A birthday not so happy
By John Mohan

Last Saturday, June 7, I turned 50.

A surprise party (I thought I was picking up my grandson Lincoln for a few hours), cards, gifts, and fine restaurants were included in the festivities. Of note, my wife Brenda invited our closest friends from Hartford, Conn., and Swift Current, Sask., to spend the weekend in Winnipeg with us. It was a wonderful time to recount memories and blessings with friends and our children.

Due to last minute cancellations, Siloam found itself short of volunteers Saturday morning, so we and our out-of-town guests scheduled some time to help cover the lunch meal. (I couldn't think of a better way to spend a birthday than with my homeless community.)

As I often do, I positioned myself near the entrance of the drop-in centre to greet anyone arriving or leaving. While standing in my spot, a cordial and articulate gentleman whom I'd seen often moved toward me to ask a few questions and chat.

Noticing his walker, he asked about the protocol to be admitted into the Emergency Shelter. He wanted to be sure that he'd have a bed due to his disability. I advised him to come a little early because the Shelter usually fills by 10 p.m. and it would be difficult to ask someone else to leave if there weren't any more available beds. He understood, promising to arrive a half hour early.

He then said something that startled me. Not aware that I was celebrating a birthday; he mentioned that it was his 54th birthday. When I told him it was mine also, he said, "Well you're in good company. Prince, Tom Jones and Dean Martin all share June 7 with us." I didn't know that.

We exchanged birthday wishes, and then moved on to our respective interests. As we parted company, I was guilt-laden, knowing my birthday was proving to be much better than his. He had worked for Via Rail and the City of Winnipeg but in the spring of '91 suffered a brain aneurysm. At the time he and his wife had four children, ranging from ages eight to 18 years. Unable to return to work and living on disability income, his wife served him with divorce papers the following year.

He was forced to move back home with his mother who eventually helped him set up his own apartment. Life has been in a barely tolerable holding pattern since, but recently took a tragic turn for the worse. Living at the Woodbine Hotel, his tiny room was broken into (as most eventually are in the Main Street hotels) and his rent money and bus passes were stolen. Unable to make alternate arrangements with the landlord, he was evicted -- on June 7-- on his (and my) birthday. This is when our conversation began about a Shelter bed.

People often say they learn to count their blessings whenever they see the plight of the less fortunate firsthand. But frankly, that sentiment has never sat right with me. Not because I'm not thankful for my family, friends, career and lifestyle. But because me being thankful for what I have doesn't help those in great need.

Happy Birthday, friend. I'll be thinking of you often during my Calgary to Winnipeg "Mid-life Crisis Bikeathon for the Homeless" the next two weeks.

Originally printed in the Winnipeg Sun, Wednesday, June 11, 2008.
Reprinted with the permission of Sun Media Corporation.