The Egg Story

by John Records,
former COTS volunteer, now COTS Executive Director

I don't usually pick up hitchhikers, but the evening air was frosty and the toasty car reminded me of my good fortune. I wanted to share my comfort, so I pulled over beside the man huddled at the road's shoulder. 

I opened the door and climbed into the car. We shook hands and traded names. Jim said he needed a ride to the Petaluma, California Armory, where he hoped to spend the night in the shelter for homeless men and women run by the Committee on the Shelterless (COTS).

Once a well-to-do contractor, Jim had lost his home, his family, and his business. His lined face and his worn clothes told how hard his life was now. He spoke about living on the street--where to find work, food and shelter.

Suddenly, I realized that Jim--the homeless person--was trying to instruct and help me-- the middle class, employed person to whom such a thing as being homeless was unthinkable. But Jim knew that anyone can lose their home, and that many are just a paycheck away from the street. So he told me what to do if the unthinkable happened.

As Jim left the car at the Armory, I pondered his kindness and decided to follow him into the Armory and learn more about COTS. I watched him as he spoke with the man at the check-in table.

"Can I get some dinner?"
"Gee, you're too late. We ate at the church tonight."
Jim's face fell. A withered man, sitting on a bench nearby, reached into his shirt pocket.
"Hey! I've got a hard-boiled egg that you can have. How 'bout that?"

An EGG. The carefully saved egg was a meal for a man who couldn't be sure he'd have enough to eat tomorrow. That egg was his savings account, his pension. It was all of his wealth. Never have I given anything as valuable as that egg.

The egg man's generosity inspired me to want to contribute to COTS somehow. Giving money is fine, and I do that, but I wanted to give of myself and my time. But my family and I already were busy, with obligations outside the home several evenings each week and on the weekends. We didn't want the added stress of yet another evening with one of the parents away.

With the help of COTS staff, we devised a way to contribute that brought our family closer together instead of taking away from each other. We volunteered as a family to visit the COTS family shelter each week and play with the kids living there.

Our work is easy, and varies with the season and the needs of the COTS kids. My wife helps kids to draw, and to make origami and exotic paper toys. One evening the air was full of paper starships. Paper boats also were popular -- we sailed them around in a big dish pan. My older daughter, almost 11, usually is part of this group, and guides the younger kids.

In good weather, I often take the children outside for a game, like kickball or tag. Some of our best times have been had with simple toys. One evening the kids themselves invented a game in which we tried to throw a tennis ball into an empty yogurt container. My younger daughter, age 7, participates in these games. When it's cold or rainy, I stay inside and read to the kids or work at the craft table.

My daughters make friends among the shelter kids, and often bring other friends with us when we visit the shelter. We try to nurture all the children by cuddling, rough housing, and listening to them talk about their lives. One little girl told me how hard it is to be homeless, and how she is saving money to buy a house.

Homeless people have taught me much. I've learned that our wealth isn't measured by what we keep, but by how much we give of what we have. And I've learned that a community's wealth is not measured by how high the most fortunate can rise, but by how far the least fortunate are permitted to fall.

(This article originally appeared in The Petaluma Argus Courier)

		COTS staff
Suddenly, I realized that Jim--the homeless person--was trying to instruct and help me-- the middle class, employed person to whom such a thing as being homeless was unthinkable. But Jim knew that anyone can lose their home, and that many are just a paycheck away from the street. So he told me what to do if the unthinkable happened.