Musings About the World From Two Screened-in Porches
About how we can live together.
This is our front porch.
It is perched on a little mound set back from the sidewalk
On the busiest street in town.
Here is our back porch.
It borders a less busy street.
Also, set back from the sidewalk.
And sits a few feet off the ground.
On our porches, simultaneously, we are separate from and part of the world.
I love sitting on a screened-in porch. It protects me from insects and from being too close to you.
You know who you are.
You’re different.
I can see you but not know you.
You can do the same.
We wave.
Chit chat.
“A beautiful day for a walk.”
“Is that your grandchild?”
“What kind of dog is that?”
If the world had a front porch like we did back then
We’d still have our problems
But we’d all be friends
Treating your neighbor like he’s your next of kin
You know, like weird Uncle Albert.
There’s wisdom in these words from Tracy Lawrence’s If the World Had a Front Porch.
Today, we think we know our neighbors.
From the stories in our minds created by the images fed to us by our screens.
WE KNOW THEIR GOD.
WE KNOW THEIR POLITICS.
WE KNOW THEIR STRANGENESS.
But we don’t.
From the safety and distance of our porches, we develop the habit of seeing the ordinariness of people without judgment.
No, that’s not the whole truth.*
If you are being beaten up, I will come to your aid. If you are doing the beating, I will call the police.
It's live and let live.
Maybe, occasionally, a droplet of curiosity bordering on judgment.
“Why do they fill those plastic containers with water weekly in the park across the street?”
But mostly on our streets, from our porches, we get along by not knowing or caring too much about the strangers we see.
Those are hard truths.
Not part of the Gospel or Torah or Koran or Bhagavadgita.
But necessary civic habits.
For Americans in the 21st century.
*Thanks to Michael Walzer’s insight in The Struggle for a Decent Politics.
