One thing the current pandemic has killed is camaraderie, a feeling of belonging. The bars and the churches where we used to gather with others who knew our names are closed (or probably should be). We feel sidelined and lonely.
I recognize the feeling. I dealt with it in Kindergarten.
I had three major disadvantages when I went to Kindergarten:
- There was no one my age within four miles of my house. I had no social skills.
- My bus was among the last to arrive every morning. That meant that the kids on the early buses had already commandeered all the best toys.
- My fifth birthday was only a month before school started. Most of the kids in the class were older than I was. Developmentally, I was behind. In fact, my mother made me these nifty overalls because my fingers could not manage the button at the top of a pair of regular pants, to say nothing of a belt buckle. It worked, but it wasn’t a ticket to the cool kids’ table.
So, my morning went like this:
I watched the girl who got on the tricycle first ride around and around the room.
Wayne came on the first bus. He took over the building blocks. He was always the boss of building a castle. He told me every day that all the jobs were taken.
The other kids playing with other toys would just say, “I was here first,” and keep on playing. When the teacher would ask the other kids to share with me, they would resent me.
Most of the time, I just stood on the edge watching. The other kids treated me like I didn’t exist. When I hear the word “marginalize,” I remember that experience.
In some ways, I’m back on the margins again. I’m watching from the sidelines as younger, healthier people minister to others, reopen their businesses, work from home, or go back to their places of employment. Age and underlying health issues keep me cooped up at home.
In more important ways, I am now the one who was there first. I am a white male Boomer. I get a check from Social Security every month. I get another from my pension board.
My neighbors are mostly people of color. A majority are either immigrants or first generation Americans. They were living on the margins before the pandemic. But they were making it. They were hustling in ways that I never saw white male boomers hustle in my whole life. Now, our emergency food distribution lines can be 600 people long.
I remember how it felt on the margin, watching the kids who got there first, hoping they would share with me, or at least get tired and move on, leaving something behind for me to play with.
So, Jacquie and I have upped our giving, especially to organizations that are trying to serve people who aren’t eligible for other kinds of help, like undocumented immigrants. Yes, “illegals.” I know. We are terrible people, but they are our neighbors and Jesus told us to love them. I am trying to treat them the way I wish the other kids had treated me when I was standing at the margins.
The cool thing about giving is that I feel connected to others. I don’t feel like I am just watching from the margins.