goodwill to men

The accordion man is standing outside Dominick's again, scraggly and weathered, shabby and worn. He has a menagerie of broken-down items surrounding him--a Casio keyboard, a couple of coffee cans, a bag filled with who knows what. He is wearing a tan trenchcoat and black shoes, a stocking hat and sometimes fingerless gloves. He appears to mumble to himself as he plays, his fingers moving across the keys and buttons of the accordion without his recognition of where they are or what they're doing. When he opens his mouth it looks like he may talk to one of the passersby, but he only continues talking to himself, and through the space between his lips you can see the teeth poking through, sparse and yellowed.

It appears he has become a fixture in front of the grocery store, and I pass him every time I walk that particular corner. He has a container sitting out for money, but on the corner of Fullerton and Belden the greater population is made of college students, most of whom are probably not carrying cash, the rest of whom don't even see the accordion man, so consumed are they with their own lives and the daily grind of their college existences.

I see him. Every time, I see him. And I walk past, afraid to catch his eye even though he never seems to see anything around him. I think I have mastered the art of examining the people around me without them catching me at it, and for the most part this is true. Especially when the subject of examination shows distinct signs of crazy. But every time I pass by, I wonder what happened to the goodwill of humanity. This time of year everyone is being tapped for cash--the Salvation Army buckets are out, church gift programs are in full swing, and holiday parties require food and gifts. But it is also the time of year when we come together, and we sing "peace on earth, goodwill to men."

But I don't want to be one of those people who throws money around just because of the season. Jesus told us that the poor would always be among us, and so they are, begging for change with their outstretched plastic cups, holding their signs that illuminate their plight, and the sight of the poor moves our pity. But it rarely goes farther than that. Cynicism has set in, and has taken a deep hold on our society. We don't trust the poor, we believe they should be able to help themselves, we yell "get a job" and tell ourselves their laziness is to blame.

And sometimes this may be true. But I wonder if we are being called to rise above the cynicism and offer goodwill for the sake of goodwill. If humanity as a whole would rise up and reach out to the downtrodden, perhaps they would be taken care of. Perhaps we could effectually achieve a glimpse of social justice.

But instead I keep walking past the accordion man. And the guilt builds up like plaque inside an artery, and I wonder if my conscience will come under attack the way my heart would when that artery burst. Until that day, I live with the guilt for the few seconds in which I find it affecting me.

And then I keep walking.

call me conservative

I currently drive into Chicago three days a week for classes, and I pass the same exits, traffic, and billboards every time--so when a billboard changes I usually notice. Especially if it happens to be a billboard that informs you that should you have questions about your baby daddy, paternity tests are now available over the counter.

Let's pause for a moment. You might wonder why this has upset me...as it seems that I primarily blog about things that upset me.

What this means to me is that we are living in a society in which a woman may sleep with so many different men that she would not know whose child she gave birth to.

Call me conservative. I have a problem with this.

I firmly believe that there are reasons why sex outside the confines of marriage is a bad idea--STDs, unwanted pregnancies/abortions, emotional trauma, etc. Here is yet another factor. Clearly, in today's culture, it is so common for women to have doubts about their child's paternity, that these tests are now available OTC. There goes all of the appeal of Maury Pauvich. Just hop on into your local Walgreens and pick up a test--no need for national televisation any more!

And yet--and yet--this is a trend that is only perpetuating itself. I subbed for a middle school teacher on Monday, and the cheerleaders were all in uniform, begging the question: Why are mini-skirt against the dress code and not cheerleading uniforms? The obvious answer may be that the girls wear something under their cheerleading skirts. Well, good grief, I hope that the girls wear something under their mini-skirts too. The issue is that although it's not quite such a big deal in middle school, by the time these girls are in high school, it's a perfect opportunity to flaunt their youthful legs, and I do not doubt for one second that horny teenage boys are taking every opportunity to try to see what really is under that cheerleading skirt.

And if the girls let them, well, that is how we come full circle to the paternity test dilemma.

This is what terrifies me about being a parent--not how to keep my child from making bad decisions, but how to instill them with a value system that will not allow bad decisions to even enter their minds.

And then I pray to God that no child of mine will ever need to buy an OTC paternity test.