In the last few blogs I have discussed my relationship with
my surrogate children. I will tell you
quite frankly my mission was not to demand they see me as a disciplinarian nor,
for that matter, as a authoritarian. For
me the path to influence was to hope and pray that they see me primarily as a
reliable source of support. (Lucky for
me, this proved to be far more than a pocket-book issue.)
Once a large group of my kids became a huge challenge in
their Sunday school class. In desperation,
the male teacher ask me to sit in hoping that they would settle down a bit to
the serious matter of being inculcated with Judeo-Christian values. I attended and nothing whatever changed. It was utter bedlam. The teacher looked at me incredulous that I did
not lower the boom. Here again we return
to equilibrium mathematics.
My intention was to introduce them to a different type of
authority than that which ground them in the dirt day-after day. Of course, I speak of the larger society, not
the bedrock love they found at home. I
wanted them most essentially to associate authority with spiritual, moral, and,
yes personalized material support. The elixir
that would make this possible must be “bubbly,” NOT “brittle.” This ruled out many somber endeavors that are
standard issue castor oil treatments for the disadvantaged. To put it bluntly, I wanted them to have fun,
and luckily for me, it was a favor they wanted to return….oh yes..life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness. It seems
to me that equality combined with a sense of fun all round surely helps the
medicine go down.
This morning very early I had breakfast at IHOP. I sat next a black family. Needing to elevate my foot, I ask the young
black man (maybe in mid-twenties) at the adjoining table if I could use a chair
next him. He said sure, he got up and even positioned
the chair under my leg…and then went to a third table to replace the chair he had
given me. Unbeknownst to me, there was
another member of his party that would eventually return. I thanked the whole table and remarked I moved
to St Pete in the 70’s and was always impressed by how blacks always treated me
as an equal. They expressed appreciation,
but the young man grimly expressed frustration with the attitude of the police. (I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard
that very same complaint.) The family
left before me as they apparently had arrived well before me. I was finishing up and two police officers skirted
past two chairs near the entrance to indicate an area of tables unused at that early
hour. The walked all way to the front
windows of the restaurant and sat down (it was still dark outside.)
After a while I walked over to greet them and apologized for
interrupting what no doubt was a valuable repast of peace and quiet as well nourishment. On my inquiry, they told me they were midway
though their shift. I asked if I may ask a few questions, but at any time feel
free to tell me to leave. I mentioned
the attitude I generally found in the black community and contrasted that to
how we feel when I see a police cruiser parked at church on Sunday. I said we understand that the church is paying
for the presence of-- bottom line--the Sword of the State, yet we generally perceive
the officer as a provider of an important public service role involving an
overall feeling for us of security and well-being. The two found no easy answer for this phenomenon. Understanding they were “off the clock” and
how pissed I’d be if during a precious lunch hour a customer bent my ear, I
retreated.
Yet I thought how nice it would be if the police could just
for an hour, take the starch out of their clothes and let the public see them
sitting at the next table telling stories, laughing out loud, maybe now and
then having some food drop on the front of their uniform or accidentally turning
over a glass of water-- Not being “apart,
beyond. And alone” might be just the ticket for everybody—including the police themselves. As unwise as this may sound, when in the community I would like to see them address other citizens as equals (yet, of course, like
everyone else, having a job to do) and—lord forbid—learn how to spice their job
with a little pep and spirit.
(I am sure that most of us have tried that little experiment
in which we intentionally and arbitrarily fly off-the-handle in anger for 30 seconds
or so, only to find that a rather weird and frighteningly easily produced mood
change has crept pervasively and forebodingly over us.)
Print Page
