“Honey, you pick up the phone over there,” the receptionist said to me, pointing across the lobby.
My kids and I were at Renton City Hall to tour the REACH Center of Hope, a day shelter in Renton that also provides hot showers, food, vocational and professional services and a loving supportive community.
At night, moms and their kids are shuttled to a local church that provides dinner and a temporary place to sleep.
My kids followed me as I walked over to a utilitarian phone that was bolted to the wall. It was the kind of receiver Ronald Reagan could have picked up in the middle of the night to be alerted the United States was at DEFCON One.
Standing in the City Hall lobby, phone in hand, my kids surrounding me on all sides, a newborn wrapped up close to my chest, it occurred to me. If I were a homeless mom making this call, I would absolutely feel like my world was coming to an end.
“Can you come get us?” I asked the voice inside the phone.
Then the receptionist approached with a large bag.
“Can the kids have candy,” she said. I felt myself relax. “Please, each of you take two,” she said, her voice betrayed a kind of quiet desperation to please.
It dawned on me that she probably thought I was a homeless mom seeking sanctuary at REACH instead of a columnist, here to write a story for “Life in the City,” my column, with my five children.
As a parent and fellow human, it’s important for me to have my kids experience what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes for a bit, even if those shoes are uncomfortable. Life in most American cities is surely not just about fun family adventures.
Otherwise, how else can kids really learn empathy and feel the desire to help other people in their hearts?
That sentiment is just one of REACH’s missions: “Allying ourselves with, and advocating for, those whose dignity and worth is compromised through lack of resources.”
A REACH volunteer greeted us and escorted us. We passed several security checkpoints that required card keys. It felt a little like we were being taken to an underground bunker.
At the REACH reception area, we met Jennifer White, our tour guide.
“Jennifer, why don’t you take me through the tour as if I were a homeless mother showing up here with my kids for help,” I said.
The look on my girls’ faces took on a “scared straight” expression—like suddenly things just got real.
“The very first thing we do is to have you fill out paperwork,” Jennifer said.
“Should we take off our shoes?” I asked glancing down at the new, soft- pile rugs. The lights in the reception area were pleasantly dimmed and the chairs were comfy. It was easy to see that care had been taken to make visitors feel welcome, as if you were entering someone’s home.
Jennifer shook her head and waived us past two computers set up for clients to search for housing, jobs and access community resources.
We moved on to the kitchen, run by volunteers from Renton’s Friendly Kitchen, where nutritious breakfast, lunch and after school snacks are prepared.
My daughter Amelia was designated as my camera woman and I talked with Jennifer as she snapped shots of the industrial-sized washing machine and dryer set that the city had donated, a remnant from the spaces previous incarnation as a jail.
We also peeked inside a thinly stocked walk-in refrigerator.
Jennifer shared the story of a local homeless mother with a baby who at night sought the refuge of a Porta Potty where she would sit in front of the locked door.
“Which is why we’re so grateful that you’re writing about the program,” Jennifer said. “We haven’t gotten a lot of publicity and we’re anxious to get the word out that we’re here to help. There aren’t many resources in the south end for homeless women and children.”
Though there are no windows or doors, save the front entrance, I walked over to an artfully painted window pane with a cheerful looking bird inside.
“We’re here to provide love and caring support and help the women get back on their feet,” Jennifer said, her voice was calm and reassuring. Just the kind of person you’d want help from in a desperate situation.
Next to the painted window was a sprawling, deliciously colorful mural of birds, a cerulean sky and a glowing yellow sun.
In fact, each space we encountered, from the children’s library, to gym-styled shower stalls, were comforting and creative – the ordinary elevated to the extraordinary, through freebies and volunteers.
In the media room there were a couple of girls Amelia and Sophie’s age (9 and 13) who were laughing, as they played Monopoly with Jennifer’s son.
“Mom, those girls don’t look like they’re homeless,” my daughter whispered as she folded her hand into mine.
“What does being homeless kids look like?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“Tonight those girls will sleep in temporary beds at a local church and be brought back here in the morning until their mom can find a home and a job.”
“Will they do that even when school starts again?” my daughter probed.
I nodded.
“Mom, it’s not right that they don’t have a home,” she said with conviction.
“What’s this like for your son?” I asked Jennifer, who volunteers twice a week, often bringing along her son and daughter to help at the Center.
“He understands that he’s serving…,” Jennifer said. “And he feels good about it. It’s nice that he can give the kids who are here a kind of normalcy.”
Before we left, I needed to feed baby. So I sat in a rocking chair in the library and watched on as my kids read books and played. I couldn’t stop thinking of that mom and her baby spending night after night in a Porta Potty.
I was fighting back tears when Jennifer appeared in the doorway, a smile on her face. Her smile reminded me that you can never underestimate the healing power of kindness.
“Ya’ll need anything?” she asked.
“We’re doing just fine,” I answered back.
If you’re a mom with children, REACH isn’t ever a place you want to go. But, it’s good to know that if you ever find yourself at DEFCON One, standing in the lobby of City Hall with an old phone in your hand asking for help, there are people at the other end of the line, like Jennifer, waiting to help you.
