The invisible man Most of the time when I take candid street portraits the encounter provokes different thoughts in me. Sometimes for days… The most recent case was meeting this old man several days in a row on my way to the Bean and Pritzker Pavilion. Each time, he was sitting at the same spot at the same bench wrapped in his blanket and making me think it’s just deja vu. He was provoking multiple mixed feelings in me – a sense of guilt, heartache, and desire to go talk to him or help him with something. I was questioning myself about how he got there. Does he have family? Kids? What was he doing when he was younger? What happened with his life, his dreams, his expectations…? How was he surviving in the freezing cold outside without a coat? Is all that he owns in these three bags next to him? I approached him and after I took a few close-up pictures I asked him if he has a safe place to go for the night. He mumbled something and told me that he has hand warmers. On my question about his name he answered “John”… I gave him few bucks but it was obvious that he didn’t trust anybody. I was aware that a few bucks would not change anything in his life. He went back under his blanket and I left still thinking about him. On my way I realized that I had a few hand warmers in my photo bag and a bag of oatmeal cookies. I went back to give them to him thinking how nice it will be if there was a place where he will not be afraid to go, where he will be treated with love and respect like a father should be. Some place where he can get a hot bath, a warm meal and a set of clean clothes. Most importantly, somewhere where somebody will talk to him or listen what he has to say, learn about his life story… I’m still thinking about this old helpless man. And it provokes me to ask myself if I did enough for my own parents when they needed me. They gave us life, unconditional love, support, wisdom. At the end of their life path are we there next to them, holding their old hand, listening to their stories and daily problems? They will probably never admit that they need us - that they are helpless or they are afraid to be left behind. I lost both my parents while I was on the other side of the planet, without having the chance to spend more time with them when they needed me and without having the chance to say a final Goodbye… I wish I did. My heart is aching and I wish all these old, helpless people left behind find a warm soul to take them by the hand and tell them how important they are.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Mar 2014 02:53:52 +0000
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