I used to be terrified of the homeless. I never quite knew why. Maybe it was the vibe they gave off, maybe it was their distinctive smell, or maybe it was because they were different. As a young child I never noticed they were just like me; humans.

When I lived in Detroit I tried to avoid all places that had homeless people in the area. Even in the car just seeing them with their ”will work for food” signs made me nibble on my fingertips. I avoided bus rides home, which now I look upon and wish I would have because being 16 and soon to be a licensed driver, I need to know where I am going. My fear of less fortunate individuals ceased my ability to learn new things.

July 2012, I was forced to move to hell on Earth: Arizona. Isolated from everyone including family, pets, and my true friends. A few weeks after, I became a freshmen at a new high school. Not knowing anyone, with no friends, no familiar faces. Eventually, I met many friends and became a well known part of my school by joining Student Government. Within that class I earn the title of ”freshmen class Treasurer.”

That year becoming a part of StuGo impacted me. They pushed me to get over my fear of the homeless. It all started the day before our first charity event. ”Mr. Leyba can I not go to the charity event?” I said. ”Why?” He said in reply, ”You better have a good excuse.” At that moment I took a huge inhale and told him my fear. In return he cackled in my face. ”We all have to get over our fears one day in our lifetime, LaNaija” he responded. So I took that as a no to my question.

That night I tossed and turned all night, attempted to count sheep but that never works, so I stayed up going through my Instagram timeline. It wasn't until 8:00 am, Saturday when I put down my phone. My mother offered breakfast; I had no appetite, which was unusual. I made my way to the Phoenix soup kitchen downtown with my StuGo friends. The whole ride their I sat still, like I was imitating the Mona Lisa. ”Squeak” the bus breaks. ”We are here!” Said Mr. Leyba with nothing but joy in his voice. Some reason I did not get up like everybody else. I sat and sat, until my advisor came to speak with me. He simply stated ”you will get over this silly fear today.” I replied with a uncertain nod. We got off the bus.  And the first thing I laid my eyes on was this little African American lady.

She smiled and I gave a grin back.

After serving all the meals, I stayed in the back helping with the dishes. Then I glanced at the old woman again. She reminded me of my great grandma: sweet, fragile, petite. Mr. Leyba insisted that I went to go speak to her. Knowing I had no argument to prepare with him, I made my way towards her. ”Hello” I said. ”Hello dear” she said in reply. I helped her with her plates and we sat down and talked surprisingly for hours. Her name was Gloria. She told me stories about her life, like what were her favorite childhood games were which she explained that she loved jacks.

  Gloria was the only homeless person I spoke to in life that day. She changed my perspective of how I looked at them. At first I thought they all were the same, but that is not the case. They all have a different story. Every other Saturday we would go back to the kitchen, and I would talk to Gloria. Everyday I learned something new about her. She was 82 years old. She was born in New York, and moved out to Arizona with her husband. He was in the army and he basically took care of everything. Unfortunately her husband died while they were both in their 40s. Gloria tried to take on his load, but couldn't get employed, she lost her house. Mortgage was way too high. And that was how she ended up in her situation. She had been homeless for over 30 years.

She also told me how she met Malcolm X and went all the way to Detroit to March with Dr. Martin L. King. Gloria described all the shouting, whaling, and harmonizing during that march.

Continuing to see her every other Saturday like scheduled all the way to the end of my Sophomore year, Gloria became very ill. She did not want me to know, but I could sense something was wrong because she coughed in every sentence she spoke. Then suddenly Gloria never showed the Saturdays I went to the kitchen. I began to worry, I asked around but no one knew a thing. The following Saturday I found out Gloria passed away, all by herself, which she did not deserve. She was such a loving person, and had a great impact on my life. She was the reason why I joined Interact, and gave a whole new out look on life. Knowing she would be proud of me if she still walked the Earth today. She certainly will not be forgotten.