For the first ten years of my life I lived in a car, well,
actually a variety of cars, trucks and vans with my older sister and mom, who
struggled from a mental illness that kept her from being able to hold down
employment for very long. We moved all over the country but always made our
home in whatever vehicle we were driving. I remember when we upgraded from the VW bug to an
old conversion van. It was as
if we had moved into a fancy home in Beverly Hills. We had our own reclining seat and room to move
around a bit. It was bright orange and had big windows that we could finger
paint on when they became overcast with condensation. This was the only life I
ever knew and to me it seemed normal
until I went to school.
My First Memories of School
My first memories of school were when my mother had a job at a local supermarket as a cashier in a small Texas town. We lived in a station wagon at that time and Mom found various places to park the car, usually close to public parks where we could use the washroom. I was six and in first grade. It was exciting for me to think that I could go to school all day and not have to sit in the car. I made friends quickly and seemed to fit in. That was, until one day when we were talking about our homes and asked to draw a picture of our house or apartment. For some reason, everyone else’s homes looked different than mine, and none had wheels. When the teacher saw my picture, she began asking questions. She thought I had made a mistake and drawn a picture of my car instead of my home. I protested, but she insisted. That night, when I told my mother what had happened, we loaded up in the wagon and moved on to another town.
No Roots
My mother’s parents died when she was just 18 and the only other family that she had was an elderly Aunt who lived in Mississippi. We stopped by to see her one time, and she did not even know who my mother was. She thought my mother was trying to sell her something. Being on the move so much never allowed up to put down any roots or make any lasting friends. That, for me, was the hardest part of being homeless. I wanted to play baseball, have sleepovers, ride bikes and do all the other things that a typical boy might do, but we never stayed anywhere long enough for that to happen. I became very shy, withdrawn and internally frustrated with my life.
The Rescue
The longest we ever stayed in one place was in a town located in central Idaho. I was 9, almost 10 and my Mom had found a good job as a daycare worker. She seemed optimistic and happy for the first time in a long while. We even began attending a local church. The church people were very nice, and I and we quickly became part of their family. Under my mother’s strict instructions, we never talked about where we lived. My mother had actually told a member of the church that we were staying with friends until we found an apartment. At this time, my mother had saved over $2,000, which was the most money we had ever had. She had begun searching for a place to live. One day, a member of the church mentioned that she had a small cabin for rent and wanted to know if my mother would be interested in looking at it.
The Cabin
The cabin was the nicest thing I had ever seen. A small three bedroom with a den, bathroom and kitchen, it was perfect and very affordable. We moved in the next day. My mother began receiving medical help for her anxiety issues and very soon was stable enough to begin taking classes at the local college where she eventually received her degree in Early Childhood Education. She even opened up her own very successful childcare center. I finally got to play on the baseball team and even got a brand new bike for my 10th birthday!
Thousands of children who grow up homeless in America are not nearly as lucky as I was. They face daily struggles and most end up stuck in a cycle of poverty, sickness and darkness.
About the Author – Jack Peterson has never forgotten where he came from. After graduating from college, he dedicated his life working with the homeless. He often consults with homeless shelters on ways they can improve efficiency such as with homeless shelter software.
My First Memories of School
My first memories of school were when my mother had a job at a local supermarket as a cashier in a small Texas town. We lived in a station wagon at that time and Mom found various places to park the car, usually close to public parks where we could use the washroom. I was six and in first grade. It was exciting for me to think that I could go to school all day and not have to sit in the car. I made friends quickly and seemed to fit in. That was, until one day when we were talking about our homes and asked to draw a picture of our house or apartment. For some reason, everyone else’s homes looked different than mine, and none had wheels. When the teacher saw my picture, she began asking questions. She thought I had made a mistake and drawn a picture of my car instead of my home. I protested, but she insisted. That night, when I told my mother what had happened, we loaded up in the wagon and moved on to another town.
No Roots
My mother’s parents died when she was just 18 and the only other family that she had was an elderly Aunt who lived in Mississippi. We stopped by to see her one time, and she did not even know who my mother was. She thought my mother was trying to sell her something. Being on the move so much never allowed up to put down any roots or make any lasting friends. That, for me, was the hardest part of being homeless. I wanted to play baseball, have sleepovers, ride bikes and do all the other things that a typical boy might do, but we never stayed anywhere long enough for that to happen. I became very shy, withdrawn and internally frustrated with my life.
The Rescue
The longest we ever stayed in one place was in a town located in central Idaho. I was 9, almost 10 and my Mom had found a good job as a daycare worker. She seemed optimistic and happy for the first time in a long while. We even began attending a local church. The church people were very nice, and I and we quickly became part of their family. Under my mother’s strict instructions, we never talked about where we lived. My mother had actually told a member of the church that we were staying with friends until we found an apartment. At this time, my mother had saved over $2,000, which was the most money we had ever had. She had begun searching for a place to live. One day, a member of the church mentioned that she had a small cabin for rent and wanted to know if my mother would be interested in looking at it.
The Cabin
The cabin was the nicest thing I had ever seen. A small three bedroom with a den, bathroom and kitchen, it was perfect and very affordable. We moved in the next day. My mother began receiving medical help for her anxiety issues and very soon was stable enough to begin taking classes at the local college where she eventually received her degree in Early Childhood Education. She even opened up her own very successful childcare center. I finally got to play on the baseball team and even got a brand new bike for my 10th birthday!
Thousands of children who grow up homeless in America are not nearly as lucky as I was. They face daily struggles and most end up stuck in a cycle of poverty, sickness and darkness.
About the Author – Jack Peterson has never forgotten where he came from. After graduating from college, he dedicated his life working with the homeless. He often consults with homeless shelters on ways they can improve efficiency such as with homeless shelter software.
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