Snow Plowed

I was up at O’Day camp this weekend and the backwoods dirt road that leads to the compound is covered with dangerous snow and ice. The road should have been plowed, but the winter deal I made with my neighbor down the way, who has a plow on his rusted truck, is not being honored. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow I believed that by being honest, kind and generous toward him and his scarecrow wife it would somehow, magically, make some kind of a positive difference. It didn’t.

I think I put so much trust in the situation because I was raised in conditions similar to those in which my neighbors now live. I grew up in a burned-out, rented trailer, they live in one now. My parents were toothless and chain-smoked, my neighbors are toothless and chain-smoke. When the door to my parents’ trailer opened, gigantic gin bottles rolled out, in the same way that big, plastic no-name vodka bottles roll out of my neighbors’ trailer. My neighbors burn trash in their yard rather than pay to have it collected, just like my parents did.

I think I’ve been trying a little too hard not to judge a book by its squalor-stained cover. While it’s true that I used to live in similar circumstances, I also ran away from home. I was only 13 when I figured out that anywhere else was better than where I was. My toothless, hillbilly neighbors, however, choose to continuously reside in a trashcan.

Bottom line, just because there are exceptions to the rules here and there, it doesn’t mean you should ignore your instincts.

A person who treats his body, home, family and property like trash isn’t going to treat you any better. And they certainly aren’t going to help you keep your road free of snow and ice. Consider it a lesson we all learned together.

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire
you .