Homeslice
An interesting aspect of my new job is that many people who work there, as well as many of the clients we serve, have a greater than average interest in knowing what town you live in - more specifically they really want to know if you live in the same town the agency is based in - more to the point, did you grow up there?
There are some practical reasons for wanting this knowledge. The town has an extremely circuitous layout, with numerous one-way streets, rivers and bridges, squirrely short-cuts, and slightly sketchy neighborhoods. So the questions behind the question: Do you know how to get around? Will you be able to find a client’s house? Will you be afraid to be in a particular neighborhood or apartment complex at night?
Some of the deeper questions behind the question: Do you remember “The Dark Days”, when ex-patients from the State (mental) Hospital were released into the community with no support, ending up homeless, at a total loss, committing or falling victim to crimes? Do you therefore understand the importance of the agency?
Deeper yet: Is it in you? Were you steeped in this mixed-up brew of a city to a sufficient degree that you take the lingering presence of the ex-patients not only in stride, but practically as a point of pride? As in, “We weren’t afraid to take them on.” And I don’t mean that in a coarse or flippant sense. The dedication the staff has to the agency being a virtual stronghold, a fortress of support for the population they serve is at times astonishing.
I was thinking about this a lot today, as I was doing a training with a fellow native. It’s true of any place, I suppose - there are just certain things you can understand only by being a native. As she related a good portion of her life story to me, the second half in particular, I was just thinking, “Oh, I know this story,” not literally, but something about its essence. She totally got that too, from my listening and my responses. It was cool, actually. We’re gonna go dancing sometime.
Tonight the wind in my hometown sounds like ocean waves, it pushes in great, insistent swells against the window panes, making them rattle, this blue-lit stormy night makes me want to drink in a familiar place with a familar face. Hello mirror. You’re supposed to smile.
No, you, reader, are supposed to smile.
There are some practical reasons for wanting this knowledge. The town has an extremely circuitous layout, with numerous one-way streets, rivers and bridges, squirrely short-cuts, and slightly sketchy neighborhoods. So the questions behind the question: Do you know how to get around? Will you be able to find a client’s house? Will you be afraid to be in a particular neighborhood or apartment complex at night?
Some of the deeper questions behind the question: Do you remember “The Dark Days”, when ex-patients from the State (mental) Hospital were released into the community with no support, ending up homeless, at a total loss, committing or falling victim to crimes? Do you therefore understand the importance of the agency?
Deeper yet: Is it in you? Were you steeped in this mixed-up brew of a city to a sufficient degree that you take the lingering presence of the ex-patients not only in stride, but practically as a point of pride? As in, “We weren’t afraid to take them on.” And I don’t mean that in a coarse or flippant sense. The dedication the staff has to the agency being a virtual stronghold, a fortress of support for the population they serve is at times astonishing.
I was thinking about this a lot today, as I was doing a training with a fellow native. It’s true of any place, I suppose - there are just certain things you can understand only by being a native. As she related a good portion of her life story to me, the second half in particular, I was just thinking, “Oh, I know this story,” not literally, but something about its essence. She totally got that too, from my listening and my responses. It was cool, actually. We’re gonna go dancing sometime.
Tonight the wind in my hometown sounds like ocean waves, it pushes in great, insistent swells against the window panes, making them rattle, this blue-lit stormy night makes me want to drink in a familiar place with a familar face. Hello mirror. You’re supposed to smile.
No, you, reader, are supposed to smile.
posted by Black Egg at 11:07 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home