My Father Talks to Me About Being Homeless

Us, circa 1992.

“Daddy,” I asked him for the first time, “Why did you start living on the streets?”

My father lives on the 8th floor of an old hotel in Manhattan. I think it’s been decades since the hotel had bellhops and room service. Now, it’s a housing project for people with disabilities — both mental and physical, plus those facing financial hardships. (I…