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Today, I was doing some work in a regular client's house, stepped out for a coffee. She works for the JPNDC (Jamaica Plain Neighborhood Development Comittee) and lives in Egelston square, part of Roxbury, which, though a 5 minute walk from where I live (JP, also part of roxbury), is considered the "wrong side of the tracks." It's basically the ghetto, and the "nouveau JP" ( a moniker I apply to the new folks, generally white, moneyed, and generally not from actual Boston--yuppies if you prefer) have been trying to push the poor folks (mostly blackand latino) out of there and other neighborhoods for a long time (too many parentheses, I know, but my immediate neighborhood was done in the same way, and I liked it better when it was "ours").
It's a tough neighborhood, but also there are a lot of good people there, though many may be not highly educated (and here I put this in the classic academic sense), and definitely do not have money.
It's the "hood," and though I know these neighborhoods and how to conduct myself so as not to get killed (I'm 'down,' as it were), today in particular I was thinking how hard it would be to grow up in such a place as I was scouting for coffee (hate to say it, but the nearest coffee was at mcdonalds, which always seem to set up in the poor neighborhoods whereas are not allowed in the more well-to-do {meaning white} neighborhoods). To make a short story long, I was empathising with the poor folks who have to put up with deprivation and violence every day--so much so that most people don't look at you on the street (unless they're ready to fight) and wondering what a cold world this can sometimes be. Sitting on the front steps of the house I'm working on, a "homey" walked by carrying a baby. First off, I thought it great that there was a father who was taking care of his progeny (sad to say, but most of the kids don't really have that), but the thing that stuck with me was that the little girl looked over daddy's shoulder, as toddlers are wont to do, and I looked back, a bearded and scruffy handyman, white in a black neighborhood. Unknown to anyone but we two, she smiled, and lifted her hand in a wave. I waved back, and couldn't help but smile in return.
It was a moment of pure love and beauty in the midst of the harshest of landscapes. That is hope.
Sorry if the punch line took too long, but I would be interested to hear others' stories of such epiphanic moments in life, things that make you realize that in the direst of circumstances, love still rules eternal. . .
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