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The long-term effects of homelessness on children are incredibly harsh. Even when homeless families stay together, the daily battle for basic needs comes first. Education often drops to the bottom of the priority list, and kids lose the stabilizing routine of school, teachers, and close friends. For unaccompanied homeless kids, the risk of dangerous behavior increases exponentially with street gangs, drugs and the sex industry claiming more—and younger—victims each year.  Statistics show that homeless kids who survive the streets usually do so without completing high school, creating more human fodder for the cycle of poverty that begets homelessness.

Some kids who end up on the streets are like Amanda: They fight with their parents, decide they can do better alone and leave. Other kids run away because of physical or sexual abuse in their homes, parents with alcohol or drug addictions, or a lack of money for food, rent, and other necessities. Some parents basically push their problem children out the door, knowing that with the overburdened child protection system in Oregon there is little chance of legal sanction.

When Amanda left her mother’s home, she took her school supplies, some clothes and a little money she had saved from a summer job. She was already signed up for the school’s free breakfast and lunch programs, so during the school week, she could eat two meals a day.  After school, she spent time at the public library working on homework and school projects. Then she walked the streets until she found a safe place to unroll her blankets.

After a few weeks, the streets took their toll.  Amanda spent more time worrying about where she could go than completing her homework assignments. Laundromats and other necessities soon ate up her small savings.  Weekends were particularly difficult with no school to occupy her time and no access to free food.  She was tired constantly; with the street noises and other interruptions, she slept only intermittently. Her school ID provided free access to city bus service, but where do you go with no money to spend? Amanda was sick of the endless roaming to avoid police and community harassment.  And she was humiliated by having to use the student showers at her high school. Most kids shower at home.

Amanda can’t remember exactly how she met Kara Penniman—maybe her survival instincts sent her to the high school’s Student Health Center, where Kara works as a counselor. Maybe she fell asleep during class and was referred to the nurse. But when Amanda met Kara, her life’s pendulum began to swing in a different direction. Sharing space with a nurse in the health center, Penniman provides mental health and counseling services to students and families, but her job description expands to meet a host of student needs. With her purple-tinted hair, trendy clothes and streetwise vocabulary, Penniman, a nine-year veteran of social work, is hardly the stereotypical high school counselor. She is cool, approachable and exudes a non-preachy can-do attitude.

In that time, Penniman has witnessed a lot of sadness. Her eyes were first opened to the problems of homeless kids when she worked at Station 7 and New Roads, both youth service programs funded by Looking Glass, a nonprofit counseling agency in Lane County. Station 7 is a shelter that serves youths aged 11 to 17 and provides a variety of services that range from family reconciliation counseling to interim housing.

Penniman also worked as a member of the New Roads street team. Carrying backpacks crammed with snacks, condoms, hygiene items and bleach kits for needle users, pairs of street teamers roam the downtown area and bike paths around Eugene, making contact with homeless kids, keeping them informed of available services. Some of these youths choose to attend school and vocational training programs through New Roads or another alternative education system.

At the time, Penniman assumed that those were the only street kids who were attending school. It wasn’t until she started her counseling position at South Eugene High School three years ago that she began to recognize another segment of the homeless student population—those like Amanda who are trying to attend mainstream public schools while living on the streets.

Penniman works hard to avoid stigmatizing kids who are already working on adult-sized problems. She asks for permission from each student before notifying other staff of their housing difficulties in order to mitigate certain academic problems: don’t mark them tardy if they arrive late, don’t assign homework that must be turned in online. For these extremely low income students, in a school like South Eugene the huge financial disparity often feels overwhelming. Penniman keeps a stash of soup and snack items in her office and can sometimes supply gift cards for local restaurants so kids like Amanda can escape cafeteria tedium.

Food and schoolwork aren’t the only issues, though, so when Kara discovered that Amanda was homeless, she reached out to provide more. When she realized that Amanda avoided using the school’s public shower facilities, Penniman contacted a physical education teacher who arranged for Amanda to use a staff shower in her office area. Other teachers brought in special toiletry items and laundered her towels at their homes.  Amanda started talking with Kara, gradually started sharing her story.

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