Lest you think that I judged the lawyer too harshly or that I exaggerate, these are the things for which he provided instruction whether I wanted it, needed it, or not:
- trimming the stems off strawberries
- peeling an orange
- making coffee
- the pronunciation of certain words
- what was wrong with a particular shell I’d just picked up to take home
- how to fold my beach blanket, for Pete’s sake
- how to parallel park
- how to execute a three-point turn
- who has the right of way at an intersection
- the correct distance between my car and the car ahead of me
And he pointed out every single vehicle making an approach from a driveway, a parking lot, a street, or an alley as if I were BLIND. When the driving instruction became just too much to bear, I calmly told him how long it has been since I received my driver’s license and that although it is true that I do not have control over other drivers and their vehicles, I do have control over mine. I have exceptional peripheral vision, long distance vision that my ophthalmologist called “amazing” and the same reflexes I had when I covered third base when I was 19.
One day as we drove home from the beach on busy Coleman Boulevard, a baby
squir-rel (private joke) darted into my path indecisively zigzagging, frantically weaving back and forth, back and forth. I tried to avoid it and swerved slightly this way and that, but the squirrel was too quick and too manic for me to possibly anticipate where it would head next. And then, “thump.” I let out a cry of lament, “Oh NO!! Owww. Oooooo.”
My visitor, in the face of my obvious distress thensaid sarcastically, "yeah. you have TOTAL control of your vehicle at ALL times.” And then he laughed the laugh of the gleefully demonic.
I said, “I just hit a baby squirrel. It's probably going to die. Do you have any idea how bad I am feeling right now?”
“I was only kidding. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.”
Asking a question about the Bible one day he said, “One would think after 4800 years, blah, blah, blah.”
I said, “4800?”
“Yes, that’s what you told me. Abraham lived in 2800BC.”
“No, Abraham is dated at around 1800BCE”
“You said 2800.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Yes. You did.”
“ I would never make that mistake. I know the approximate date for Abraham like I know my own birthday.”
“Well, that’s what you said.”
(Several more exchanges like this).
I was exasperated and visibly annoyed.
Then he laughed the laugh of the demonic and exclaimed, “I WAS ONLY KIDDING.”
My Friend, when she heard all the stories remarked, “He wasn’t even NICE.”
(A little aside here: from now on in the pages of this little blog of mine, whenever I make reference to My Friend, it is to be understood by all that it can only refer to one person. I do this with a nod to Thomas Aquinas who, when citing Aristotle found it sufficient only to refer to him simply as The Philosopher and all readers were to understand who he meant. And she is Aristotle to my Thomas.)
She was right. He wasn’t even NICE. But I expected him to be.
I have been thinking about Dorothy of Oz today. (I like saying, “Dorothy of Oz,” like “Mary of Magdala,” “Julian of Norwich,” “Catherine of Aragon,” “Joan of Arc”). I have been thinking about Dorothy of Oz and I wonder if my cousin, in comparing me to her was more insightful than either she or I might have suspected. Dorothy expected people to be nice. She expected them to treat her fairly.
She expected the Wizard to keep his promises. She expected the people around her to do no harm. She expected the Church to be who they say they are. She expected the United States government to provide adequate medical care for all and to expend every effort to erase the line of poverty. She expected that at any time now the Kansas legislature would act righteously and walk in the ways of wisdom (oh, right. that would be me).
I walk around this planet with a naïve trust that people are good; that they seek the good for others; that they are kind and have huge hearts. I walk around this planet expecting justice and when it is denied or not tended to I am disbelieving, disappointed and surprised. Like Dorothy’s mantra, “There’s no place like home,” I walk around, see what I see and hear what I hear and chant, “I do not believe it. I do not believe it.” As a result I leave myself vulnerable to the hurts that can occur when beauty and truth and love are expected and none follows. It is an innocence that at my age should have long ago disappeared. I suspect that this is perhaps my greatest virtue but also my fatal flaw. It is that which keeps me hopeful, joyful and trusting in life and yet, it is also ultimately the source of my disappointments, my betrayals and my wounds.
And I hang onto it I suppose because I fear the alternative of cynicism; cynicism that leaves one bitter and close-fisted and joyless. In my innocence or naiveté, foolhardiness or child-like trust, whatever one would call it, I do not expect perfection. But neither do I expect malice or evil.
Perhaps that is why I am driven to teach my Evil and Suffering course. I am required at least once a year for three months to stare evil in the face and call it by its true name and raise my voice against it. I am compelled to trust that my students will consider it deeply, that they will find the ability to know its name and to be outraged when it crosses their paths. And I guess I am a little fascinated by it too because, “I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it, I cannot believe it.”
Dorothy had no hesitation to raise her voice in protest to Miss Gulch, to The Scary Apple Tree, to The Wicked Witch of the West, or to the Wizard himself. When the fraudulent Wizard was discovered behind the curtain she said that he was not a Wizard at all and that he was not a good man; that he wasn’t even nice, and one sensed in the accusation Dorothy’s own pain of disappointment. It is also true however, that along the way Dorothy met Munchkins who sang to her, and friends who walked with her and good witches who brought her to herself. And if she had not opened the door of her apartment in trust, she would have never found them…or the Emerald City.
To be continued….
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