Those Middle-Eastern Drivers!

I have owned a "Vespa" motor scooter for a number of years. If you do not know what a "Vespa" is, remember the scooter that you see in the movies when a spy in Europe needs to make a quick get-a-way and he jumps on the first thing available? The one where the beautiful girl is on the back, clutching his waist? Yes, that is a Vespa. They are made in Italy.  

I became enchanted with the Vespa when I lived in Asia where they were common and were sort of the "Cadillac" of scooters. The motor is unseen, under the seat and it was common to see women in high heels or men in business suits riding down traffic-congested streets. Years later, after returning to the U.S. I purchased one for myself and have enjoyed riding on weekends and to work on sunny days. I even got one for my wife for mothers day!

Reactions are varied. Some people in their a 50's or older remember when Vespas could often be seen in the U.S. Sears & Roebuck even sold one under the name of "Allstate." Teenagers don't quite know what to make of it. I rode up beside an adolescent on a "crotch rocket" and saw his mouth moving with the words, "What the ?*@#*!!??"

One day, my Vespa was parked in my driveway and I was working in the front yard. A car stopped and a dark man of apparent middle-eastern descent walked up to me and, with heavily accented English  said, "In my country, when I was a boy, I rode on one like this everyday!" I enjoyed reminiscing with him about this common interest of ours. He was from Pakistan and lived just a few blocks from me.

We became good friends. He would always wave when he passed, often with his veiled wife and several children in his car with him. Occasionally he would stop and chat. We talked about the weather, the economy, or whatever. Several times I offered to let him ride my Vespa, but he always declined.

Last summer my Vespa was stolen from in front of my office. When I saw my friend driving by my house I flagged him down to tell him the bad news. I knew he would care about my loss. He just shook his head and seemed genuinely grieved. We talked for a while about whether I would try to get another one and he went on his way.

This experience with my Vespa has been repeated often. At the Starbucks where I often hang out, there is a group of people that appear to be from an African country who like to drink coffee and chat there.  I see them often. Once when I parked my Vespa out front, I could see them nodding admiringly, like American men might look with awe upon a Harley Davidson or a pick-up truck with all the extras. One man, who told me he was from the country of Eritrea became nostalgic when sharing with me that his uncle was the first person in his village to own a Vespa. Once, as I started-up the engine (a sound which some have compared to a sewing machine), one man had such a satisfied look on his face as he said, "I just love that sound."

It is great to have found these friends with whom I can share my interest. I also feel privileged that I can share theirs.


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To Be a Third-Grader Again!

On Saturday, my wife and I decided to go out for brunch.  By the time we got to the restaurant, it was almost noon.  The restaurant was crowded and we were seated next to a group of 12-15 third-graders who were having a birthday party.  By this point they had consumed their cake, ice cream, and beverage and they were feeling the effects.  I imagine some patrons would not appreciate being seated next to such a rowdy group, but for some reason on this day, I found it to be quite entertaining.  They giggled and squealed and were oblivious to the fact that they were in a restaurant and not on the playground.

I am not around groups children this age on a regular  basis, so I was fascinated with their constant movement, exuberant laughter and pure joy at just being together.  Standing around the table were their mothers each of whom wore a broad smile.  This was not the obligatory smile often seen in polite company, but the irrepressible grin, just like my own, that was the result of seeing their own child so excited and happy.

These children and their mothers evidenced the diversity that is characteristic of the Washington, DC area where we live.  There were Asian, Hispanic, African-American, and Middle-Eastern as well as caucasian children.  At this age children appear totally unaware of any difference between each other.  They are drawn together by their love of life and are capable of thoroughly experiencing the moment, something that becomes harder for adults as we grow older, take on responsibilities of various kinds, and have difficulty putting aside thoughts of what must be done later today or at work on Monday.

As I watched the children disperse and as I saw the mothers stand and chat, I realized how much more similar they were than they were different. Jumping, wiggling, laughing with their birthday hats and favors, I'm sure they could have continued in this fashion for a few more hours.  Each parent obviously took great joy at seeing their child happy, lost in the sheer exuberance of being with their peers.  Each was devoted to making their child's life a full as possible, evident by their willingness to spend a Saturday morning at a birthday party.

Often, when I hear immigration issues discussed, various national and ethnic groups are mentioned and if one is not mindful, it is easy to forget that those being talked about are these children and their moms who are much more like us than they are different from us.  Immigration, legal and illegal, are complex issues that require thoughtful decision-making.  I just do not want to think of immigrants as nameless groups to be dealt with.  They are the giggling children and their moms at a birthday party on Saturday morning.


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No Welfare for People with Tattoos?

I frequently hear comments from people/posts who complain that a person who is apparently receiving government assistance of some form, has a cell phone, has a nice pair of tennis shoes, a nice purse, or an apparently new tattoo.  I've given a lot of thought to this.  Does receiving welfare mean that a person should not have any expression of individuality or dignity?  For many people who have almost nothing, their appearance may be their one and only vestige of self-respect.  Granted, a tattoo many not be the wisest investment (in the interest of full disclosure, I have one), but it is a relatively cheap method of some self expression (if you can't afford a car or house) and as Jimmy Buffet says, it is "a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling."  And a cell phone?  I recently purchased one at Wal-Mart for $24.95.  A cell phone is cheaper than a land line and if you don't have your own house, where would you even install a land line? How are you expected to ever secure a job if you don't have a phone number to list on the application?

The harshness of some attitudes bewilders me.  Because of my work, I have heard the stories of some people who receive government assistance in some form.  I suppose there are a few who receive this paltry subsidy who may not fully deserve it (I'm more alarmed by some of the defense contractors in the Washington, DC area where I live who are gouging the Federal government for services that would bring a tenth of the price in the private sector).  But most of these individuals receiving government subsidy are doing the best that they can.  They often come from extremely difficult backgrounds and don't have the safety net of  family or friends who have means to help them like I would if I fell on hard times.   Rather than resent them, I commend them for trying to look nice and exhibit some self-respect.  OK, OK!! Tattoos are not the best method of self expression!!  I get it.  But, if a person had a tattoo on every limb and three on the torso and each cost $100, that would not be enough to rent a one-room apartment in the Washington, DC area where I live.

The people who loudly complain that someone in the grocery line ahead of them used a welfare card to by chips are just hateful people and probably will never change their attitudes.  My hope is that the rest of us will not give audience to this kind of hateful intolerance.  I hope that such comments will increasingly be met with silence, whether it is on Facebook or in everyday conversation.


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