34 Humans.
34 Community Members.
34 Smiles.
34 “Hellos.”
34 Costco Hot Dogs.
34 Bottles of Gatorade.
34 ‘Bre Bags’ filled with a winter clothing item, a pair of thermal socks, a bag of Werther's Original and a bottle of Glysomed, delivered.
Where is your humanity? Have you forgotten it in your privilege?
This is year two of ‘Bre Day.’
“Giving back” was a foreign concept.
For 26 years, I was raised in a religious cult with the ideology that those in the world who are in need was due to their choice of “God rejection.” Helping those in need was prohibited. Giving to charity was frowned upon. (But the cult leadership had no problem taking from us, 15 per cent of every financial increase to be exact. How Christian of them; a story for another time!) Those outside of the cult walls were not worthy and I grew up in fear of those who call the streets their home.
If I was paid a dollar for every time I heard, “Tim Hortons is hiring” when driving past a panhandler or down a street with tents, I’d be embarrassingly rich. If the windows were down in our vehicle as we approached, up they went. In my impressionable childhood mind, those in need became labelled as “dangerous.”
“How can I help?” was an unknown and unspoken sentence. Unknown to me was my white privilege. Unknown to me was my place in upholding white supremacy. Unknown to me was the life altering harm my religious beliefs poured upon others.
I don’t have a lot. I was kicked out of my religious, doomsday safety net of 26 years, am a domestic violence survivor and am a single mother of five. The cost of living is not getting any cheaper and to others, they may think I am being careless by taking what little extra I do have and rather than putting it into a savings, I give to those who don’t know when they will eat again.
With all of my disrespect, I don’t give a fuck what you think. In fact, I wish I could have made a bag for everyone. I wish the political leaders in this province of Alberta and this country of Canada would create housing for every single human. There is a budget surplus and yet …
Housing is a human right. You heard me, A. HUMAN. RIGHT. Nobody deserves to be living on the streets. Nobody deserves to freeze in -30C degrees and wonder if anybody cares. Nobody deserves to wonder when they get to eat again or when they will get to shower. Nobody deserves concrete steps or a broken down child’s wagon to call a bed. Nobody.
Where is your humanity? Have you forgotten it in your privilege? Let me remind you that we are closer to their reality than that of arrogant and selfish billionaires.
A young women looked me in the eyes and asked if she could have a, ‘blue’ Gatorade. She has a memory. She has a favourite moment. We all have a favourite. I know I do. It’s the red one for me. What’s yours? Do you remember trying it for the first time? Do you reach for that colour? The twinkle and hope in her eyes when I returned with a ‘blue’ Gatorade is the reason I do this.
We shared stories. We shared a hand on the shoulder. We made squiggles with the mustard like they do in the cartoons, to be “fancy” and brought a laugh to all of us, every time. Human. Not greater than and not better than. Someone’s child and someone’s first “I love you.” They are one of us.
I was asked if I am a part of an organization. I was asked the “why?”
The last bag I handed out was to a gentleman. Grateful is an understatement. He asked if he could say something to my friend and I.
“Of course you can.”
“I bet you didn’t wake up this morning thinking you’d be doing this tonight.”
I had in fact been thinking and planning this night for a while. ‘Bre Day’ is not a whim choice that I make when I feel like it. It is a thought out night with hours of prep that I will continue as long as there are fellow community members in need.
I told the gentleman the orgin story of ‘Bre Day’ and here it is for you.
“Housing is a human right. There is no room for debate. However, in Edmonton, there are over 3,000 people without a house.
“[November 17th] is ‘Bre Day!’ Two years ago, I flew to Toronto on my first business trip. It was marked as the day my career in my new post-cult life began. As ‘Bre Day,’ or November 17th approached in 2022, a friend asked me how I wanted to celebrate. A dinner and movie seemed nice but as ‘Bre Day’ crept up, it wasn’t sitting right with me. I picked up the phone, called my friend and told him how I don’t want ‘Bre Day’ to be about me but rather a day to give back to our community.
“Together, we assembled and delivered 24 winter bags to the homeless. You are our fellow humans, our community members. You have stories to tell & listening to them had a life changing impact on the both of us.”
“How can I help” was an unknown and unspoken sentence.
The smile on his face gives the Grinch a run for his money. The fact I cared enough about him, to listen, to see him and give conscious thought to the betterment of a night filled him with a happy disbelief.
As I was purchasing the items for the winter bags, a lady stopped me.
“I couldn’t help but over hear you telling the cashier your purpose with the items and I just want to tell you that you’re an incredible person and if more people were like you, the world would be a better place.”
I can’t afford to build housing nor am I a politician with the power to make change but I am a fellow community member who, for one night, gave 34 humans a reason to smile and a belief in hope for one more day. It takes one person, one step to start a motion, to kickstart change. We just have to take it. Take it, It’s yours to do so.