suburban delusions

Oh suburbia, a place of neighborhood soccer teams, late summer evenings conversing with neighbors on the street, impromptu football games, church on Sunday, neatly kept yards, etc, etc. We all know it and most of us grew up in it. I can not complain about my years before college. Growing up, I had kids my age in every house on my street. I had a great series of schools that gave me amazing opportunities to learn and explore. I also grew up in a great church that had a thriving youth ministry. All that being said, I have run from it ever since.

I am astounded at the false veils that people surround themselves with in their homogeneous enclaves. Not only do they live in the same homes (six, maybe seven different plans, flipped and mirrored, painted different colors with different front porches) on the exact same size lots (down to the square inch) and drive the same cars (though the Camry and Accord aren't the same family cars they used to be) to do the same things, but they all have the same responses too:

"Howdy neighbor."
"Afternoon."
"How's it going?"
"Great, everything's great." though my family's falling apart, I'm 30 grand in debt, and my dog has fleas

The masks are important though because they maintain distance. In a place where most people live about 20 feet apart, they might as well be miles. No one asks the hard questions or confronts anyone else about their mask in case the questions get turned around. No one really wants to know about anything outside their private realm anyway. That white picket fence might as well be a crenelated stone wall 25 feet high or that front porch and door the blast-door into a bomb shelter. World issues are viewed through the filter and sanitation of the 50" plasma tv while someone truly in need might be someone they happen to see once a month when they go help out at a soup kitchen (as long as their team isn't playing on tv that weekend, then again, they ordered the football package this season).

I have never been truly starving nor have I ever had to sleep on the streets before and I'm sure that I just made enough vast generalizations that if anyone were to actually read this thing that there would be a bounty of comments, but this is why I run from suburbia. It is not just a place, it is a mentality - a mindset devoted to comfort above all else. And as I observe each day, it is obvious that the mere sight of someone in need or the aroma of the street wafting into our general vicinity grips that comfort by the throat and squeezes.

I wish I could shout, scream, carry a huge neon sign that they are people too. Al, Robbie, and the thousands like them are people damn it. They are no less than you or I, but they are certainly more. Their eyes are open - they see humanity and people for who they are. They don't care about what car you drive or where you live, what school you went to, or how much is in your 401(k). They are adept at seeing people's hearts though. Within seconds, they know exactly what kind of person you are - some take advantage of this knowledge while others just observe. For people who live under the auspices of bruised rainbows and dieing stars, you'd be amazed at what a heart-felt smile can do. The simple acknowledgment returns dignity and a sense of self. Imagine if you actually stopped and reached out a hand and struck up a conversation, but beware, Comfort will be there blinding you with "Oh, everything's great."