank which delivers hot-water and fuel for cooking: conservation of resources takes on a new meaning. 

Also, what you don't know sometimes, can absolutely shock you when you're ignorant of what is really in your environment.

In late January, I was stopped by the San Diego Police Department as my right break light was out while we were en route to another motel for a few days. After giving him the prerequisite ID and registration, the officer then asked my un-showered and sleepless personage to step out of the vehicle, and it wasn't to issue me a ticket or further check my registration..
 
"Excuse me for asking, Mr. Shoen, but are you and your family living out of this vehicle?" asked Officer  'Jay', a polite, young man who looked fresh from the academy.
 
"Yes" I answered, knowing at moment my instincts were confirmed: I wasn't going to be cited for anything. His approach suggested something above just a routine stop for him. he was going outside normal protocol. 

Jay then began, "I stopped you today, Mr. Shoen because I have been monitoring your RV for the last week. I did note you have your children with you and you've been staying along this street. I wanted to advise you that where you have been parking overnight,  is two blocks from a parole office, and there is no school within a 2,000  yard radius..."

He then paused slightly; as if finding the proper means to get his point as concise and direct without being startling,


"Where you're at has the highest rate of registered sex offenders in the County. There has been a recent crackdown on folks living in RV's either because  they're parolees violating the terms of their parole or tweekers getting high and dealing Crystal Meth. "

I just wanted to let you know its not safe to be here."

With that , he passed me some contact information where we could get assistance with food, gas and other subsidized services offered for homeless families. As he sped off and genuinely wished me good will, I was only not gobsmacked at what I had learned about what we had been surrounded by in the spot we chose as a consistent parking spot, but also came to the realization I had met, for the first time, a cop who was actually performing the job in the way that all officers are suppose to be:  public safety and security alongside straightforward law enforcement. Hence why they are called 'peace officers'. What Jay demonstrated was tactical public safety: observing a situation that was  outside his normal scope and protocol, performed surveillance as to ascertain what the exact nature of the situation is, and then act upon in context without needlessly causing further harm through over-zealous assumption and action.


That is proper law enforcement.


My wife and I being so grateful, took this information to heart and never returned to that seemingly quiet street. It did answer a curious question as to why their were so many RV's concentrated in one area, however. Sounds asinine, but when one is new to these circumstances, you don't to consider such dynamics at length: such outliers are not something we have been exposed to, so it was never focused upon nor considered.

It is impossible to get an 'answer' that is helpful, when you don't know enough to ask the right 'question.'


This dynamic revisited us, literally, during a routine shopping trip two weeks later in a Ralph's parking lot. My children had , several days before, buried one of their many arthropods they had collected in one of the planted islands in the parking lot and had place a marker so as to visit their deceased friend when ever we happened to stop there. On this visit they did just that while my wife and I began loading up the RV cabinets and fridge , having to go near a Winnebago parked nearby the grave. 

What seemed like two minutes, my wife and I were suddenly visited by a mid-sized man wearing all black, with a badge dangling from his neck on a silver chain standing at our open side door leading into the living area of the coach

"Hi-sorry to bother you. I'm Parole Officer Jameson. Uh.. Are you guys planning on staying here tonight ?"

"Uh no..just doing shopping", my wife quickly answered, startled by his sudden appearance

"Are you guys planning on leaving soon?" He asked, speaking in a lowered monotone approach, like a man trying to have a private conversation in a reverberating locker room, as to avoid opportunistic eavesdropping.


"What's going on, Officer?" I quickly asked

I was getting irritated: As part of our daily routine, timing had become essential. Living in an RV with children means coordination and movement have to be swift, as things like traffic, parking, and organizing your vehicle for continued habitability all have be done with planning, focus and deliberation: we still had to travel to the local RV dump sight, fill the water tank with fresh water, dump waste-water, get the kids fed and showered, and then finally obtain  safe parking for the eve, and this seemingly vague yet intrusive manner of this Officer was getting to me, as he was not being clear as to why he was inquiring of our intent in the first place.


"The reason I'm asking is I noticed that your kids were near that RV over there", The area where he pointed to was the near the 'grave sight' the kids had created the week before. I explained to to him this, to which the look on his face went from stark concern to relief. 

Jameson then continued "..I just want to you know that the guy in that Winnebago  over there is a convicted child molester.."

This the moment I knew that this all had to come to a close..and soon. We could not carry on this way, languishing and focused just on efficiency of survival anymore... it was time to take some major steps in elevation. The streets will not continue to provide these 'messages' of forewarning: moving up and beyond mere survival had to be enacted. Now

Within days of this encounter,  my wife had located a school specifically geared toward homeless children in San Diego and enrolled them, as to help continue their education on some semblance of normalcy; the homeschool dynamic needing elimination , so  my wife and I could start getting some form of plan enacted to get off this cycle...away from these dark outliers that could cause severe harm without warning if we stay out here too long..

And this also would begin with a phone call I would make to a VA assistance program that could aid in providing financial assistance with deposit for a place.. and a follow-up job interview I had to nail..

 

(Stay Tuned)