The Gathering
So the situation is looking par for the course. Of course I've planned everything within my power, including cost estimate analysis for materials based on assessments made by locals in Mississippi. I've done this 4 times with Louis. Spreadsheets emailed, reviewed, emailed again. Louis calling the local MS carpenters for accuracy. In fact, by this time I've lost track of who exactly he talks to. I go back and forth with Home Depot, hotels in New Orleans, numerous car and truck rental offices. Stocked up on high energy dried foods at Costco. Everything should be just perfect. Because I'm anal retentive when it comes to planning. This doesn't mean I enjoy planning. I'm more of a live in the moment person. But I realize the inherent value in a plan for events such as this, and like Louis I'm fairly good at organizing and planning. So we do what we have to do.
There is the little matter of a few thousand in cash to be tended to. Louis gave me a budgeted amount to plan with, and I complied. I adjusted when the amount available changed from time to time. Up. Down. Whichever. I want no part in the actual communication with the Foundation, because Alex is Louis' contact, not mine. He'll do better with her. And he is the king of people skills (I am not). He really has a bright future in the non-profit industry leadership ranks if he were ever to pursue it. He's a natural. However, my Patton-esque side is about to rear its ugly head because I trusted that the money assured would be there, but its not. One day before we leave. Nonetheless, I know to trust Louis because when he says he'll do something, he does. Period. No questions asked. Still, I'm wondering how he's gonna pull this one off. I start calling him, trying not to sound frustrated, nervous, or concerned. Of course he knows me better.
I remember the Muddy Buddy in 2002 (I think). The 6 mile leapfrog run/bike partner race out on some farmland that Louis and I do every year. Typically, we had been out late the night before, part of our elite pre-race preparation. This is the strategy of a collegiate Division 1 pole vaulter and a Tae Kwon Do national champion. Typically, I ceased indulging hours before everyone else. Not because I'm concerned about race performance, but because I made a promise to Louis' wife Kat long ago that no matter what, I will get him home to her and the kids safely. I think when I made that promise he only had 2 kids. Then more came. Before I know it, I'm at the hospital in Evanston for Faith's birth.
I never make promises, because I never, ever break them. I hate that kind of commitment. So when I make them come hell or high water I keep them. So as the designated driver, I get Louis' half-conscious self home to North Rogers Park by 3 am. I go home to the other side of the city, by Midway airport, nap for an hour, dress in my race gear and load my bike on the car and then head back 28 miles north to get Louis. He is an absolute wreck. I have water ready for him. As we drive to the race, he drinks water, and then pukes it all over the inside of the car. My nice, new convertible sports car. He apologizes, then pukes some more. Then he kinda passes out.
And I love him for it. Because a lesser man would have said "I can't make it to the race", or "I can't do this". But Louis does it. Who cares if he pukes in the car, and intermittently throughout the race? We may be idiots for being out the night before. But MOST idiots would never make the race, let alone finish in the top 20 of our age group. When Louis says he'll do it, he does.
So the point is, when Louis said he'd make the money appear, I knew he would, and that my concern was unnecessary.
Sure enough, a little phone tag between Louis, Alex and myself, and suddenly Mystery Pastor comes out of nowhere with a check to cover "whatever the difference you need amounts to."
I was raised in a very typical Southside Chicago Roman Catholic household. Church every weekend. Catholic elementary school, high school, college, grad school. Yet, I went through the motions not really believing any of it. A parish of regulars that had "their" special seats in church, that you'd better respect. Proud to recite the Nicene Creed from memory, but clueless as to what it means. Sounded like a damn Koresh chant the way they mumbled it. I had seen how the Catholic church treated my great aunts "the penguins" - nuns who worked to the grave while my parish "pastor" retired and took up golf at 62. The rich kids in my very religious high school shit on me for 4 years because I wasn't like them, until senior year Kairos retreat - all of a sudden it became "cool" to like the underdog. My reaction to their late insight was less than receptive. Yes, they were very good Catholics. I'm a history teacher, very familiar with the Crusades and the parallels of religion used as a reason to kill ("convert"), wage war, seize lands in medieval Europe and in the current fundamentalist Muslim mentality. To say that I've lost a little faith is an understatement. I think I may believe in something. But I wouldn't label it or associate it with any particular group.
Moments like this though, maybe that's what faith is. Louis, Alex, and this Pastor. Maybe the fact that he's a man of the cloth has nothing to do with it. Maybe it happened because it was just and right.
And that's what makes me do the things I do. Just when I'm about to throw in the towel, a moment like this happens. So much in this world is not just and right. Criminals, rapists, child molesters, thieves, abusers - they walk the streets unpunished. I teach the kids that grow up to be the prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, gang bangers, scumbags of the city, in the worst ghetto of Chicago. I do this to try to stop the snowball that started rolling and building when their soon to be convict fathers impregnated their teenage mothers when they were their age, and then left. I seem to not be able to stop this. I see very little hope in a system that is broke from the top down. And it's no better in the lily white "nice" neighborhoods. Just a different kind of filth. Here, I see the privileged who forget about the rest. A populace more concerned with who will be the next American Idol rather than whether a kid 7 miles away "across the viaducts" where you "don't go", will eat. Concerned with what Angelina Jolie's Oscar dress will look like - not about the family freezing in an apartment with no heat. This is the future of America. I know there are good people here and there, and plenty of people who "don't hurt anyone". That's the biggest, most often used cop-out. They don't hurt anyone, but they don't help either. Because they're only concerned with their reality. Until it changes. This is the overwhelming majority. I am a sick, cynical, bitter, but very keenly aware individual.
I mean I have just about no faith. I've been privy to some horrendous events and seen humanity at its lowest and most desperate. But this Alex I've never met, Louis, this Mystery Pastor, and 7 other people who don't even know each other and yet have agreed to go on this trip - they're the difference between a little faith and none. They go on my and Louis word that we'll take care of everything. They have faith, and they give me faith. And I can go to work tomorrow, as long as I have a little.
So off we go.
There is the little matter of a few thousand in cash to be tended to. Louis gave me a budgeted amount to plan with, and I complied. I adjusted when the amount available changed from time to time. Up. Down. Whichever. I want no part in the actual communication with the Foundation, because Alex is Louis' contact, not mine. He'll do better with her. And he is the king of people skills (I am not). He really has a bright future in the non-profit industry leadership ranks if he were ever to pursue it. He's a natural. However, my Patton-esque side is about to rear its ugly head because I trusted that the money assured would be there, but its not. One day before we leave. Nonetheless, I know to trust Louis because when he says he'll do something, he does. Period. No questions asked. Still, I'm wondering how he's gonna pull this one off. I start calling him, trying not to sound frustrated, nervous, or concerned. Of course he knows me better.
I remember the Muddy Buddy in 2002 (I think). The 6 mile leapfrog run/bike partner race out on some farmland that Louis and I do every year. Typically, we had been out late the night before, part of our elite pre-race preparation. This is the strategy of a collegiate Division 1 pole vaulter and a Tae Kwon Do national champion. Typically, I ceased indulging hours before everyone else. Not because I'm concerned about race performance, but because I made a promise to Louis' wife Kat long ago that no matter what, I will get him home to her and the kids safely. I think when I made that promise he only had 2 kids. Then more came. Before I know it, I'm at the hospital in Evanston for Faith's birth.
I never make promises, because I never, ever break them. I hate that kind of commitment. So when I make them come hell or high water I keep them. So as the designated driver, I get Louis' half-conscious self home to North Rogers Park by 3 am. I go home to the other side of the city, by Midway airport, nap for an hour, dress in my race gear and load my bike on the car and then head back 28 miles north to get Louis. He is an absolute wreck. I have water ready for him. As we drive to the race, he drinks water, and then pukes it all over the inside of the car. My nice, new convertible sports car. He apologizes, then pukes some more. Then he kinda passes out.
And I love him for it. Because a lesser man would have said "I can't make it to the race", or "I can't do this". But Louis does it. Who cares if he pukes in the car, and intermittently throughout the race? We may be idiots for being out the night before. But MOST idiots would never make the race, let alone finish in the top 20 of our age group. When Louis says he'll do it, he does.
So the point is, when Louis said he'd make the money appear, I knew he would, and that my concern was unnecessary.
Sure enough, a little phone tag between Louis, Alex and myself, and suddenly Mystery Pastor comes out of nowhere with a check to cover "whatever the difference you need amounts to."
I was raised in a very typical Southside Chicago Roman Catholic household. Church every weekend. Catholic elementary school, high school, college, grad school. Yet, I went through the motions not really believing any of it. A parish of regulars that had "their" special seats in church, that you'd better respect. Proud to recite the Nicene Creed from memory, but clueless as to what it means. Sounded like a damn Koresh chant the way they mumbled it. I had seen how the Catholic church treated my great aunts "the penguins" - nuns who worked to the grave while my parish "pastor" retired and took up golf at 62. The rich kids in my very religious high school shit on me for 4 years because I wasn't like them, until senior year Kairos retreat - all of a sudden it became "cool" to like the underdog. My reaction to their late insight was less than receptive. Yes, they were very good Catholics. I'm a history teacher, very familiar with the Crusades and the parallels of religion used as a reason to kill ("convert"), wage war, seize lands in medieval Europe and in the current fundamentalist Muslim mentality. To say that I've lost a little faith is an understatement. I think I may believe in something. But I wouldn't label it or associate it with any particular group.
Moments like this though, maybe that's what faith is. Louis, Alex, and this Pastor. Maybe the fact that he's a man of the cloth has nothing to do with it. Maybe it happened because it was just and right.
And that's what makes me do the things I do. Just when I'm about to throw in the towel, a moment like this happens. So much in this world is not just and right. Criminals, rapists, child molesters, thieves, abusers - they walk the streets unpunished. I teach the kids that grow up to be the prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, gang bangers, scumbags of the city, in the worst ghetto of Chicago. I do this to try to stop the snowball that started rolling and building when their soon to be convict fathers impregnated their teenage mothers when they were their age, and then left. I seem to not be able to stop this. I see very little hope in a system that is broke from the top down. And it's no better in the lily white "nice" neighborhoods. Just a different kind of filth. Here, I see the privileged who forget about the rest. A populace more concerned with who will be the next American Idol rather than whether a kid 7 miles away "across the viaducts" where you "don't go", will eat. Concerned with what Angelina Jolie's Oscar dress will look like - not about the family freezing in an apartment with no heat. This is the future of America. I know there are good people here and there, and plenty of people who "don't hurt anyone". That's the biggest, most often used cop-out. They don't hurt anyone, but they don't help either. Because they're only concerned with their reality. Until it changes. This is the overwhelming majority. I am a sick, cynical, bitter, but very keenly aware individual.
I mean I have just about no faith. I've been privy to some horrendous events and seen humanity at its lowest and most desperate. But this Alex I've never met, Louis, this Mystery Pastor, and 7 other people who don't even know each other and yet have agreed to go on this trip - they're the difference between a little faith and none. They go on my and Louis word that we'll take care of everything. They have faith, and they give me faith. And I can go to work tomorrow, as long as I have a little.
So off we go.
posted by D at 10:38 PM
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