Tuesday, February 20, 2018

We Need More Busy-bodies

Growing up the B's lived across the street... on the corner. Mr. Burke was the choir teacher at the high school. Terry was in my sister Sheri's class at school. Kelly was 4 years older than I am and gave me her hand me downs. Mrs. Burke didn't work outside the home. Their house was beautiful and they had every board game I never owned.

Next to them were the D's. They had as many kids as my family. Of the two we played with, Jenny was a coulple years older than me, Julie a year younger than my younger sister. Their parents worked at Whirlpool and their house had air conditioning where the basement was so cold you needed a jacket in the summer. Their yard was immaculate.

Z's were next. They were the cranky old couple who kept any ball that came over their fence.

L's lived in the right half of the duplex that came next. They had a daughter the about the same age as my older sisters.

To the right of our house were the W's. They had kids younger than all of us. Andy was killed when he was six crossing Alexander street on the way to his grandparents. Timmy would say after that he was going to take a ladder to heaven to visit him.

To the left of our house was a revolving door of people for some reason. I remember one family that stuck their hands through our fence and pulled the cotton plants we had brought back from Arkansas out of the ground where we had planted them.

We all belonged to each other. We knew when we did something wrong, we would get called on it ... and then called on it again from our own parents.

I wasn't made to say, "Yes, Ma'am" or "No, Sir," but the Ma'am and Sir were implied.

Smarting off wasn't cute. Some were verbally told so, others physically. Not one of us was abused.

I know this sounds like a good old days yadda yadda story, but in truth losing those days is not as wonderfully progressive as some would have you believe.

We say nothing or hold judgmental  rallies  where we shout about the evils of those whose values contradict our own. WE are perfect in our safe little houses of group think. THEY are not just wrong-headed -- but evil in their dissent. We don't know each other so we don't have to care. Our way is the only way, and anyone who refuses to do as we say is a "bigoted expletive unwilling to compromise."

Stop.

WE are supposed to be grown-ups. What example are we setting when we don't respect police, or military, or our President?

And you'll notice I didn't say like. I didn't say agree with. I didn't say celebrate. I said respect. If we can't model RESPECTFUL disagreement, how can we expect our children to respect anyone or anything.

We are supposed to be grown-ups.

WHY do you believe as you do? Don't list all the ways the person you disagree with is awful as a human being. Why do you believe what you believe? Why should I believe as you do... if I happen to disagree? Go beyond, how it is racist, bigoted, homophobic, classist, or exclusionary. Tell me how your view makes the world a better place.

And then listen.

You may be surprised how much we have in common.

The first step is getting to know the metaphorical people in your neighborhood. If we all belong to each other, maybe it would be harder to hate.

By the way, my house was the green one in the middle. We had the yard with no grass, because all the neighbor kids trampled the grass away. We had no air conditioning. We had open windows and box fans. The back porch smelled of wet laundry. The kitchen smelled of homemade cinnamon rolls. The front porch was where we played Brady Bunch and the back yard was for playing Charlies Angels.

And the street was what we crossed when we wanted to play together.


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