I found the whole situation frustrating and depressing. Why couldn’t our neighborhood, poor or not, look neat and orderly like the better-off neighborhoods? Why were so many of our youth getting into drugs and crime, and why couldn’t I do anything about that, either? The sidewalk garbage somehow stood for all the problems in the Mission.
I was working at a Kaiser hospital at the time, and one evening I was sitting in the first floor vending machine room with a nurse friend. A Latina housekeeper was across the room, cleaning up some tables that had been left a mess by previous hurried workers.
I was telling my friend about my neighborhood problems, and finally I sighed loudly, “Why are people such slobs?” The housekeeper, whom we had hardly noticed, picked up her head, turned around, and said, “Because they don’t have to clean up after themselves.”
Her words struck me; I thought about them the rest of my shift. Surely, here was an expert opinion. I realized that Juan and my efforts, far from encouraging people to respect the street, may have been giving them license to litter and pollute even more. And in a larger sense, I realized that trying to make people act differently from what their environment promotes will always be frustrating. I could do things for the neighborhood if I wanted, but I should let go of any expectations for outcomes of my work. In a way, that housekeeper helped me heal.
And sometimes people can inspire you when you least expect it. Last weekend, I reconnected with Donna, my best friend from 5th Grade. We hadn’t seen each other in 48 years. It was a lovely reunion. It’s not easy to catch up on a lifetime in one conversation, but we felt like kindred spirits after a couple of hours visiting at Union Square, Westfield Center, and other touristy locations. Then Donna asked to go someplace quieter. It was too noisy on Market Street.
David, thanks for reminding each of us about the power of Faith and Hope.
Faith and Hope sustain us.
I have been thoroughly enjoying your blogs. Each evokes a core value in it, the one about the young kids and the homeless man really touched me. Too often the young are given a bad rap for what only a few do. Here is a case of one youth that has been raised “right”.
And the one about the filth in the community, that response by the housekeeper was direct, to the point and explains the whole situation. We have got to do better there are no two ways about it. The city is a beautiful place and so is NYC but the filth has got to go.
WE have all got to become a committee of one to see that the right thing is always done at the right time…..
DT
Funny you should ask. Less than a week ago, my daughter heard part of a lecture by Dr. Joy DeGruy broadcast on KPFA as part of their fundraising drive. Intrigued, she looked up Dr. Gruy on You Tube and got me interested. We are now waiting for eight copies of her book to arrive in the mail so that we can hand them out and start a study/healing group. If you haven’t heard of Dr. DeGruy or her work I urge you to watch this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QolmVWudFc&feature=related
and check out her website:
http://www.joydegruy.com/
Be the help from an unexpected place – spread the word.
Thanks for both the great stories and great comments!
Thanks DJ for the reference to Dr. DeGruy. I’m really interested in historical trauma, or intergenerational trauma. I wrote about it quite a bit in my Diabetes book(see link on the blogroll) , because historical trauma is a major cause of diabetes. I’m going to try to get in touch with her.
David- thank you so much. Your stories always move me and take me to a place of quiet yet hope and a sense of the “larger picture.” It means so much to me that you share them as you do. I feel like I am opening windows into others lives and drawing direct inspiration as I read your writings. Take Care my friend-
I said my goodbyes and left my mother in bed at the hospice,
knowing I wouldn’t see her alive again. I drove three hours to my home,
was in the bathroom when I heard someone at the door. What strange timing, for someone to arrive, just at the moment I’d returned from my mother’s bedside.
“Ah, Mr. Will? You still have extra bedroom?”
It was Soe, the Burmese refugee who had stayed with me for a few weeks
the previous summer. He was being kicked out of his apartment, and was hoping
for a place to live.
I invited him in for something to drink (on that hot afternoon), and, aware that after taking care of some work in the next few days, I would soon be driving back to Buffalo for my mother’s funeral, I told Soe that I’d have to check with my housemate, but it would probably be fine.
Soe returned the next day, with 2 cantaloupes he had carved to look like lotus flowers.
In the midst of my grief as my mother was leaving the world, Soe was re-entering my world, in a cheerful, appreciative way.
He had told me some of his story, how he had been arrested during his final year at university, spent more than a decade in prison without being charged with any offense, escaped and made his way through the jungle to Thailand, then to the US. How safe he felt in Ithaca, where he didn’t constantly feel like someone might be about to stab him in the back.
Here he was, smiling, and saying “Yes!!” and “I like it!” more frequently than any other words. I had a lot to cry about, and Soe provided a gift of perspective for me- a recognition that things could be much worse, that there was much to be grateful for.
You have a wonderful way of finding just the right thing to write about that inspires me to be a better person; more caring, more giving, more accepting of life.
I used to bring food I made at home or leftovers retrieved from community events to homeless people in San Francisco. One time, I offered sandwiches to 2 men sitting on the grass and a woman who was lying face down (drunk? drugged?) next to them. The woman looked up bleary eyed, semi-sat up, and I left them with a bunch of sandwiches. After handing out more food to some other groups of people, I went back to my car. As I sat down to drive away, in front of me, I could see the formerly bleary-eyed woman, going up to other people face down in the park, and awakening them and offering them some of the sandwiches I’d left for her. I started to feel little tears forming around my eyes as I realized that by giving of myself, I had enabled another person to give.
Thank you, Will and Randy for sharing these lovely stories.
Yours for wellness, justice, and love,
David
Keep writing. I enjoy the stories.