by: Michael Carey
Perched on a hill in a suburban utopia during the Rockwellian age of the Pax Americana, was the nest of my great upbringing. The greatness of it may have been influenced by the fresh air, the gorgeous trees or the lake down the way, but more than anything it was due to the people; the community. You see, in an age of commotion and turnover, my good fortune was to be a part of an unchanging neighborhood where neighbors spoke and parents watched over each other’s kids. In places like this children learn, not just from their own families, but from the many beautiful examples around them.
One such influence on me was an ever diligent and always humorous philosopher of sorts. He occupied the house just to the west of us with his wife two kids and two dogs. The wife and kids became ever more lovely as time went on, like the tree outside the living room door where I once saw a Golden Eagle, but the dogs had no such luck. Fred and Sabbie grew old and weary in the sprawling fenced in gravel pit of a back yard. When they passed, I saw that irksome fence come down and the gravel was replaced with grass. Lesson one was the transformative power of bringing down fences and seeding dead places with life.
With the fence down, our nomadic dog started to soil that beautiful new grass, but that wasn't enough to make the kindly philosopher turn us away. In fact, it seemed almost like an open door policy. Going over there with my brother to hang out with his boys was always a treat, and there was an inevitable soda to be had. I recall addressing him as Mister as we were so stiffly instructed to do, but he quickly corrected me opting for the far more familiar Dave. Lesson two had to do with treating others well, and having an open door of hospitality and amicability.
There was always something fun to be done in a house where inquisitiveness led down endless paths. As ever present neighbors we went to coin shows and collected pennies, bringing them home and shining them up with Taco Bell sauce. Another day took us to a Pepsi bottling plant to see the source of those ever present cans. There was a time when the garage was full of baseball cards and each was meticulously organized and carefully graded. We tied flies into the late hours of a weekend night, and I learned lesson three, which was the joy of an endless curiosity.
Becoming more like part of a tribe, on occasion our hunting party would venture out to Cub Foods on wholesale shopping excursions. It was on these trips that I learned to spot a good deal and take advantage of it, but the real story is in the journey. You see, there I was, in the back of the car, and we were heading west down Quincy with Led Zepplin playing over the radio. Now, maybe you've got a song or two that takes you right back to a specific place and time, but for me it was Stairway to Heaven at high volume that night. Every note was so clear and joyful, my mind was elevated and before that I had probably never really been turned on to music. Maybe that is lesson four.
Buying soda for the neighborhood kids and cleaning up after a well fed German Shepard gets expensive, and like every self made entrepreneur, that good neighbor had to climb the stairway for quite some time. In fact, I recall some dark days in 82 when there was a for sale sign out in front of his blue house. I loved my neighbors and didn't want them going anywhere. Fortunately, my consternation abated and the sign came down as the economy perked up. The outside world was fluctuating, but this neighborly role model diligently persisted until the hope of a new dawn appeared on the horizon. The quintessential lesson lies somewhere along that road of hope and perseverance.
May we all perpetuate the lessons of those role models who have shown us the way.
Michael Carey March, 2010
Thank you MC, I had no idea.
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