A Beautiful Day
It was a beautiful day on this final day of January in Chico. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and a sizable protest took place, one of many nationwide, aimed at the recent killings by ICE. The parking spaces at Community Park were filling up early while I was taking my dogs for their morning walks. A line of cars could be seen stretched out of the park and backed up toward 20th Street where the protest was taking place.
You would think that after all the times I have written about Agent Orange and his quest to take over this nation that I would be right there in the thick of the protest. Instead, I chose to sit this one out. It had nothing to do with not caring about what is going on in this nation. Just last night, I began a poem with:
There’s a line that’s drawn across this land,
It’s colored blood red from our fellow man.
To kill the free while hiding behind a mask
Is a coward’s way to go about a task.
Rather than attend today’s protest, I took advantage of not waking up with a migraine for the first time in several months. The early results of a recent nerve ablation, this one at about where the spine and back of my skull meet, shows promise. I woke up not calculating what time to start taking my pain medicine and actually felt like I might be able to accomplish a few things that will help others while allowing me to enjoy the outdoors.
While the local protest unfolded, I took my mower and weed eater next door to clean up the backyard that was once where my neighbors from Hell lived. Since their eviction, I have decided to do what I can to clean up the exterior of the home and help the young homeowner ready it for sale. I figure the better it looks, the more value I add to my home.
Once I was finished, my mower and weed eater accompanied me across the street where Dewey, a physically broken down Vietnam Vet, lives. I tackled his weeds out in front of his place and then swept up the dirt that has collected in his gutter so when it rains next time the water won’t pool and cause his feet to get soaked when he retrieves his mail.
Then it was on to his next door neighbor’s house where Dewey’s ex-wife lives (they make better best friends than spouses). I cleared her weeds and cut paths that lead to her storage shed. Then I did my best to avoid stepping in her mutt’s dog crap and trimmed the weeds outside her front porch. I couldn’t help but notice the gate along her walkway was on its last leg. Since she has a dilapidated picket fence she insists on keeping, and a lack of funds, I walked over to my house and took an extra section of picket fence I have and made her a new gate.
She thanked me and I assured her when I finish a project I have planned at my place that I would take my remaining picket fence sections and take down her old one.
Now, I don’t write about all of this because I want people to think I am a nice guy. I do it because while our president is hellbent on tearing apart our nation, I figured I could be of more use helping out my neighbors. Dewey is what I would call a religious zealot. He can’t go 30 seconds without mentioning the Lord whereas I could probably go the rest of my life not thinking about him unless others bring him up. All I know is Dewey needs a new hip, has little money, and can’t care for his yard. Last spring, when it was clear it was a fire danger, I clear cut his front yard and filled up a half dozen large trash cans with green waste. I don’t intend to allow it to get that bad this year.
Marbel, the twenty-seven year old who owns the home she rented to the neighbors from hell, is in over her head. She lives two hours away, has a baby, and her mom recently had a stroke. I remember when I was a young homeowner in Red Bluff with a large tree that needed to be cut down. My very old, and very bow legged neighbor with a thick Italian accent insisted he cut it down. I watched him climb the tree and systematically cut it down to a stump. Then two days later, he had a friend come over and drilled out the stump, all for no charge.
I’ve been blessed with countless others in my life who have done things for me while expecting nothing in return. Each instance, when I thanked them and asked how I could repay them, they all said to pay it forward. I am also fortunate to have been raised by parents who impressed on me to do for others as I would hope they would do for me.
I can’t help but think if we all lived by the golden rule, a universal rule that predates organized religion, we might not have the mess we call America. Paying life forward does not mean hoarding wealth that one inherited. Have you noticed the most generous people are often poor while the biggest assholes are stinking rich?
Americans have every reason to be outraged over what our president is doing to this nation. My hope is we succeed in not just driving him out of office, but making certain all his cohorts and cult followers are made to pay the price for what they have done to our nation.
However, it will mean nothing once that day comes if we do not continue thinking beyond ourselves. If we return to our complacent lives, focus on just ourselves, fail to get to know and respect our neighbors (I actually tried to with the ones from Hell), then all our protests are pointless. If we choose to look down on people we simply do not understand, then we are no different than Diaper Don.
If, as a nation, we are unwilling to share our vast wealth to meet the needs of those in other parts of the world starving, dying, or left without the land they have always lived on, without trying to exploit them, then our protests against ICE, No Kings, and who knows what is next, will have been for naught.
Today was in fact a postcard perfect day for a protest. It was also a perfect day to pay it forward.
Jim is a life long resident of California and retired school teacher with 30 years in public education. Jim earned his BA in History from CSU Chico in 1981 and his MA in Education from Azusa Pacific University in 1994. He is also the author of Teaching The Teacher: Lessons Learned From Teaching. Jim considers himself an equal opportunity pain in the ass to any political party, group, or individual who looks to profit off of hypocrisy. When he is not pointing out the conflicting words and actions of our leaders, the NFL commissioner, or humans in general, he can be found riding his bike for hours on end while pondering his next article. Jim recently moved to Camarillo, CA after being convinced to join the witness protection program.