O P I N I O N
LEMENADE
by June Lemen
I went to see an unbelievably good play last night at the Merrimack Repertory Theatre, “The Porch On Windy Hill” which was billed as a “new play with old music.” It’s a play about the power of love and forgiveness and music. It’s also about racism and community and what we owe to our families. It was a delight to listen to three talented musicians sing and play guitar, dulcimer, banjo and violin. It was a wonderful evening: I went to sleep and heard “Birmingham Jail” in my dreams.
But when I woke up this morning, I was thinking about COVID, which came up in the play, and the 13-month shutdown we all experienced. The question I keep asking myself is, “Why did it not draw us closer together? And why is everything so broken now?”
While COVID was happening, I had the experience that most of us had. I stood in the parking garage at City Hall three times to get tested. I was amazed, when the vaccines came out, at the efficiency and speed with which they were distributed. Waiting in my car at South High to get my jab, I did not see or hear anyone behaving badly. And I was beyond impressed by the nurse who gave me my shot — I did not feel a thing. When I complimented her, she said, “This is not my first rodeo. Or my hundredth.”
People were a little cautious with one another. At the grocery store, people stood far apart and waited to check out. Occasionally there would be a complainer, or an incident, but I did not see it that often. But now, I feel that we are in the middle of another: one of rudeness and entitlement that is simply beyond belief. It’s as if people feel like they have to win every encounter they have: it does not seem to matter to them that the person they are talking to is another human being, with as much right to be on the planet as they have.
I am particularly annoyed by people who behave poorly to people doing their jobs. My daughter Lucy, who is Asian, has to put up with this quite often at work. She came home one day and said, “So, this lady asked me today, while I was making her coffee, where I was from?”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I’m from Nashua.’ So she asked, ‘What about your parents?’ So I told her that you were from Massachusetts and Dad was from Kentucky,”
“That wasn’t enough, was it?”
“Oh, no — she asked where your family was from and I told her that your family was Lithuanian and English and that we don’t know much about Dad’s family’s ethnic background.”
“Then what?”
“She asked where I was born and I told her China.”
“And?”
She said, “Aha! Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
“Did you tell her because it’s none of her &*&*(@! business.”
“Mom. No! I would never do that, but it is annoying.”
It’s not annoying. It’s rude and invasive.
And I am reminded of this because one of the characters in the play is Korean-American and she talked about people avoiding her during COVID. That happened to Lucy, too, and it made me furious, but I realized then (as every parent realizes nearly every day) that you cannot protect your children from the ignorance of the world.
I do not understand why anyone purchasing a cup of coffee feels that they have the right to interrogate the server about where they were born. And why does it matter?
It doesn’t.
I have a sign on my desk that says “Choose Kindness,” that my boss gave me. I see it when I walk in every day and it reminds me to be kind to people that I am on the phone with. That can sometimes be difficult at the Soup Kitchen, because when people are calling to ask for services, they tend to tell you their entire life story.
I am an impatient woman, but I realized that I need to let people talk. Even if I know that I cannot get them the service they need. One woman talked to me for over ten minutes, and when I said, “This is what we can do, but –,” she started to cry.
I immediately started to apologize, and she said, “No. Don’t apologize. I’ve been calling agencies all day and you are the first person who let me tell you my whole story. I appreciate it. I’m just sorry I am so emotional. Thank you.”
We got through the rest of the call, and when I hung up, I had to take a minute. How has the world gotten so callous? It took me an extra five minutes to listen to this woman. Don’t we owe each other that?
I think so.
You can reach June Lemen at junelemen18@gmail.com
