Hanging by the pool

It is officially HOT out, and me without air conditioning.  All the usual bothers of the heat--my face covered in grease and breaking out like a pre-pubescent schoolboy, skin sticky within three minutes after a shower, shirt wet with sweat at the slightest stir of activity--ah, the lazy days of summer.  I'm definitely not a fan.

Yesterday, I engaged in my usual morning routine, my beloved morning routine, of sitting on my front steps with a really good book, a cup of strong coffee and a cigarette.  My favorite neighbor and her friend were all abuzz with activity setting up a yard sale.  Since none of us have yards, it is actually more of a sidewalk sale.  We chatted for a while, and I wondered to myself if they would mind me sitting out some of my jewelry that I still have sitting around from over a year ago.  I didn't know if I felt like dealing with it, so I sat tight for a bit reading my book.  The more they set up and happily chatted, though, I too caught some of their excitement.

Upon asking, they welcomed my "stuff," so I quickly went inside and began gathering a few things.  Turns out, even as a single woman only owning her home just shy of three years, I have accumulated quite a conglomeration of junk.  Thank you family for sending all your unwanted goods to me all the time!  It took me two hours to collect it all, haul it outside, set it up and price everything.  Then commenced the long, hot--SWELTERING--day in the sun waiting for customers.

For those of you who aren't familiar with my house, it is a row with only a set of four concrete steps up to the front door and no sheltering overhang or awning--a very traditional, turn-of-the-century Philadelphia rowhouse.  99.9% of the world thinks I'm crazy, but I love it.  So, when it comes to sitting outside all day, there are the steps, and there is the sun.  After a miserable first hour or so, I decided to make things a bit more comfortable.  I brought out an old, thick chair pad to sit on, my sleeping bag, stuffed in its sack, to place between me and the door for cushiony lounging, and a bucket of ice water to stick my feet it and splash myself with.  At 4:00 the radio came out too for the Phillies game.  It was hot, it was miserable, it was long, it was exhausting, it was a WONDERFUL day!  The fact that I net $71 off of old junk was great, but much more-so was the laughter and camaraderie with my neighbors.  Not just the ones next door, either, many others came over and chatted for a while and I was able to build on old relationships and discover some new ones among these crazy and fantastic neighbors of mine.

In this neighborhood, I stick out just a bit, and yesterday presented an opportunity to share in our humanity.  What is more American the a good ol' fashioned yard sale? (ok, apple pie, blah, blah, blah)  I've learned through my years here not to oversimplify race relations with nice sounding epithets of color-blindness.  I've learned that denying differences denies who we are as a product of different cultures and different experiences.  The reality is, they are black and I'm white.  They come from poverty, and I come from plenty.  They have inferiority complexes, and I have a superiority complex.  Because I know and love them, I am able to accept and live in this tension--difference, but unity.  I realize I don't have to make us all the same, declaring foolishly, "I don't see color!"  In America, "not seeing color" inevitably becomes "everyone is white," for it comes from our perspective, our privileged perspective.  You will rarely, if ever, hear a black person declare that there is no difference, that they are colorblind--they don't have that luxury for they see and feel it all the time.  Not seeing color is a "privilege" of the majority with the insidious side effect of denying the minority their unique personhood.

I do see color and I do see difference, and it is quite beautiful.