|O'Connell Street Bridge in Dublin|
In fact, when I was very young they used to go door to door, I guess that might have been left over from the tinker era. There was one woman who called regularly to our house selling balloons. My mother always brought her into the kitchen and gave her something to eat with a cup of hot tea and bought her balloons. We referred to her as 'Mammy's beggar lady'. And I remember another occasion when a boy (probably about 10 years old) called to the door. It was pouring rain and he was soaking wet and shivering with the cold. My mother brought him in, put him in a hot bath, gave him some of my brother's clothes and a hot meal. I suspect that is where I learned to be compassionate towards beggars.
On one occasions, I was on my way to the bus stop, going home from school, when a beggar asked me for 'a little help' and I have him my bus fare and walked home. My sister assured me that I was not helping him at all because he would more than likely use my bus fare to buy drink. I told her I didn't care, if I was in his position I would want someone to give me money for a drink if that was all it took to make me happy, and he didn't look like he had anything to be happy about.
|ready for the tourists|
My husband, way back in time, after he graduated school, lived on the streets in San Francisco for a short while, he was being a hippie, and supported himself by panhandling. He told me he made a good living, in fact rarely had to sleep outside, but could afford to get a motel room most nights. He encouraged me not to give to panhandlers, but frequently I give in. And should I see the unfortunate male model again, I will give to him.