Life Is a Beach

I’ve been at the beach for a week. I must say that it was much different (obviously) than being in West End and was a bit of an adjustment at first. Last Saturday morning I woke up, made some coffee, and sat on the screened-in porch to read like I do every morning. This morning was different. Instead of the usual, low hum of the air conditioner and occasional screeching tire, my reading time was accompanied by the steady popping of a tennis ball as it was volleyed back and forth over the net. Call me crazy, but for a second I actually missed being in West End.

The last week at Urban was great. There is an alternating pattern of good and bad weeks beginning to form. The group this week was from Decatur. They were the only group and there were only 20 kids, so it was a nice reprieve. My group worked at Ms. Mac’s house.

Ms. Mac was recently diagnosed with cancer. Her prognosis is not very promising. She has one daughter, Terrica. Terrica just graduated from high school in the top of her class. She will be going to UAB in the fall on a full scholarship. When I pulled up to Ms. Mac’s house, I was surprised. I’m used to seeing low-end houses. If they weren’t low-end, we wouldn’t be working on them most likely, but Ms. Mac’s house made the others look like those in Mountain Brook. Okay, so that was an exaggeration, but you get the contrast.

None of the windows fully meet the walls of Ms. Mac’s house. The front door has a five-inch gap between the door and frame that I could peer straight through while I was painting the trim. Her floor is rotten. Every day she is worried that the floor in her bedroom might cave in. Ms. Mac is predominately bed ridden, so this is obviously a huge problem. Until two weeks ago, there was no comfortable way for her to get in and out of her house. After her watching her struggle down the ramp that a group built her in lots of pain, I couldn’t imagine what she did before. Her car looks like it might kill over and stop running at any second.

Despite all of these problems, we painted Ms. Mac’s house “hyper blue.” If you’re wondering what color hyper blue is, grab the next smurf you see and cut off its air supply for about thirty seconds. That’s the color of hyper blue. To Ms. Mac, hyper blue is a happy color.

As the group was finishing for the week on Thursday, Ms. Mac sat outside and talked to us for a little while. She talked about how much faith she had in God and how that faith was made manifest in Terrica’s scholarship because she could see no way possible to pay for her college tuition. She talked about how thankful she was for the group and for Urban and that she knew that God would answer her prayers for help.

As I sat on the beach later Saturday afternoon, I couldn’t help but become silently angry at some of the people around me – the people who were at the beach, taking a break from life for a week and still complaining because someone else’s umbrella was obstructing their view. I wish Ms. Mac could take a break from life – a break from the chemo, the worries, the struggle and the pain. But, something tells me Ms. Mac wouldn’t accept a break. You see, Ms. Mac is one of those people that can find the good and the blessings in the most bleak of situations. She’s a special lady.

I’m sure by now some of you think that my view of West End and the people that live there has become overly romanticized as I write about this summer. That’s not true. I know that there are both the merciful and merciless in West End. A few weeks ago, a homeless man approached me as I was walking into the local CVS. He asked me for money because he was hungry and assured me that he wasn’t going to buy drugs with it. “I can’t give you any money,” I told him, “but I’ll buy you some food if you tell me what you want.” “ Can you buy me some chicken down there from the KFC,” he asked. “I don’t see a KFC, but I’ll go get you a burger and some fries from that McDonald’s across the street.” “Can I ride with you,” he replied. “No you can’t ride with me, but if you wait right here I’ll bring whatever you want right back,” I promised. “Well, can I have a drink,” he asked beginning to look defeated. “Yes, you can have a drink. What do you want?” I answered. He thought for about twenty seconds and said, “No, I don’t want no food, I don’t want no food…” He hung his head as he walked away.

I don’t know if he wanted drugs or why he wanted to get in the car to go get his food. Maybe he did want drugs and want to hurt me. Maybe he didn’t.

A week earlier I walked into the same CVS to get a picture printed off at the photo station. As is the case in most places I walk into in West End, I was the only white person in the store. When I walked up to the photo desk to pay for my things, it was clear that the woman behind the counter was not thrilled to be helping me or at my presence in the store. I know this because the opposite was true for the black woman that was in line behind me. I left feeling offended and a little sad.

By the end of the week, I found myself starting to get a little restless and bored with the beach. (Not that it wasn’t relaxing and great!) Life is not a beach, and as great as vacations at the beach are, it’s the laughter, and the tears, and the trials, and the joys of everyday, mundane life that makes us feel alive. It’s the ability to see situations for what they are, without putting on rose-colored glasses, and learn from them. It’s knowing that being white does not mean good and being black does not mean bad (and vise versa). It’s knowing at the end of the day, even if you are on vacation, there is more to life that complaining about the umbrella that is obstructing our view – whatever that umbrella may be.

It’s now Saturday again, and a new group comes tomorrow. I’m excited to get back to West End, my home for the summer. Paz y amor!