And yet...
Today I walked home from school much later than usual. After basketball practice I stayed at school for one of the monthly 'Village Kitchen' evenings, where parents and families of students in our school come for a meal and to get to know each other. It's pretty amazing, actually, as such events regularly draw over 50 people, and involve translation into many different languages.
Anyway, by the time it was all over, it was 7pm. The most direct route for my walk involves going down some 'sketchy' streets through the residential areas near downtown - streets that often appear in the news for whatever reason. I have never had a problem, though, in all my years of walking home from university down these same streets, and set off tonight unconcerned, although some of my colleagues were worried for me.
At one point in my walk I came up behind a group of four men. Their jeans were low, jackets big, hoods up, hats on. They were all over 6 feet tall. I wondered how/if I was going to get around them because a) they were taking up the whole sidewalk and b) walking right infront of/trying to put distance between me and a group of strange men is the one situation where I start feeling a little uncomfortable. I did my usual self-behaviour-modification ('It's going to be fine, nothing will happen, people are good') and moved up beside them. As I did, one of them turned towards me and in a flash we recognized each other.
He was a student at Gordon Bell, where I worked a few years ago. I don't really remember what I taught him, if anything, but he was part of a story-telling project I helped out with there, and he told one of the most haunting stories I have ever heard.
When he was a young kid, 6 or 7 or so, he lived in a large refugee camp, in Kenya, I believe. There was a school there, but going meant a uniform and books which meant money. There were times he could go, and times he couldn't. When money was tight, he was required to scrounge for things around the camp and sell them to raise the money for school. One day it was pouring rain and there was no money. He took his meagre wares and sat outside in the rain all day, trying to sell what he could so he would be able to go to school.
Today he told me he's working to save up money and in the fall he's going to the U of W and planning to take computer science.
As he and his friends crossed the street and we said good bye, I smiled to myself. I had been trepidatious, wary, of these boys. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt that way about them as they strolled along the street with their hoods up and shoulders forward. And yet....and yet.
These are moments of wonder and blessing for me.
Anyway, by the time it was all over, it was 7pm. The most direct route for my walk involves going down some 'sketchy' streets through the residential areas near downtown - streets that often appear in the news for whatever reason. I have never had a problem, though, in all my years of walking home from university down these same streets, and set off tonight unconcerned, although some of my colleagues were worried for me.
At one point in my walk I came up behind a group of four men. Their jeans were low, jackets big, hoods up, hats on. They were all over 6 feet tall. I wondered how/if I was going to get around them because a) they were taking up the whole sidewalk and b) walking right infront of/trying to put distance between me and a group of strange men is the one situation where I start feeling a little uncomfortable. I did my usual self-behaviour-modification ('It's going to be fine, nothing will happen, people are good') and moved up beside them. As I did, one of them turned towards me and in a flash we recognized each other.
He was a student at Gordon Bell, where I worked a few years ago. I don't really remember what I taught him, if anything, but he was part of a story-telling project I helped out with there, and he told one of the most haunting stories I have ever heard.
When he was a young kid, 6 or 7 or so, he lived in a large refugee camp, in Kenya, I believe. There was a school there, but going meant a uniform and books which meant money. There were times he could go, and times he couldn't. When money was tight, he was required to scrounge for things around the camp and sell them to raise the money for school. One day it was pouring rain and there was no money. He took his meagre wares and sat outside in the rain all day, trying to sell what he could so he would be able to go to school.
Today he told me he's working to save up money and in the fall he's going to the U of W and planning to take computer science.
As he and his friends crossed the street and we said good bye, I smiled to myself. I had been trepidatious, wary, of these boys. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt that way about them as they strolled along the street with their hoods up and shoulders forward. And yet....and yet.
These are moments of wonder and blessing for me.
A wonderful reminder to be alert and to allow yourself to be pleasantly surprised...thanks for sharing friend! -Kristy
ReplyDeleteNeat. I have been in the same situation a few time in Wpg. Once not such nice results, several times as part of the "dodgy" group and several times much like yours. I often wonder what R's eyes see when he visits core area places like we love and I also feel its so important to expose my kids so that their"radar" isn't freaky paranoid....Jainin
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