Good and Evil

I was raised the seventh of eleven children--five boys and six girls. The age span between the oldest and the youngest is 16 years, so we pretty much all grew up in the same house (the oldest moved out when I was 8 or 9, I think). When you live with that many people, you learn compromise and diplomacy at an early age. We bickered and fought and poked and teased, but more than that, we loved and respected.

I moved to Colorado in 1994 at the ripe age of 21. The first three years I lived here, I tended bar at a neighborhood pub. The same people came in every day, sat in the same seat, drank the same drink…day after day after day. They were mostly in their mid 30s to mid 50s and they took a liking to me instantly (of course). Even more than their relentless teasing about my southern accent, they laughed at my naivety.

I insisted on seeing the world as a happy place. I assumed all people had the best intentions at heart. I remember one conversation in particular with Rock-n-Roll Steve.

Side note: there was more than one Steve, so we had to nick name them to keep them apart—sometimes we used physical characteristics as with Big Tom and Little Tom, and sometimes it was beverage choice as with Bud Light Bob. Rock-n-Roll Steve wore a mullet. I worked there for three years and to this day, I couldn’t tell you the last name of a single patron.

Steve said, “One day you’ll see the world for what it really is.” My reply to him was something along the lines of, “I hope not…that would be sad.”

Fast forward to 2007. My good friend was bitterly disappointed by her mother this week and she wrote about it on her blog today. The 21-year-old me doesn’t comprehend this kind of behavior because the world I grew up in was so different. I’m shocked and saddened by her story. But then I read the words of support written to her by virtual strangers. These women have extended sympathy, love, and encouragement to someone they most likely have never met.

So where ever you are, Rock-and-Roll Steve, I am seeing the world for what it really is. For every natural disaster, there is hundreds, thousands, millions of dollars donated in support. There are homeless people sleeping under bridges, wrapped in wool hats and scarves, hand knit especially for them by strangers. There are volunteers in hospitals playing games with sick children so mom and dad can take a break. And a couple weeks ago, outside of the grocery store I saw a mother with her elementary-school-age child collecting canned foods for the food bank. They stood next to cases of donated food.

The world is good, Steve...the world is good.