...it hit the fan when I...
...asked the homeless guy, "How's it goin'?"
Issac Stolzenbach
Issue date: 2/11/05 Section: Opinions
What lies at the foundation of my desire to be involved with a project that teaches the humanities to the underserved is the fact that college was never considered an option for me when I was in high school, much like the majority of the people attending class in the Prometheus Project. I was considered immature and plainly stupid because I was not good at standardized tests; my guidance counselor, one Brad Martin, told my parents that I would be voted most likely to become part of a federal institution. So I went through life thinking I wasn't worthy of an education, until someone believed in me. The only difference between you, me, and the person living on the streets is that someone believes in us; somewhere along the way the man on the street lost that luxury--the Prometheus Project, with the assistance of the FHC grant, aims to bring that luxury back into these peoples' lives. Sometimes you can experience a cathartic moment from an external source. All it takes is someone believing in you, sometimes that is all it takes for us to break-free of our bonds, and take that courageous walk out of Plato's Cave.
But if one were bright, one would take the time to think about what setting he is about to immerse himself into when preparing for his fieldwork. A layman would show-up among the dark of night in one of the seedier parts of downtown Orlando, park their motorcycle, while jamming out to some tunes on their headphones, whip-out some chopsticks, conduct a drum solo, then eat their sushi-dinner right there on their bike. Little did the layman know that corner had probably seen more homicide reports than traffic tickets. After shaking off a wasabi-induced endorphin rush, I (yeah, it was me) jotted my observations down in my notepad and walked around trying to find the entrance to the Coalition for the Homeless where the class was being held. I tried to smile when passing people on the street; they however, did not feel so inclined to return the gesture. And when I was dumb enough to actually greet a passerby with, "How's it goin'?" the fellow was so distraught with my comment, he swore on his mother's grave that he, ". . .would kill me if I said that to his face." Along with other obscenities I won't pollute your eyes or minds with here, but take note, he continued to yell at me, asking if I would say it to his face, which somehow elevated my ambulation. Makes you think twice about asking someone how it's going, doesn't it? That is, unless you have some sort of fetish for vehement vituperation. This experience really tweaked my perspective on how people interact with each other. Alles verrückt!
But if one were bright, one would take the time to think about what setting he is about to immerse himself into when preparing for his fieldwork. A layman would show-up among the dark of night in one of the seedier parts of downtown Orlando, park their motorcycle, while jamming out to some tunes on their headphones, whip-out some chopsticks, conduct a drum solo, then eat their sushi-dinner right there on their bike. Little did the layman know that corner had probably seen more homicide reports than traffic tickets. After shaking off a wasabi-induced endorphin rush, I (yeah, it was me) jotted my observations down in my notepad and walked around trying to find the entrance to the Coalition for the Homeless where the class was being held. I tried to smile when passing people on the street; they however, did not feel so inclined to return the gesture. And when I was dumb enough to actually greet a passerby with, "How's it goin'?" the fellow was so distraught with my comment, he swore on his mother's grave that he, ". . .would kill me if I said that to his face." Along with other obscenities I won't pollute your eyes or minds with here, but take note, he continued to yell at me, asking if I would say it to his face, which somehow elevated my ambulation. Makes you think twice about asking someone how it's going, doesn't it? That is, unless you have some sort of fetish for vehement vituperation. This experience really tweaked my perspective on how people interact with each other. Alles verrückt!