Community, Part 1
Authentic community is like weight loss. They are both things most people pursue, but few understand they can’t be rushed, purchased or forged. The best way to both is through sacrifice and effort. Just as love is more than romantic gestures, real community is more than mere entertainment. The world is always dangerous and difficult place, and we are fragile. Community implies people sharing their strengths and resources to help mitigate each other’s hardships. Yesterday I had an encounter that helped me understand how important authentic community is to me.
You won’t find our neighbor’s home on the cover of Better Home and Gardens. They keep the simple yard mowed, but the house is quickly falling into disrepair. It needs a new roof, gutters, paint and window treatment–and that says nothing of the interior. The driveway and curb are always filled with cars–a mixture of visitors and residence.
Yesterday our neighbor came by to ask my wife’s advice about how to best academically serve their littlest boy, Kevin, this summer. Kevin and his sister were the first to greet me when I moved into this big empty house nearly 2 years ago. Kevin is especially friendly. He is only 8, yet he always takes time to make conversation with me when he sees me. He doesn’t do it for lack of attention. He is the beloved baby of a large family. My wife made some phone calls and passed along her recommendations to the family. She agreed to carpool with Kevin since she is teaching summer school. It works both ways. Kevin’s family has offered me food from their grill. They mow the grass between our driveways, even though part is my lawn. They’ve trimmed our the trees between our houses when I was unable to complete the job. I’m certain they would offer more if we asked.
After the visit it occurred to me that I prefer to live next to a family from a run down home that felt comfortable asking for our help over strangers that live in a pristine home. Okay, I grant you it isn’t an easy choice–and I can’t swear I’d hold to those values if my house were on the market. The visit also brought me to reflect on the half dozen homes we have a similar relationship with and the handful of friendly faces I’ve recently met that will probably join those ranks after some time.
Horns, Birds & Spitball Cannons…
Atlanta ranked 6 on a list of cities with the least courteous drivers. To think, if we had honked more horn or flipped more bird we might have made it on the infographic featured on AutoVantage’s website. The report doesn’t surprise me. Atlanta isn’t a font of southern hospitality.
I’m not immune to the air of hostility that is so prevalent on our roads. In fact, just yesterday I was pondering the tools I’d need to better express myself to those I share the road with. First I need to replace my car’s horn with a megaphone so I can better communicate with my fellow drivers. Second, I need a mechanical spit-wad cannon mounted to the hood of my car. Some guy would be all like, “ha! ha! I just cut you off …without using my blinker!” His erratic driving would catch me off guard, but I’d quickly regain my composure, lock onto him with my targeting computer and unleash a wad of toilet paper saturated in justice! His car would swerve and I’d watch it explode in my rear view mirror.
I’ve yet to find a hood mounted mechanical spit-wad cannon, so I suppose I’ll just have to live with this.
05.2.08Peace, Love and Breakfast Cereals
I often venture into the supermarket unsupervised. About a month ago I had a particularly eventful trip. I thought I’d share. It all began when I asked a fella in produce to direct me towards the cereal aisle. He shot a few quick glances to verify we had sufficient privacy. “I know what you’re looking for, and you won’t find it in a box sporting Tony the Tiger.” I responded with a puzzled look. He flashed a wicked grin and lead me across the store, towards the back behind the organic toothpaste.
As I rounded the corner a fantastic scene opened before my eyes. There was a party being held in my local grocery store. The aisle was crowded with long haired hippy-types, all lounging about and being groovy. Anxiety and curiosity rolled about in my stomach until they extended warm greeting and welcomed me into their fold.
I reclined in the grass by a small circle of my new friends. They were passing around a bowl. Each would eat a spoonful from the bowl, then melt into a satisfying release. I looked in the bowl they placed in my lap. Best I could tell it was granola cereal. I looked around at my new friends. A few were still adrift in bliss. Others were watching me, encouraging me with their lethargic smiles. Maybe it was a moment of courage or possibly a casual disregard for caution. Either way, I took a bite. Om nom nom. This was some good shtuff. I went for another bite but a thin bearded fellow in the back got up on his knees called out, “Crunch, crunch, pass, man! Crunch, crunch, pass! You’re messin’ up the rotation!” I assumed an apologetic pose and handed the bowl to the girl next to me.
I turned to my friend from produce and asked about the heavenly breakfast cereal. He handed me a box that read Nature’s Path Hemp Plus. I pretended to be surprised, but deep down part of me knew something so good couldn’t be legal. I gave it back to him and explained that I couldn’t bring that stuff home. He gave me a lopsided grin and explained the second one’s free. “Um, don’t you mean the first one’s free?”, I asked. He explained the cereal was buy one, get one free with my Kroger card.
Noah found the box last night. His eyes were drawn to the big text on the back of the box that clarifies why hemp is not marijuana. I tried to explain I eat it for my Glaucoma. He put a bit in his mouth and declared it was a bit oily. Hey, that’s all the more for me.
Guitar Hero
I dunno when I’ll be able to post again. You see, the boys are getting the band back together. Old farts like myself like few things better than sharing our music with the younger generation. I learned from the best, Dana Carvey. Now I must teach my children not just how to hit the notes, but play them with style. We shoot notes from the hip, jump with the rhythm and we work the whammy bar like it was …well, you know. Tonight the kids and I rocked out to Even Flow, Paint it Black, My Name is Jonas and La Grange. I only wish the disc had some Limozeen bonus tracks. My old lady, she isn’t too keen on the release of Guitar Hero 3. She says it keeps me out on the road too long. I think I may have to write her a power ballad. She’s been spending her free time working on a new video game concept, “Back Massage Hero”. You lay a thin game pad on your partner’s back and you have to squeeze and rub certain areas in time with the music. I can’t wait for her to try it out on me. Oh wait, she’s giving me the stink eye. I better go.
…anyone know where I can get some lazer lights for our living room on the cheap?
Miggily-Miggily-Mee!!
09.18.07Mean Girls
Mean Girls is a surprisingly entertaining film and especially educational for younger viewers. Lindsay Lohan plays a even-keel yet naive new student that strikes back at a very shallow clique of girls called “the plastics”. The movie is a comedy, but the plastic clique is a fair representation of the sort of shallow people found in any secondary school’s social heirarchy. These kids feed on the faults and insecurities of others. They take pride in hollow “social” accomplishments. They champion fickle fashion as an art or a virtue. They have no taste of their own. They have no true friends. Everyone is a tool in their eyes. Every alliance serves some selfish purpose. When they feel pity serves them best they work to create dramatic sob stories from their pampered, meaningless lives. They tear others down in order to artificially inflate their own self worth.
When we learn to laugh at ourselves, we are free to be human. The proud are easily mocked and scorned. When we embrace our foolishness, it is more difficult to shame us with it. I pity these shallow people for they have forged their own chains. Everyone is keen to the threat posed by others with vices similar to their own. Let me clarify with some examples. I was a nosy child, so I carried a deep-seated fear people would go through my stuff. I know liars that have issues trusting others. Likewise, shallow people assume everyone is as critical and unforgiving as they are. They are never free to be human and embrace real life. I imagine this fuels their bitter downward spiral.
The schools I attended did not emphasize building student’s character. Most of the rules I remember being enforced were designed to control and protect students and faculty or facilitate learning. The psychological tactics plastic people use often fall between the rules that are enforced. Even the most damaging offenses sound petty when brought before an authority. When I was young I was discouraged by what I perceived as their prosperity. I was so mislead I even adopted some of their values. Now I see the real fruits of that lifestyle. They never learn to love. Rather they endure relationships with people as selfish and loathsome as they are. They never serve a cause greater than themselves. They grow neurotic from trying to maintain a facade of perfection: never misstep; never exhale; never relax.
I am grateful that my children are humble and free. They know plastic people and have experienced their venom. Although I know the natural consequences of a shallow life, I still find it hard to forgive them and wish them well in my prayers. When my children turn to me for advice I don’t have easy responses. The godly response I must recommend isn’t one I understand. At that point it’s clear I’m asking them to be better people than I am.