"There but for the Grace of God..."

I used to live right downtown in the heart of Vancouver - the West End actually.  Right in  the heart of the Gay district - two blocks from English Bay... Sunset Beach.

 I lived in a 100 year old building with floors so sloped -  that if you put a marble on the old hardwood floor in the living room - you could watch it travel  past the kitchen and into the bathroom.

 I was allowed to paint the apartment as I wished.  There was no regulating the radiator heat - and sometimes we had to open the windows to cool the place off,  or turn on the gas stove and open the oven door to warm the place up.   Members of the "Swollen Members" Band lived across the street from me, and when I vacated my apartment,  a band member of Bif Naked (saw her in a Lilith Fair Concert with Sarah McLachlan )moved in.

I put an ad on the bulletin board at the local Internet cafe and thus got myself a really nice roommate - a young gal from Australia - she happened to be a psychologist, but couldn't practice in Canada...and ended up working instead as a tour guide on the gondolas up Grouse Mountain.

 I loved the movement of kids in and out of the apartment - there was a never ending assortment of interesting people...Kiwis, displaced Montrealers.....you name it.  My roomie would bring them home.  I worked nights at that point and since I slept like a rock during the day and was never home at night...it was a great arrangement.

Living downtown Vancouver was just a different atmosphere than any I have known.  It feels less like a city and more like a small village.  You can sit outside at any number of local coffee shops and restaurants year round.  The weather is that moderate.   People are friendly.  They smile and say "hi" as they go by.  You often see the same people over and over again.

 Even the street people were like family.  People living downtown would make sure the local street people were taken care of.   One of the  "givens" was that you would save your refundable bottles and put them out once a week for the local street people so they could come by with their carts and collect them and turn them in for cash.

I remember one young aboriginal guy that could be found on the same street corner every morning as I walked home.  He always had a cheery "Good morning" and a big smile as I would pass by.  Very friendly. Happy-go-lucky type.  Once in a while I would stop and talk.

 He never asked for money, but if it was something you wanted to do, he was open to offers. Always said "Thank-you! Have a nice day!" whether you gave or not. I never gave money - it's just my policy - but always food or items he might need.   Curious, I asked him how much he could collect in a day. 

"Oh - some days it's better than others.   I sometimes am lucky and can get $50 by noon.  If that happens I run to the store and buy myself a nice big steak to eat."  Life, to him, was pretty simple.

One morning, when passing by his usual spot on my way home from work,  I could see he was in rough shape.  He looked like crap. I stopped and asked if he was OK.   "My friends beat me up - we got into it" .   He had a deep gash on his elbow and  bruises to his face. Ripped clothes.  By the odor still wafting about him, I assumed perhaps they got into a fight while intoxicated.

"Can't you go to the clinic and get that looked after?" We were standing 10 feet from a Walk in clinic.   "There's also an emergency just around the corner" pointing in the direction of the hospital I was just leaving.

"No - I don't want to go to Emergency.....and the Clinic already told me they wouldn't take me."

I was thinking they probably would, more than likely he just felt uncomfortable going to either place.   I couldn't imagine that the clinic would refuse him.  First Nations are a part of the federally funded health care  - and definitely, he would be covered.  I could understand, though, why he would be reluctant to show up at either place looking like he did.  Gary** was usually fairly meticulous about his clothes.

I went into the drugstore next to the Walk In Clinic and bought some first aid supplies.  I showed him how he should clean the wound and how to put the bandages on.   I helped him apply the steristrips and  and then handed him the bag of supplies.   He promised me that he would take care of it every day.   "Don't let me catch you with an infected elbow" I warned him.

Then,  he just - disappeared.   I watched for him every day.   Then, as suddenly as he disappeared - a year later - he showed up in the same spot on his street corner just as if he had never left. 

"Gary! I missed you! Where did you go?? I was worried - where were you all this time?!"

"Oh...well....I had to go up to Bella Coola for a court appearance and they put me in lockup for a year."

"Geez, Gary.....stay out of trouble will ya?"

He smiled his usual big smile.  " I sure will. Thanks! Have a nice day!"

Quite the contrast from the MD that I worked with that was also First Nations.  Articulate and talented, not only was this MD was just finishing his Family Practice Specialty......but he was also a well known actor.   He was telling me that patients would recognise him all the time...which could be a little bit difficult at times.  He was on the shy side and quite reserved. 


My husband is part Native American - Apache/Comanche - and part Hispanic.  If anyone understands the struggles facing the Indigenous of America - he does.   Having struggled growing up in poverty and then facing prejudice throughout his life,  my husband is my hero.  Not only has he overcome the tribulations of his former life, but he has in fact achieved more than what he ever dreamed of.... surpassed it.

There was a feature on a TV program here in Canada of this young lady.....First Nations and a foster child for the first part of her childhood until a family took her in at age 6.  She has now graduated from Lakehead University -a first Nations University - and has her Bachelor of Education degree/Royal Conservatory Teacher Certification and presently teaches music and Ojibaway between gigs.

I often wonder at the paths people choose to get them to their particular destination in life. Or is it entirely their choice.....?





**Gary: not his real name