The number of children living in shelters and on the streets of South Florida continues to increase. For many of those kids, homelessness has rattled their worlds.
Shelter helps homeless teens in Fort Lauderdale Covenant House in Fort Lauderdale is one of the only shelters to provide for older teens and young adults.
Homeless student struggles to move ahead
Corey is eighteen and homeless. He is trying to turn his life around as he studies for a GED and learns to cut hair. Rescuing teens from Miami streets
StandupForKids is a group helping homeless and runaway teens lost in Miami's streets.
BY TRENTON DANIEL
tdaniel@MiamiHerald.com
In downtown Miami, dozens of elementary school children spill out of Overtown's largest homeless shelter for a ride to and from school.
In Homestead, a high school student hides her head beneath a hooded sweat shirt every time she walks into her temporary home -- mortified at having to live in a shelter -- while in a Pompano Beach shelter, an 8-year-old boy tries to adjust to his new surroundings.
And in Northwest Miami-Dade, a 12-year-old girl who lives in a wall-less outdoor fruit stand -- and bathes herself by spigot -- does her homework in a nearby flea market food court.
These are among the increasing number of South Florida homeless students -- children living in shelters, motels, cars, relatives' homes and on the streets because their parents lost their homes to foreclosures or evictions.
Miami-Dade leads the state in the number of homeless students at 2,382 -- more than enough to fill an entire school, according to state figures. That's an 8 percent jump in the number of homeless students from the 2006-2007 school year.
Broward experienced a slight drop in the number of homeless students with 1,642 identified last school year, compared to more than 1,200 students so far this year. But officials expect the number will be much higher.
''We're going to see around 3,000 students this year, I think, or certainly 2,500,'' said Dianne Sepielli, coordinator for Broward's homeless student program.
The increasing trend is mirrored statewide.
Records show the state has seen a sharp rise in recent years in the number of students identified by their districts as homeless, jumping to 34,375 last school year from 16,430 in 2003-2004. The student homeless figure for 2006-2007 was 30,878, compared to 29,545 in 2005-2006 and 28,805 in 2004-2005.
Administrators say the numbers could be much higher because not all students report they're homeless.
For many of these students, homelessness has rattled their worlds.
The shelter kids say they appreciate the roof above them. But they also concede they must contend with an alien environment rife with strict rules, tinderbox tempers and petty theft. Then there's the stigma of being without a home of one's own -- and, teenagers say, the fear of being outed and picked on.
''I don't want my friends to find out,'' said a 14-year-old who moved into an Overtown shelter last month after his father lost his truck driving job and then their Little Havana apartment. The eighth-grader at Jose de Diego Middle in Wynwood declined to give his name.
'If they knew, they'd laugh at me, like, `Ha ha, you live in a shelter' and, 'You don't have your own room,' 'You've got to share your own stuff.' Stuff like that.''
As for parents, they juggle the duties of clothing their children, getting them to school on time and meeting other basic needs. Some have managed to hang on to their jobs, but others must seek work in an economic climate that shows few signs of immediate relief.
''Depression just gets me everyday,'' said Wilson Santiago, 50, an unemployed truck driver living in a Pompano Beach homeless shelter with his 8-year-old. 'My son asks me what's wrong, and I don't answer. I tell him, `You're not an adult.' ''
One recent Friday afternoon, Santiago stood outside the front gate at the homeless shelter, waiting for his second-grader to return from Charles Drew Elementary. When the bus rumbled up, four children tumbled through the doors, followed by Mathew.
''For an 8-year-old guy, he copes with it very well,'' said Santiago, who bounced around from Economy Lodge to Hollywood shelter before landing in the Pompano center in early January. ``As long as he's got a roof over his head, he's fine.''
Like some two dozen children at the shelter, Mathew receives after-school tutoring in course work and FCAT preparation through several Broward teachers.
Mathew views his new accommodations with mixed feelings: He likes his bunk bed but the proximity of a log-sawing roommate wakes him at night.
''It's not a good place for me to try to sleep,'' Mathew said, flipping open and closed a Game Boy lid. ''He'' -- elbowing his father -- ``snores loud.''
The Pompano center has converted an unused storage building into a family dorm that holds up to six occupants, refurbished a courtyard playground and introduced parenting classes since last spring.
''That's when we started hearing about an influx of families,'' said James Whitworth, the Pompano Center director.
At one of Miami-Dade's largest shelters, the Community Partnership for Homeless in Overtown, elementary school children trickle in midafternoon, their thumbs hooked into their turtleshell-like backpacks as they pass through a metal detector. A security officer guards the entrance.
Madeleine Paige and her two children moved into Community Partnership for Homeless -- more commonly known as ''the HAC,'' an acronym for homeless assistance center -- after she lost her job as a crossing guard. Her rent got behind and the eviction notice came. She doubled up with her mother in Little Haiti -- until the landlord told her to leave lest her mom get the boot.
Then she and two of her children, 11 and 9, slept in their car one night and two nights at a motel.
''We had absolutely nowhere to go,'' Paige, 36, said.
One day she broke down.
Paige nixed her 11-year-old son James' after-school FCAT tutoring at his school,Orchard Villa Elementary in Model City. The reasons: the cost of gas and the inability to make car repairs.
''I had to cry this morning,'' said Paige, who recently put in for a temporary job with the U.S. Census Bureau. 'I had to tell him, `We are not in our own home.' That's the hardest it's ever been for me.''
For older students, homelessness comes with a burdensome secret that's best to hide.
''At first I was ashamed,'' said Nicole Ayala, 16, who spent four months living in a Homestead shelter last year. ``I didn't want to be there.''
Nicole covered her head with a sweat shirt hood when entering the shelter -- a place she resisted because of its rules, curfews and connotations.
Nicole is now pursuing her GED and staying with her parents in a Naranja apartment provided by Carrfour Supportive Housing, a nonprofit that specializes in getting those living on the streets into stable homes.
While some homeless students neglect their grades, others shine in the classroom.
At the Overtown shelter, where an after-school program helps keep students on track, 40 out of about 100 children who live there made honor rolls last spring semester, according to the center's marketing director.
Elsewhere, homeless students battle greater challenges.
Take a 12-year-old who sleeps at night with her mother on a thin mattress in an open fruit stand next to the indoor USA Flea Market on Northwest 79th Street and 27th Avenue. They store their clothes and shoes in cardboard boxes and use a spigot, soap and a towel to bathe.
Last semester the sixth-grader at Madison Middle in Northwest Miami-Dade received two As, three Bs and two Cs and has a 2.57 GPA, said Laura Peña, the homeless student liaison. Total number of absences: Three.
The 12-year-old, whose mother did not want her name published, doesn't fit the homeless stereotype in other ways. Dressed in a yellow Polo-style shirt, khaki pants and white bangle bracelets on a recent Friday, she carried herself with a maturity beyond her age. Her homelessness doesn't seem to bother her, but she doesn't exactly want to broadcast it, either.
''I wouldn't go to school if they found out,'' said the 12-year-old.
Her mother boasts the duo live a conventional life, sans four walls and sophisticated plumbing.
``We're living like normal people but without a home.''
When a family loses its home, school administrators try their best to keep students in their school of origin. Sending the child to a new school isolates the student from established friends and teachers, and it's important to maintain the school as a stable environment, they stress.
In Broward, most homeless students manage to stay in the same school.
Meanwhile, school administrators are working to accommodate students' needs. Peña has already handed out all her school supplies and book bags -- items that usually last until March. She also just transferred two tutors from a Salvation Army shelter to the Overtown shelter because of the abundance of children. And she's increased the number of parenting classes from once every three months to once a month.
Peña believes work is unlikely to slow down.
''It's probably going to get worse before it gets better,'' Peña said. ``I'm probably going to be busy for awhile.''