Say What?

I find it discouraging that merely a day after I spent four hours filling 13 bags of leaves from my front yard, it looks as if nothing has been done. More leaves have returned to take the place of their falled brethren. Hiding in nooks and crannies like an insect afraid of the daylight. It took me a long time to work up the energy and motivation to rake. And when I say a long time I mean somewhere in the area of 4 months.

My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.

Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.

I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.

Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.