Archive for August, 2009

Each of us has experienced a feeling of kinship with someone who shares a love of something about which we are passionate: chocolate, foreign films, classic cars, a band. We have a natural affinity for people with the same skin color or ethnic identity. We might also feel alienated from someone with the same qualities if he or she belongs to a ”group” we do not like or to which we cannot relate. Our world is infected with it; our societies overrun. It isn’t a virus, a disease, or an ideology. It’s merely a concept above which we struggle to rise. It’s Us.

People live, and die, in nations, races, ethnic groups, religious traditions, social strata, and ideologies that mark some as part of Us and others as Them.  But it’s not a foregone conclusion, and it’s not a lost cause. Being open to inclusion, to celebrating our differences, to the realization that every person we meet has a story filled with moments of joy and sadness, love and hate, compassion and indifference, passion and disinterest, and rejection and acceptance is what enables Us and Them to become We.

In science fiction stories human beings of all nationalities and beliefs are drawn together to fight for the survival of the human race against alien foes. The concept of common ground rises above what is seen, felt, and said to a level that supersedes all else: the fact that we are all human beings, and we all deserve to live, love, and thrive. This is true beyond the fictional realm. On a smaller yet no more insignificant scale, I’ve witnessed first hand how time and experience can transform, reinforce, and bond a group of people in what can only be described as a kind of love.

Thirty years ago we went our separate ways but some of us had known each other for over a decade by then. Then, we were young, naive, and indestructible. Friendships formed and became fierce; loves blossomed and faded and some held on as ever-blooming flowers that live in warm, sunny places in our hearts; groups emerged among which some moved effortlessly, but most did not. Some life paths were chosen then and some were not chosen, but were revealed through our actions. Some were where they would live forever; some would travel the world. Each would perform acts that would touch the lives of those around them in ways so varied that it would seem impossible to calculate their impact. Yet quietly, in sometimes indiscernible ways, the world became a better place because of us. Their differences would make it seem impossible for any connection to endure. But an undeniable truth connects us all: we experienced a transformative time in our lives together. We share common truths, common situations, common memories, the recollection of which brings smiles, laughter, and a feeling of sameness no matter what else about us is different. As we remember, we are welcomed into a collective “us” that didn’t exist before that moment.

We didn’t see the world with compassion or acceptance as much as we do now. Then, there was us and there was them. What we didn’t fully grasp was that we belonged to both groups at the same time. Our perspective was not that keen. Now, those distinctions seem as silly as other prejudices we have long since shed. The blinders of youth have been replaced with the confidence of experience and the joy of getting to know those we knew before, or, in some cases, only knew of, in the light of the ties that bind us and the rekindling of memories long dark. That’s the fun! Remembering together the things that made us laugh, cry, think, and feel. The nostalgia of what might have been and the realization that we now have more in common than ever before brings warmth to our hearts and lightens our spirits.

Then, as now, there are differences. Now, unlike then, we celebrate those differences because our sphere of inclusion is not only larger, it is more permeable. And our compassion is deeper and more real.

Then, as now, there are people and memories that aren’t pleasant. That’s life. But we have a natural connection to those from our past that makes us feel good, even if our connection was peripheral; the connection is still there and it’s undeniable. That’s where the love comes in. You can feel it in the room, you can see it in the smiles. We can look back and recall things together that form the basis for more commonality as we look forward, continuing to build the present and the future on the past, minute by minute, experience by experience, friend by friend, story by story.

Back then, I remember thinking that I’d be old when the century turned. I had no idea how much I would learn and grow in those years and how much I would cherish every moment I spent along the way. Now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I glance over the supply lists one last time while mentally calculating the palpable financial damage that is about to occur.  Another school year commences, and my annual trek to the mall and local discount store ensues.  Armed with my lists and a precipitously draining bank account, I set out on the dreaded annual pilgrimage and a rapid descent into poverty.  This year it is two in college, one in highschool, one in junior high and one, well, in Kindergarten – I know, I know, we were having too much fun.  Anyway….

I enter store #1 and navigate my way to the school supply section where I encounter a plethora of panicking parents tearing through the aisles grabbing and scrounging like a pack of starving wolves over the last rabbit carcass on the prairie.  Their prey…the last few boxes of fine point, primary and secondary colored, 24 count washable eraseable markers in a trendy zip lock case.  It’s a madhouse and I have no markers.

We are all sporting the same bewildered and frustrated look and I am absolutely certain we are all having the same collective thought… “They must lie awake at night collaborating ways to taunt, toy with, and torture us to insanity”   An incredibly short trip for me…

What is this?  We need a purple 5 subject, 3 pocketed spiral in college rule with a picture of  a bluebonnet on it?  We need not one highlighter, but four in neon and four in pastel - and this is only the first two lines on the first of the five lists I hold!!

I shop and shop gathering the demanded supplies then approach the checkout line looking like a pathological hoarder or someone planning to stock the convenience store down the street.

When did all this happen?  Am I that old??

Apparently, a dusty relic from another era – a child of the ’70s – when blackboards, sweet smelling mimeograph sheets, and looseleaf paper and pencils were all we needed to learn.

I tell my kids the stories of  school waaaay back in the day, and they look at me in quiet disbelief as they pound away on their laptops.  Those were the days – and I am getting old -  just like my parents who had to shovel their way 3 miles to school everyday through 5 feet of snow with no shoes on their feet.  Now it’s my turn to tell the stories.

Copyright Sharie Peters Parker, 2009, all rights reserved