August 5, 2004

• The book cover

  
  

   

  
  

  “You can’t judge a book by it’s cover” is an old adage that I latched onto early in life and used on numerous occasion in the late sixties and early seventies to validate the long hair and holey jeans look that I rebelliously adopted.  “You can’t go out looking like that!  What will people think of you?!”  “They shouldn’t be thinking any thing about me ‘cause of the way I look!  They don’t know me!  They can’t judge…” and so on.  In the ensuing years, I have tried to hold onto this truism and use it as a guide in my interactions with the community at large.  It is one of those obviously true snippets that come under constant fire in the everyday practice of living.  The most poignant strains to my ridged view on this matter came when dealing with my children and their choice of friends and hang-out buddies (shudder).  I have had to rationalize all sorts of variations in the basic theme that people are not all good, not all bad, are very complex and their true self is often not evident in the pierced tongue.

  
  

   

  
  

  Like with most truisms, this one can get buried in details as we try to bend it to suite our own flailing attempt to get along but, like all true truisms, this one will occasionally burst forward out of the pile of rationalized rubble and thump you on the top of your head to get your attention.  This has happened to me recently and I must say that I was surely in need of a wake up thump.

  
  

   

  
  

  Last week for the second summer in a row, I spent some of my vacation time working at a church camp.  My roll was a pleasant diversion of grunt and gopher work.  I was so low on the totem pole that I didn’t even have an official assignment.  I was at the beckon call of everyone from the camp director to the head dish washer.  It was great.  I just waited for the next command and did what I was told.  This may not sound like the typical description of a relaxing vacation, but for me it was a nice break from being dad and “the manager”.

  
  

   

  
  

  The head dishwasher, Dan, is the subject of this writing.  My first encounter with Dan was last year.  The initial contact was not a pleasant one.  For starters, Dan’s appearance immediately brought to mind images of Charles Manson.  A gangly, brutish kind of build topped with a countenance that wore a permanent frown.  The dark eyes seemed to be fixed in a permanent glare.  “Did you wash your hands!?”, he barked in a tactless sneer.  “errr, yes”, I stammered as I went through the mental process of reminding myself that I was not in mom’s kitchen, I was a mature adult and didn’t have to dodge another paddling.  “Is that a clean towel?!”  “Yes”, I said firmly having regained my composure and sense of self.  The rest of the time went similarly when it came to encounters with Dan.  Being at church camp it would be really inappropriate to get into a knock down, drag out argument, so people either avoided Dan or learned to tolerate him.  The general consensus was that he is a nut.  However, there was this piece to the puzzle that didn’t fit with the other pieces; he was here and for several years had devoted a week of his vacation time to laboring, for free, to make it possible to have this camp for the kids.  Why would someone who so obviously hated life and the horse it road in on, give so readily of his time and energy.

  
  

   

  
  

  This year I was ready for Dan and had counseled myself repeatedly during the preceding week on just how I was going to reach a state of mind where Dan could not penetrate.  I would work with him to get the work done, but not let him infiltrate my sense of peace and tranquility that I was seeking in the wooded camp setting.  This plan seemed to work well.  The first test was during cleanup for Sunday’s dinner.  I was sliding a stack of freshly washed dishes onto the shelf of the storage cabinet when I misread the clearance of the top few plates which started a quick series of jerky reactions, and I dropped the whole stack on the floor.  These are the type of cafeteria wear that are designed to minimize breakage and maximize sound.  The stack hit the floor with a horrendous noise and clatter…right behind Dan.  Dan spun half around, never missing a stroke with his high pressure rinse hose and barked, “Ah, Ah, Ah…those gotta be redone!”  I was already picking up the top of the pile from the floor and responded with my indignation at its peak, “no, we’ll rewash the ones that actually touched the floor”.  Dan turned, seemingly with more hunch over his work, and sprayed vehemently.  I was left wondering if there was a lock on my cabin door.

  
  

   

  
  

  The rest of the week went without much mishap.  The kids got fed, the balloons filled with water, pictures were taken of many activities, the kitchen was cleaned and cleaned again, and Dan and I reached a civil working arrangement.  He even joked a bit.  By Thursday evening everybody is pretty much on their last leg.  It was late evening, dinner was over, and all we faced was the late night snack.  We were ahead of the food preparation schedule so I took a moment to go outside and stare at the trees.  When I walked around the corner of the lodge, Dan was standing, bent over, and staring at something.  “Nice night”, I offered.  “Y’know what this is?” he responded.  I went over and looked at the slight yellow flower that he was holding gently on his finger tip.  “No, can’t say that I do”, I said slightly sheepishly.  I’ve always considered myself an outdoorsy kind of person although I realized early on that I didn’t have the memory capacity to be a true wild plant authority.  “Well, c’mon, you should know what you’re lookin’ at if you’re going to be out here!” he proclaimed.  So, we spent the next half hour strolling along the edge of the woods while he identified 40-50 different wild flowers and plants.  Our tour ended at his car where he pulled out his field guide to wild flowers and began teaching me the mechanics of using it.  He showed me his guide to Columbus metro park system which includes several thousand acres, most of which he has walked and conducted his own plant census.

  
  

   

  
  

  Ann walked by, “showing him the ropes?”  “Yeah, he’s slow but has potential”, Dan replied.  Ann smiled, knowing my predicament.  “Pay attention; Dan has a degree in botany from OSU.  You can learn a lot”, she grinned.  I looked at Dan like someone who can’t believe the rabbit actually came out of the magician’s hat.  Thinking back, I’m hoping my mouth wasn’t actually hanging open.

  
  

   

  
  

  We talked some more until the mosquitoes found us and then we went back to the kitchen to start prepping for the next day.  Dan and I had connected.  The next day, Friday, is the last day of camp and a horrendous work day of clean up, packing, and washing down the entire lodge.  It’s the kind of work that can be made much easier when the workers work as a unified team; give and take, anticipating other’s needs and moves.  Dan, I, and the rest of the volunteers got the job done well and in fine time.

  
  

   

  
  

  I stumbled upon a darkly bound book, long avoided; sitting on the back recesses of the shelf and was willing to look when the pages fell open.  I am not only better for this experience in terms of personal growth, but I am a notch happier.  It was a truly pleasant, fun experience. And…I have a new friend.

  • 5:36 pm
  • 3 Comments