It’s hard to be invisible. You have feelings, just like everyone else. You get tired, and hungry, and sad; but no one seems to notice, or care.

Life on the streets is a dangerous and harsh existence. While on a recent trip to Niagara Falls, Ontario, I met a man begging for a hand out. He sat by himself near a bus stop, holding a sign that announced he was homeless and would appreciate any amount of money that could be spared. There was something about him that drew me to him, so I started a conversation. He barely looked at me at first, mumbling his responses, but I could tell he wasn’t drunk or high. He was just a young man, down on his luck. I walked away after a few words, but I couldn’t just leave him there, feeling like the world didn’t care.

I sat down beside him, there on the sidewalk, near a bus stop, in Niagara Falls, one of the most tourist intensive cities in North America. And we talked.

His name is Austin. He is 34 years old, one year short of a college degree and can’t find a job because he was arrested and did jail time for petty theft. He said he keeps his head down most of the time because he is ashamed and embarrassed at what he has to do to survive. Sometimes, if he can collect enough charity during a day, he gets a motel room where he can shower and sleep in a real bed. Otherwise, he sleeps in a stairwell, where he hides what little he has in a chink under the stairs.

Austin has a daughter, but he rarely sees her. He could, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want her to see him this way. They used to be close, when she was small; but divorce and bad luck have separated them. Maybe, someday, he thinks, he might get back on his feet and go see her.

We talked about being invisible. Austin feels invisible; like people walk right by and don’t acknowledge that he’s even there. Sometimes someone will toss a few coins, or maybe a dollar bill into his cup; sometimes passers-by will swear at him, call him names, belittle and scorn him. Sometimes people are very vile. They think he’ll spend the money on booze or drugs. They don’t know his story. They don’t care about his story. They just want to get past the inconvenient reminder that not everyone has it made.

For 15 or 20 minutes Austin had a conversation, eventually looking up, looking me in the eyes. People walked by. Some stared at the homeless bum and the well-dressed woman sitting side by side on the sidewalk. Others pretended not to notice. I wanted to scream at them, “This man isn’t invisible! He needs help!” But it wouldn’t have helped.

We have been led to believe that all beggars on the street are drug addicts, or alcoholics. Some are. But most of them are just down on their luck.

Bad breaks or bad decisions have brought them where they are. They don’t want to be on the street, begging for a hand-out. They want to stand tall, work for their keep, and be unashamed of who they are. If you don’t feel like you can give them money, buy them a coffee or a sandwich. Don’t just walk away, judging what you don’t know.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Robyn Near is a Ripley resident. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com