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Column Unexpected turns at block party
By KRIS BERGGREN
This has been a good summer for my
family. We have taken time for bike rides around the city, camped on the shore
of Lake Superior and enjoyed our front porch -- the coolest spot in our house
on warm evenings. Its where we play cards, listen to the August crickets
or just sit and talk.
Two years into our new neighborhood, we still miss the easy
camaraderie of our old block, merely five blocks from here. Our neighbors there
started out strangers and became friends. Its hard work starting over
again to build trust and find common ground among the randomness of people who
happen to buy houses in close proximity.
Almost by default, weve taken the lead in organizing our
blocks activities. We are willing to door-knock for signatures, make
flyers to invite neighbors to events, set up tables in the street and plan
activities, solicit prizes from neighborhood merchants who are sometimes
skeptical of our efforts. I am sometimes skeptical of our efforts: What do we,
the educated, white, suburb-raised folks, know about organizing a multicultural
urban neighborhood? How can our middle class values not conflict with our
neighbors life experience -- of immigration, being minority in a racist
society, of working for minimum wage for a lifetime? How can our tentative
bonds, based on sharing an alley or a view from the front porch, turn into
something more?
We occasionally long for the easier emotional territory of a more
homogenous part of town. Still, we believe we have the skills and the vision to
make a difference in our little corner of the world. And we continue to believe
that part of living our faith is responding to the call to chip away at the
barriers of class, race and language that divide our society -- and that we
wouldnt be doing our kids any favors by eschewing the diversity of city
life for a big green yard and better-kept homes.
This year our block party drew a larger crowd than last, though
our picnic potluck was a contrast, as my husband noted, to the abundant
potlucks we are used to, where dishes are homemade and delicious. Here, more
showed up bearing bags of chips and pop than with lovely fruit salads and
savory casseroles.
But our neighbors came forward with other offerings: Some of the
kids on the block had made a piñata on their own, with just a little
assistance from the grownups. We were treated to a show by our resident
puppeteer, who involved the children in a lively performance that included
drums, song, masks, puppets and role-playing. One guy who works at a fast food
restaurant brought extra plastic toys from the chains kids meals to
distribute to all the little ones. Kids rode their bikes in the street as
adults slapped mosquitoes and swapped stories about their houses and history on
the block.
I had put a lot into that evening and felt like the cruise
director on a ship sailed by a motley crew. There was a woman who runs a local
organic restaurant continually shifting her very pregnant body in her lawn
chair. Her husband is the puppeteer. Here came the neo-hippie green activists,
toddlers in tow. There was Mike, whos lived here for 45 years and a widow
for the past three. Over there, Esther and Rodrigo, Rosaura and her daughter
Kimberly, who speak little English, sitting together on their front lawn,
smiling at my intermediate-Spanish invitation to come and join the party but
shy about digging in. Maricruz and Fernando, 9 and 11, from the apartment
building on the corner, came without their mom, who works the night shift but
had made yummy salsa for the kids to bring to the party. We met some new
neighbors, including a Swiss couple with a 2-year-old girl. We were glad to see
Becky, a single mom of two teens. Shes been the real anchor on the block,
having weathered its highs and lows for 20 years.
In blew a gaggle of kids on their own from somewhere else, who I
guessed were hitting all the National Night Out block parties in the area,
scoring the best treats and games. They joined in our water balloon toss and
homemade piñata a little, ah, overly enthusiastically. We adults had to
ensure that some of the smaller kids on our block got their fair share of the
loot from the broken piñata, but I guess we were feeling magnanimous
toward the interlopers.
Not long after, I heard an excerpt from a speech by the late Rep.
Barbara Jordan of Texas. She talked about how community building -- making our
community life inclusive and democratic and safe and accessible for all -- is
not ultimately the responsibility of government or community organizers or any
institution. Rather, it comes down to each one of us, what we are willing to do
as individuals, the kind of relationships we are willing to build. That, too, I
believe, is the ultimate gospel message, though Jesus put it not in terms of
civic responsibility, but in terms of the heart -- that we are to love our
neighbor as ourselves. In other words, eat their Cheetos with a smile, even if
wed rather have a good potato salad with our bratwurst.
So my family and I will continue to negotiate our path, continuing
to invite our neighbors to join us, however tentative our bonds may be at this
point. Hey, next year, maybe Ill even learn the Spanish word for
potluck.
Kris Berggren writes from Minneapolis. She can be
reached by e-mail at bergolk@earthlink.net
National Catholic Reporter, September 15,
2000
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