The months seem to have rushed into December 1999. The momentum feels like a snowy avalanche nearing its destination. Past centuries postmarked for delivery are rolled up inside as the world awaits with baited breath to experience the next century. We hail ourselves as the most educated, well-equipped people in the history of mankind. But, I wonder. What have we learned, really? The new year beckons us to take time to reflect. Shall we sit a spell, maybe spin a yarn and wonder at the magic of the year's birthing a new millennium?
THE YARN
The poor are still with us and rumors of war spark anew each day. With all our technological advances, we seem to still be babies in the way we relate to one another. To speak in Christian terms, we talk a good game, but few are willing to pay the price to live a life in the pattern set 2000 years ago by one known as Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
In my community, there is only one man whose life speaks louder than his words. He is known as Sam. I don't know his last name, but I see him sometimes as he rides his bike, or walks along the roadside. Sam is allowed to live as "the adopted schizophrenic" of the wealthy in my community. His life provides us with a sense of charity so that we can live guilt-free in our lavishly furnished homes. We don't understand how one could live as he lives. We don't want to learn how one could adapt to living on the street. We don't want threats to the lifestyle we have worked so hard to achieve. So seeing Sam, every now and then, help us to remember that, when we are sick and tired of working.
As long as Sam smiles and waves to us when we pass him by, we will allow him to live in the bushes along the highway. Sam has learned how to survive and not threaten our well-being. He has learned how not to be threatened by us. We think he wants to live like he does. We say he has chosen to live this way, so we will let him, as long as he does nothing to scare us.
Sam is not like Jesus Christ of Nazareth. He doesn't make disciples. He just exists alone in his world. I think he has learned this to be the safest way for him to live in peace in our community. He doesn't want to be crucified. He wants to live in the community in which he was born some 60 years ago because it is his home.
I talk to Sam sometimes when I encounter him on my evening walks. His eyes are so bright they sparkle when he smiles. He has rosy cheeks, and white hair and beard. He is most always dirty and smells of urine. But if Sam were dressed as Santa, children could be forever convinced the Christmas myth was truth. Sam's spirit is so gentle and peacefully quiet. I always feel good about me after our short visits.
Local legend has it that Sam worked until he was in his forties. Some say he has a sister who lives nearby and that Sam sometimes visits her.
I wonder what happened to Sam. I wonder why I feel so happy when I see Sam.
About the Author
V.L. Sullivan holds a B.A. in Psychology/Human Services from Mary Mount University, Arlington, VA; has done graduate study in Social Work from The University of Arkansas at Little Rock; as well as graduate study in Adoption, Foster Care and Attachment Theory for The Institute for International Connections, Druskininkai, Lietuva. She worked for 3 years in Psychiatric Residential Treatment Centers with children ages 6-12, and for 3 years work in Psychiatric Hospitals with mentally disabled individuals of all ages and populations. Her poetry has been published by Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum, Inc. in "Treasured Poems Of America", Winter 1993 under the name of Vicki S. Johnson.
