Nurturing Nascent Seeds of Community 9-2-9

Anderson, South Carolina

One of the grandest things about Europe is the presence of safe well utilized city parks. These grand emerald oases create a comfortable margin of livability in often very densely populated cities. Young mothers with their strollers, young lovers on their blankets, retiring types with their good books, dog owners flicking Frisbees to their energetic charges; I am reminded of Chicago’s hit song “Saturday in the Park”. Glorious places for spontaneous flecks of community to coalesce.

Saturday in the park
I think it was the fourth of July
People dancing, people laughing
A man selling ice cream
Singing Italian songs
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And I’ve been waiting such a long time
For Saturday

Saturday in the park
You’d think it was the fourth of July
People talking, really smiling
A man playing guitar
Singing for us all
Will you help him change the world
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And I’ve been waiting such a long time
For today

Alas, Americans now tend to be afraid of their parks for assorted reasons. So often I have seen large parks in metro areas quite devoid of people, even on warm spring days with newly emergent blooms everywhere. Even here in small town rural America I most often find the pleasant little parks quite empty of people.

As the song says, “I’ve been waiting such a long time for today”. While riding my bike through the park the past several mornings I have noticed a curious phenomenon - curious because of it being so unusual here. At 7 AM two days ago a woman drove up to the edge of the park, set up a folding chair by her car and was engrossed in a book. She did not want to acknowledge the reality of my presence. Presumably, rapists often show up on road racing bikes wearing helmets and offering happy greetings. Yesterday she was there again in her chair with the same book. Another car was present and its driver had set up a chair and was also reading a book. I received a single tentative syllable in response to my greeting. Today the first woman actually acknowledged me by looking up for a second and giving me a two syllable response. It seems like a seed of community was planted. Tomorrow I will make sure to pass through at the right time to see if this seed might actually have germinated overnight - perhaps yielding a tentative smile; I am, after all, harmless.

While working in a large hospital many years ago, one of the house keepers was assigned to clean my suite of offices. When I first met her, the only response I could elicit from Martha was silence and special attention to the avoidance of eye contact. I was white. She was African American. I’d been to medical school. She made eighth grade. It was the American South. This presented a challenge to me. This social boundary, class sensitivity, racial isolation, caste kind of rubbish was going to be cleared away from the spaces we shared at the hospital.

Over the months this sullen impasse was broken, not by eloquent words or condescending attempts at creating economic or racial equity. I simply got my butt out of my office chair instantly when she came into my room and moved my chair so she could vacuum the carpet; having made sure there were no paperclips or other administrative solid wastes on the floor to clog her vacuum. I collected my trash cans and emptied them into her cart. I made sure the bathroom was already clean before Martha ever got to it.

Over the next couple of years we moved from one syllable grunts to fluent conversation that went far beyond her custodial responsibilities. She shared freely about the challenges of raising two generations in her house as a single mother working as a hospital housekeeper. We commiserated about employment security when the hospital entered into merger talks. Over the years I made sure to include Martha in my distribution of Christmas gifts to co-workers.

I knew the rubbish had been successfully cleared out of our space when my brother came from Idaho for a visit. I was invited to bring him to Martha’s house where she had prepared a multi-cheese macaroni pie for my brother. I wanted him to have a taste of southern hospitality. He got it. We had two spoons in the car and that large dish was emptied before we ever made it home. An important thread had been woven into the fabric of community.

Time and nurture allowed single mumbled grunts to germinate and grow into a mutually respecting and validating friendship that created an island of community in a facility where a strong culture of distrust was often evident. A culture of distrust exists in the little park a mile from my house. I want those women to feel safe in their park, not having to keep one eye in the back of their head, watching for the enemy to make a stealth attack via ten-speed bike. Perhaps these women can come to know that the universe is a fundamentally friendly place. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to share a complete sentence with them - but in their time.

One day I just might find myself in a vibrant park where young mothers with their strollers, young lovers on their blankets, retiring types with their good books, and dog owners flicking Frisbees to their energetic charges are enjoying community. Every time I offer a kind word I increase the likelihood of those seeds of community sprouting and bringing forth a sweet fragrance; dispelling the stench of fear and mistrust.

Reach out and touch someone. You don’t need a phone.