"You've got to be taught to hate and fear ..."

Coming home from work yesterday, I saw a man on a bike. It was an old bike. His clothes were old and worn-out. His dirty skin was slick with sweat and he was pedaling slowly. He was dog tired.

He'd ingeniously figured out a way to strap a rake to his bike so that he would steer and pedal without it getting in the way. On the back of the bike, on a flat metal shelf and secured with bungees, was a box of garbage bags. He pedaled away in the sun and I saw him turn up the next suburban driveway, put down his kickstand and walk to the door. He knocked and then stepped back, off of the porch to await an answer.

The light changed to green and I had to drive away.

Of course, I imagine he was going door-to-door asking to do yard clean-up for people. This is a good thing. Here is a guy willing to work, trying to either increase his income or to make some kind of a living for himself in hard economic times. I admire him.

Then, I thought about the responses he was likely to get. How many people would slam the door in the face of an unkempt stranger? How few would be willing to let him into their yard to do a few hours' work? Would I let him  in to work on my yard...

...or would I fear the stranger, as we have all been taught to do?

Slow to Trust

I probably don't trust you completely.

Don't be offended. The fact is, whether I know you well or whether we haven't met, I'm really stingy with trust.

No, this isn't a whiny lament about the cruelties of the cold, hard world -- about how I have been let down (though I have). It's just a fact: trust is something I don't dole out lightly. Trust, next to love, is the highest praise you can give another person.

Strangely, the few I do trust, completely (there are degrees of trust, of course), might not be the closest ones to me. For instance, there is someone I know -- someone I worked with for only a few years -- whom I trust implicitly. We rarely speak anymore, but she has my complete trust. She always will.