As a 12-year-old, I was in seventh grade. I played tight end and linebacker on my grade school tackle football team. I also played baseball and basketball.

Actually, correct that. Enough time has elapsed that I can begin building up my minimal accomplishments like any ex-athlete.

I starred in football, baseball and basketball, as I was very possibly the best 12-year-old in the country at all three sports. Colleges were already scouting me, and the NBA was already trying to get me to skip high school altogether. Yeah, that’s it.

Anyway, the big dilemmas in my life concerned the females in my grade. Boy-girl parties were all the rage, what with couples and dancing and all (which, as many of you may recall, was a very, very big deal). And I couldn’t dance at all (and still can’t). Someone in a full-body cast whose arms and legs have fallen asleep would be far more impressive on the dance floor. I look as if my joints are spasming uncontrollably and I am powerless to stop them. Anyway, so I was worried about the dancing. Luckily, I found out that I needn’t worry. All the girls were too blind to see that I was clearly the coolest guy there, so I stood and stood for hours on end.

My failures as a dancer and girl-attracter crushed me at the time. The only solace I could take from the situation was all the girls would someday regret their mistake (I’m sure “someday” is coming real soon) and in time, I would grow out of the standing-by-the-side role (still waiting on that one, too). I thought my life was tough, what with the seizure-dancing, girl failures and all.

I did not have a clue.

According to an organization called Homes for the Homeless, the average age of a homeless person in the United States is roughly 12 years old. Twelve years old! While these kids are beginning to endure the hell that is puberty and the traumatizing life of being attracted to the opposite sex (which is more than enough of a burden on any child), they are also looking for a place to sleep at night. They are wandering the street, sometimes alone, sometimes with the remnants of their family, looking for a roof to rest under and some food to fill their stomachs.

I was worried about my performance in the infamous adolescent kissing games. (I was exceptional, for all the ladies out there who are wondering.) They are worried about scraping together enough bits of clothing to stay warm in the upcoming winter months.

Their average age is 12.

That means for every old man or woman (the people who I had always associated with being our nation’s homeless), there are two or three kids under the age of six without a place to call their own. That’s horrible and, quite honestly, disgraceful.

Our nation likes to revel in our world dominance. Many Americans have the installed mindset that we, as a country, are the best Earth has to offer, the cream of the crop. Yet, the problem of homelessness just keeps growing. In fact, the number of homeless families with children has jumped 12 percent in the last 15 years.

Maybe instead of campaigning for war in the Middle East, we should be sheltering the disadvantaged of our communities. For the price of a couple dozen bombs that the government would like to drop on Iraq, we could establish more affordable housing units in our communities (or at the very least, more homeless shelters) or further efforts to educate our homeless.

Because they are OUR homeless. They are our people – citizens of the United States, just as you and I.

It wouldn’t be too hard to package and get approval to aid the homeless from the American people. With the right spin, I’m sure they would readily support these programs.

I can see the commercial now: (Picture of grimy, dirty, barely clothed child) “If any American child has to spend even one more night on the street, (picture of Osama bin Laden) the terrorists win.”

Dustin Kass is a junior in journalism

and mass communication from Dubuque.