steve urkel

On Skid Row in Los Angeles, live the largest number of homeless people in all of the city. After about 7or 8pm, outside the anonymous green doors of a community outreach center and the only after school program on skid row, tents will start to be pitched, as those with some kind of plan for sleeping arrangements prepare for the long night ahead. Men and women, young and old line the streets. Displaced, crowded in, shoved aside, thousands of people struggle to make it to the next day. Many are stuck in a cycle of addiction or illness that is perpetuated by their poverty.
The housing that does exist in this ever shrinking area is called residential hotels - tall dirty buildings were entire families live in a small room and are stuck paying slum lords way too much for rent because they can't save enough to move out of the harsh living conditions. The picture to the right is the Huntington Hotel, one such residential hotel, where several of my young friends live.
These friends are the children who come to the after school program with the anonymous, green double doors on 6th and San Pedro. After tutoring, dinner, and other activities, we are in charge of making sure they arrive back at their homes, safe. Whatever safe means.
Today was a particularly difficult day in the 3rd -5th grade group. Desmond and his sister Tatiana hadn't gone to school that day, so there was tension with Tecola and Kiilou, who were all in the same class and none of whom wanted to have anything to do with homework. Especially because there was no school the next day.
As the 15 passenger rickety van pulled up to the Huntington, all the kids jumped out and we began walking with them up to their rooms. Soon we found that Desmond and Tatiana's dad wasn't answering the pounding of the door. One of the staff members began trying to make calls, while the kids argued about where they could go. While passing the time on the 5th floor, the kids started playing with whatever accessories I had on that interested them, my neckless, bandanna, and most importantly, my glasses.
Kiilou, who is a tall, lanky boy, was playing with my glasses, and decided to pull his pants up as high as he could get them to go, tuck his shirt in, slouch, hold onto his belt, and squint in his best Steve Urkel impression. I didn't even think these kids were old enough to know who Steve Urkel was. But did they ever.
After bursting into laughter at Kiilou's impression, Desmond took the glasses and began the next round. Soon Killou left, but Desmond was getting more and more convincingly Urkel. As we walked down the dingy halls, it was a comical sight - a miniature Steve Urkel leading me, nearly blind without my glasses, around the corners. The kids, who had been sulky and confused moments before were laughing and smiling with me at the hilarious impersonation. Everyone we passed as we walked back down the flights of stairs, though the lobby, and across the street recognized Desmond as Steve Urkel, and they all laughed or smiled in approval.
It really was funny. Not just like a dumb joke that a little kid tells that you pretend is funny. It was simply entertaining and, although I was a little nervous about tripping and falling, it brought everyone together a little bit.
We had to take Desmond and Tatiana back to the after school program location until someone could come for them, or at least be contacted. Who knows how many nights they had spent alone or will spend alone in the future. But this night, they were together, and with the other staff, genuinely laughing.