An Excerpt of Flower Joy by Vin Shambry

from ART Quarterly Issue 1

by artistsrep

Speckling the White Artscape by DeReau Farrar

I believe telling personal stories can create social change. By sharing my stories of growing up homeless in Portland, I hope to illuminate for you the realities of communities and individuals living at the margins, and to challenge deeply-entrenched characterizations of poverty and privilege. Flower Joy is my story, an untangling of how poverty, racism, and sexism intersected in my childhood.

As a writer, storyteller and performer, my goal for Flower Joy is to inspire us to connect with the “human-ness” of one another – the joy and shame and heartache and family we all hold. Perhaps the next time you encounter a homeless youth, a survivor of domestic violence, or a black teenage boy, you’ll remember this story and see them with curiosity as a whole person, full of possibilities, much like yourself. — Vin Shambry, October 2020

An Excerpt From FLOWER JOY

I was the young, homeless boy getting clothes from the Salvation Army on N. Williams Avenue in the Winter, and getting a box of food with my sisters at the Sunshine Division. I showered at Matt Dishman locker rooms when we were homeless, washed my clothes at the laundromat on NE 15th (where Whole Foods currently is). I was the boy following my mom with a shopping cart of our belongings, collecting cans in St. Johns. When on summer break from Sabin Elementary School, I was the little boy waiting all morning for the free lunch at Irving Park -- before rushing to Dawson Park to get another free meal to share with my mom. This city is entrenched in my identity.

A memory:

All the kids are running towards me, picking me up in the air, telling me that I was strong, that I belonged.

The last night of Outdoor School, we sat around listening to counselors tell stories like they do. And one story I will never forget. It was a story from long ago about how all the animals sought shelter from the worst of a storm. Some of them went into the cliffs, and some of them went into the caves, but in the end, the mice were left with nowhere to go. So what they did was they sought shelter in the mighty pine trees. To this day, if you look at a pinecone, you can still see what looks like their tails sticking out from the bottom.

Hearing that story, I start to cry. After a while I could tell that all the kids have noticed that I’m crying, and they’re all whispering.

But at that moment, I do not care. I am too overwhelmed with emotion to be embarrassed. I look around at this wonderful place and my new friends, but I can’t help but think that I’ve deserted my family in our tree.

I have left them this whole time, and I only just realized it. My tears are coming from a place of gratitude for this awesome week, but also from the realization that my family needs me. I’m twelve. And I’m the man in charge.

I’m supposed to push the shopping cart with all our stuff. I’m supposed to find the cardboard for us to sleep on. I’m supposed to protect my mom and sister. There is a storm coming, and I’m not there to stay awake.