Below is theย third letter in the series, โLetters To Dad.โ They are written by Sam Riviera, and are based on the true stories of people he actually knows in real life.
Dad,
At least thatโs what Iโve called you the last few years. Youโll probably be the only person Iโll ever call dad, even though you were my foster dad. According to grandma, if my mom knows who my real dad is sheโs never said. She probably doesnโt know. Grandma says mom was strung out most of the time around the time she got pregnant with me so who knows who my real dad is. Iโll probably never know.
Grandma says itโs a wonder I ainโt in prison or some institution. All the meth mom was using when she was pregnant with me shoulda fried my brain. Well, I didnโt do great in school and spent a lot of time in the counselors office, but Iโve managed to stay out of jail. So far…
You told me I could go live with grandma or some other relative. That isnโt happening. No one wants me or has space for me. Grandma thinks I should be able to find a job. Iโve tried, but they tell me I donโt have any experience and theyโre looking for people with experience. How much experience do you need to wipe off tables and take out the garbage?
I think grandmaโs afraid sheโll have to support me. She barely gets by on her Social Security check and her landlord is threatening to raise her rent. She says she canโt pay more and doesnโt know where she can find another place for what she can afford, so she canโt have another mouth to feed and a big guy like me must eat a lot.
Thereโs this place for homeless and runaway kids where I can get a hot meal every night. They have showers and used clothes and a few other things. I got a backpack and Iโm hoping for a sleeping bag. Thereโs a place I sleep up under a freeway bridge behind some bushes. It keeps me dry when it rains.
I was trying to sleep on the street, but itโs too dangerous. I couldnโt find anyone to hang with and you canโt sleep on the street alone. Youโll get kicked in the head when youโre trying to sleep and they take your stuff. You canโt get any sleep.
A guy I know down there said there was a shooting on the other side of the street last Saturday. Ten cop cars showed up. They ran everyone off the block and took what you couldnโt carry. The next nightย there was a stabbing in the alley around the corner. Some guy died. More cops. This stuff doesnโt even make the news. Like anyone cares when a homeless person gets murdered. Bad for the tourist business. Pretend it doesnโt happen. Weโre not real people.
I guess I understand. The foster kid checks you got for me stopped when I aged out of the system. You have other kids and your job doesnโt pay much. You said itโs time for me to make it on my own. So far that looks like dinner at the homeless kids place, sleeping under a bridge, and hoping I wonโt get stabbed. Iโm trying to follow up with several places that are supposed to help people like me, but they really donโt have any place for me to live or work.
So far, Iโm not using drugs. I donโt have money and Iโm not selling my body or dealing for the privilege of getting messed up by drugs. You donโt know what itโs like down here. Itโs a lot more messed up than you know. There are a few people who care, but they donโt have a place for me to get off the street. The system is totally messed up. Guess Iโm luckier than most. So far…
Tony