You're not even five steps removed from the train station when you're confronted, yet again, by a homeless person. His eyes are wide and puppy-like, and a well-rehearsed sob story will start in...3...2...1... Stop.

You have two choices: Give him money. Or avoid eye contact and walk away briskly.

Wait, think about it. Are those really your only two options? No.

In truth, this situation presents you three choices, none of which are really about money (or food, or anything you may offer him materially.)

It's about indifference, pity, or compassion.

You can ignore the man. I get it. You're sick and tired of people asking you for money. Why don't they get a job? You're not rich; you can't spare too much. If you went around giving money to everyone who asked you, you'd go broke yourself.

You can give him some change. It's just the nice thing to do, right? Or better yet, some food. Everybody knows the homeless man is probably inclined to spend your money feeding some unfortunate alcohol or drug addiction. So be extra charitable, and run over to the local supermarket and get him a bite to eat and something to drink. He needs it.

Now before I present the third option, let's distill the first two choices to their core values.

The first one: you could call it justice or karma, for what you assume is the homeless man's laziness, but you're really just exercising willful indifference here. You don't want to be bothered. And you have other priorities for your money, literally everything you could possibly buy with 50 cents ranks higher than giving it away to some bum on the street... at least today...because you're just not in a good mood, okay? Gosh.

The second one: Look, you're a good person, you know? You're not perfect but you try to do good things sometimes. Like give a couple quarters to a homeless guy. Makes you feel good. Poor guy. At least you did something. Your conscience can be clear now.
But let me be clear, you're acting on pity, not a genuine concern for the well-being of the homeless. And you know that. This is more about being able to walk by him without feeling like a total shithead than it is about helping him. You feel sorry for him. And you also feel better than him. You give him something just because, but he remains inferior. That's why you're giving him loose change. Or one meal today, without going the extra mile like bothering to learn his name or know his story or to follow up on him next week.

When you saw him, you didn't think- oh my god, a human being in suffering, this dude has no shelter, food, money! You didn't see a fellow man in an unacceptable plight. You saw a "homeless guy" and thought "ugh," followed by a crisis of conscience that you would resolve with a few quarters, or an outright dismissal of his personhood.

So what's the third option? Befriend him.

Radical, I know. Now I'm not saying become his bestie, bring him home for dinner. I'm just saying, talk to him. Give him a few minutes of your day, like you would anyone else you mildly respected. Introduce yourself, like you would to a prospective employer. This man isn't just a "homeless guy" - he has a name, a story, a past, a future, and right now you're sharing space with a fellow human being and he's asking you for help. Hear him out, at least. You don't have to give him money. Honestly, your few quarters won't do much for him in the long run. And yeah, in my personal experience with homeless people whom I've befriended, chances are they will spend your money on alcohol or drugs. But that doesn't make them unworthy of your compassion. It just means they're, guess what, a human being with problems, like everyone else in this world. Their problems happen to be pretty severe, making them all the more deserving of your attention, if not your aid.

Let me admit some bias here. I like talking to homeless people, for a couple of reasons. One, I have the example of my father to follow. My dad's kind of a lonely retired dude. And a good chunk of his socializing is actually with homeless people who he runs into on the street as he walks around. So much so, that he's particularly taken to this group of homeless people who live under a local bridge. He brings them food and tools to help them survive. He knows all their names. And they, in turn, call him "El Pastor," (the pastor) No, my dad is not a pastor, He was a public school Spanish teacher. But something tells me that this new, informal, voluntary gig of his, helper of the homeless, may be bringing him more fulfillment than his career ever did.

Secondly, befriending homeless people makes me feel good, plain and simple. In most interactions with non-homeless people, there's a degree of underlying anxiety that just doesn't exist when I talk to someone living on the street. There's no Keeping Up with the Jones's when you talk to someone whose only goal is to stay alive. Every time I talk to my buddy Layphil who sits on a crate outside the corner bakery on my way home, I'm reminded in an undeniable way just how fortunate I am to have shelter every night, hot running water, and an abundance of food. Not to mention, a college education. Leaving school, Layphil has told me on numerous occasions, is his biggest regret. He got sick of studying in high school, but wishes now he had stuck it through.

It's one thing to hear "stay in school" from your family, and entirely another thing to encounter an in-the-flesh embodiment of the real-life consequences that may come with forfeiting formal education.

More poignantly, when you befriend a homeless person, they become real to you, not just caricatures of homelessness. And you discover the authentic kindness and resilience of the human soul in the face of an often cruel and indifferent universe.

Layphil is one of the sweetest guys you could ever meet. Most people in the neighborhood walk by him either in fear or disgust. Who is this dirty black guy in our nice, little "good part" of town?

Well, his name is Layphil! And he's a nice dude, with a seriously bad case of alcoholism.
He likes to read the newspaper to stay informed. And he's trying to "turn his life around." He wants to work, but doesn't feel ready yet. He says he first has to "get his mind right." He'd go to the shelter, but they impose strict rules on drinking that turn him and others like him away. Is he at fault for this? I don't know. But do your criticize your alcoholic uncle the same way you would this man? It's an addiction. It's unfortunate, but I'm not going to reduce his character for his substance abuse problem any more than I would for a millennial who spends way too much every day on social media. (Me)

The point is, Layphil is a sweet guy. Very soft in his demeanor, a good listener and gentle in his speech. Some people give him change or food. But he's taken particularly kindly to me for sitting beside him and sharing my time with him, sometimes with an empanada and coffee for each of us, sometimes only my presence.

I'll never forget the first time I decided to sit by him and drink some coffee with him during a particularly frigid day last winter. We were sitting by the steps outside a church, and I asked him if it would be alright for me to sit by him, hoping I wasn't bothering him. And he said "No, not at all. I appreciate the company. No one ever takes the time to sit and talk with me."

As if that weren't enough of a blow to the heart, some man in a drunken stupor came rolling out of the bar across the street, and walked right on over to us.

"I don't get it. What's going on here?"

I said, "we're having some coffee. What's up?"

"Yeah I see man, but I don't get it. What's this white Justin Bieber wannabe doing out here sitting next to this guy?"

My response wasn't memorable or extraordinary. I was kind of in shock. But the man went on to lecture Layphil on how he needs to get out of the streets, have some self-respect and get a job.

It saddened me. I think I should have done a better job sticking up for Layphil, but he handled it well. He let the guy patronize him for a few minutes until he ran out of gas. And afterwards, he told me that that shit happened to him all the time. People were always giving him "pep talks" where they blamed him for his problems and told him to get his act together.

Can you imagine? It's enough to be told what to do by our parents and teachers, but to have random passersby on the street at any moment just come up to you and criticize you? That would suck, to say the least.

Ever since then I've made it a point to talk to Layphil when I see him. And sometimes I fail. Sometimes I think I'm "too busy" or I take an alternate route home to avoid running into him. And that's shitty of me. It comes from this feeling we're conditioned to have that Layphil is somehow deserving of his lot, and now, less than us. Where he doesn't merit our concern despite the fact that he's living on the street and hungry -- like, hello! Are we completely numb to his suffering? Is he really that unworthy of our time? You're telling me that I can't afford to miss the Devils pregame show at 6:30?

It's bullshit.

Look, I could go on and on. I could tell you about Randy, "The Gladiator" who's "violent as all hell, but (has got) a kind heart" and who gave me a morning exercise routine which he used while in the Marines. I could tell you about "The Uruguayan" who was a painter but suffers from some mental issues as a result of led exposure, but who has managed to build himself a makeshift shelter under a railway, which includes a chimney, a sofa, a window, and a door with a lock on it. I could tell you about Anthony, "Chori," Moses the Hari Krishna guy, and so on.

The point is, please start treating homeless people as people, like you would anyone else. How would you react if you saw your cousin or your friend on the streets?

Act with that kind of compassion towards them.

It's not about your loose change. It's about your time and attention. Show them they matter to at least one person in this world. Show them they matter at least enough for a greeting and a conversation every time you see them.

Don't just throw your change at them. Be their friend.