Umbrella Man and the Nameless Girl
At first glance I thought he was just a weird guy, maybe something wrong with his mind. "Good Mornin' Ladies" he greeted everyone who passed by, "Have a Blessed Day." Over and over again standing in between the doors of the hospital entrance. The pouring rain had slowed to a depressing drizzle as folks were bustling in and out of the building and he alternated between wishing the night-shift employees a safe drive home and offering the day-shifters plastic bags for their dripping umbrellas.
As I sat there watching it occurred to me that this was his job. He was supposed to be there. As if on cue, he called out to a passer-by, "You've heard of 'Rainman' --well, I'm Umbrellaman." And without missing a beat, he blew open a long plastic bag and helped her slide her umbrella in it. He laughed and joked with the people who obviously knew him, greeted everyone, and repeated over and over again, "I'm Umbrellaman." He was working. Contributing. He knew who he was and his purpose for being there. And he wasn't shy about letting others know it.
My thoughts lingered for a moment on the importance of identity and what it means to know who we are in this world. And my mind drifted to the image of a woman in my office desperately trying to explain herself to a substance abuse hotline operator. She was put on hold and she turned to me, "I get nervous and I can't talk" she mumbled over an embarrassed smile. Fourteen years of heroine, crack, and prostitution...I can't tell you her name, not because it would be unethical, but because she doesn't have one. There's no name on her birth certificate. She's lost in an ocean of drugs and despair; she doesn't know who she is. But she knows who she wants to be, and perhaps that's why, --though gasping for each breath-- she hasn't drowned
As I sat there watching it occurred to me that this was his job. He was supposed to be there. As if on cue, he called out to a passer-by, "You've heard of 'Rainman' --well, I'm Umbrellaman." And without missing a beat, he blew open a long plastic bag and helped her slide her umbrella in it. He laughed and joked with the people who obviously knew him, greeted everyone, and repeated over and over again, "I'm Umbrellaman." He was working. Contributing. He knew who he was and his purpose for being there. And he wasn't shy about letting others know it.
My thoughts lingered for a moment on the importance of identity and what it means to know who we are in this world. And my mind drifted to the image of a woman in my office desperately trying to explain herself to a substance abuse hotline operator. She was put on hold and she turned to me, "I get nervous and I can't talk" she mumbled over an embarrassed smile. Fourteen years of heroine, crack, and prostitution...I can't tell you her name, not because it would be unethical, but because she doesn't have one. There's no name on her birth certificate. She's lost in an ocean of drugs and despair; she doesn't know who she is. But she knows who she wants to be, and perhaps that's why, --though gasping for each breath-- she hasn't drowned
posted by smurp at 8:14 AM
3 Comments:
Seriously, you should write a book. I love reading your blog entries. They are so well-written and thought provoking. Keep 'um coming!!!
Wow, what powerful stuff. I second Monica's comment about it being very well-written. If I were working there, I'd write a story about Umbrella man and send a photog to get a picture of him in action. That's the kind of story I love to do... one that makes people pay attention to someone or something they might otherwise pass by without noticing, appreciating or understanding.
I agree! It's very well written and you're able to capture not just what is happening but what is being felt. Keep posting stuff! It helps joggle my mind. :)
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