For two years now, I don’t leave the house without one or two ten-dollar bills in my pocket, even though I have given up getting snacks, or take-out food, my budget is very tight these days. But i might meet god in disguise. Today it is a frail white lady with long white hair like me. Hesitantly she walks up to me as I am turning from feeding the parking meter. She starts almost inaudibly: “Can I ask you a question?” I move closer looking straight into her big pale blue eyes: “Sure.” Without thinking, I am already pulling out that bill, how could I not. She is about my age, late sixties, just by pure luck I am not in her shoes. She nods grateful, but says immediately: “Do you have another ten?” I don’t, but I find four more beat up one-dollar notes in my wallet. She asks me for my name, I ask for hers. Suzanne moves closer and confides: ”I’ll tell you something, I have been here for 3 hours, and you are the first one to give, they all just walk by.“ Trying to hide my ache, I sigh: ”Yeah, I know…” Not that I really know what it is like to be out on the street like her. But I know rejection, not being looked in the eye, not being seen or heard, these are universal experiences. How lucky I have been – some of us starve to death. If not physically, then spiritually. And those who can’t help but look away are perhaps starved souls themselves. Who am I to know! As I walk on, I am sensing bottomless need in this affluent neighborhood of the Gourmet Ghetto.
The Shards of my Papa’s Story The elements of my Papa’s initiatory story as a teenager can easily be detected in our fast-changing world in America. These days, I hear myself spontaneously sharing with friends and strangers an abbreviated version. In the past I did this very rarely. Even in our family, Papa’s story had been a taboo. My father evoked the traumatic events only two or three times. Listening, it would pain me to witness the toll the remembering took on him. So why share now? First, to honor my father as a man of peace, justice, and integrity. Second, to make clear to others, that I know in my own blood and nerve strings what these coming scary times might bring us. Seeing things early, before they are obvious, visible, palpable. Third, as a warning to those around me to take things seriously. As shocking as it might be. Good luck might keep many of us unchallenged, unscathed. We might stay under the radar, quiet. Perhaps serendipity will save our life. O...
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