I could see her from a distance. 

For that matter, I wasn’t sure that it was a woman until she briefly lifted her head to tuck her straggly hair back behind her ear. She didn’t look a lot older than my daughter.

She was bent over the garbage bin by the roadside. Looking for food, I presumed.

We were walking around in an up-and-coming neighbourhood of San Francisco.

As we walked past the girl and her dog, I tried to ignore the fact that she was still rummaging through the trash – picking stuff up, inspecting it, and discarding it. The dog sat patiently watching her – clearly used to the routine.

“Should we give her our leftover food from the restaurant?” It was Alex, my son-in-law, always the compassionate one.

We had just had brunch at a trendy Indian restaurant near the San Francisco City Hall. As usual, we had over-ordered.

I hesitated.

I wasn’t sure of the rules of engagement on this one. What if the girl was offended?

“What if she is an art student doing a project?” That came from my daughter. I could sense that she almost wanted it to be true.

While we debated the potential outcomes, Alex decided to go ahead and ask the girl if she would care for some food that we were taking home from a restaurant.

She appeared surprised but grateful. We handed the food over and piled back into our car.

She waved.

I could see her take a quick bite of the – unfamiliar – stuffed Indian pastry and tear off a piece for her dog. As we drove off, I felt that she liked it. The dog seemed less excited about the spicy treat.

I remembered the first time we had visited San Francisco a few years ago. We had stayed at the Hilton, not far from Union Square.

“Don’t walk left,” the concierge had said, matter-of-factly, as he drew us a suggested walking route of downtown San Francisco. Seeing the surprised looks on our faces, he added, “It can get sketchy.”

It didn’t take us long to figure out what he meant.

Friendly, clean streets suddenly turned into ones that had sidewalks monopolized by groups of homeless people who begged for money. People in San Francisco will remind you that the high cost of housing and government policies have played a large part in the sad situation. Throw in good weather, drug addiction, mental health issues, and liberal society, and the picture is complete.

Not unlike Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside and other big cities in North America.

Big city. Big city problems.

When it comes to homelessness in the US and Canada, I have mixed emotions.

On the one hand, I feel that people who live in North America have not seen abject poverty. The kind of poverty where street-dwellers have no access to homelessness services, shelters, soup kitchens, social assistance, needle exchange programs, and the like. On the other hand, I can’t deny the fact that anyone with a choice would ever choose to live on the streets.

I struggle with the recognized causes contributing to homelessness in countries like Canada and the US – financial, societal, psychological, health, and addiction. We can’t seem to find solutions to help homeless people get off the streets or prevent others from becoming homeless.

We are talking about two of the richest, culturally advanced countries in the world!

If Norway can do it, why can’t we?

On a personal level, I wish homelessness didn’t exist. But that is wishful.

Until now, my interactions with homeless people have been minimal and not supportive of their plight.

Generally, I try and avoid eye contact and pretend it is normal for someone to be sleeping on a subway vent in the middle of winter. I say no to the squeegee kids, and keep walking when the guy with the beer and the dog on King Street & Spadina shouts out, “You got a buck bud?”

Perhaps, it is time for me to think like Alex and spare some change for the less fortunate…