Three on Trust

(1) Nachmonides wrote many centuries ago about The Faith and The Reliance; trust must live in there somewhere. He was talking about a person's relationship to his or her God and I'm thinking more about what Trust looks like in a relationship between two or more of His or Her creations. I'm as confused, now, as I was when I wrote a choppy Trust I -- maybe, a few days ago.

Thought out of the Blue: In August of 1993, I was attending a seminar and between meetings was walking through the streets of Minneapolis with Leroy Robinson and Ajit Daniel, two other seminar attendees. We were talking about race. Leroy was born in Brooklyn, as I was, though he was Black and I was White and Ajit was Indian, pale-brown-pigmented somewhere between us. Of course, Leroy was not Black-skinned and I and at least one of my sons and my Dad's family can get dark enough in late Summer to pass for someone who likely wouldn't be welcome in White supremacist groups. (Indeed, an uncle of mine was pulled out of his car in the 1940's for dating a White woman.) This was, perhaps, one of the later days of a nine day Seminar and the three of us, Ajit, Leroy and Howard, had hung out a great deal together and trusted -- there's that word -- each other certainly sufficiently to talk about race. Our experience, perhaps, walking through the largely White and Blonde Mall of the Americas perhaps cemented such a bond.

Twenty years before the recent conversation about racial profiling in Missouri, Cleveland, and New York, Leroy pressed me to identify those people walking down the street whom I trusted and those who might make me queazy enough to pause, cross the street, or gird my loins. Leroy was particularly insistent on my checking my visceral reaction to Black Teenagers wearing hats with the brims pointing to where they came from. It was clear that that gestalt ... 3 African American kids walking briskly towards me got me to stand up straighter ... but facing three similarly attired white
kids bopping down the street towards us got me defensive, as well. Hard to measure.

(2) No TRUST, here .... I walked into a bakery frequented by religious folk, yesterday. A guy my age wearing a Viet Nam Era Army-Medical-Corps hat was ahead of me in line. We struck up a conversation; I began:

"Ah, so whaddya do?"

"I'm a pathologist."

"I work with'em before they die. I'm a psychotherapist."

"Psycho .... Therapist, eh? Good. So tell me why that reporter for the Rolling Stone screwed up 
that story so badly about UVA and the supposed gang-rape."

"Sorry. I don't know the guy or gal reporter and anyway, I'm pretty certain you know that Leviticus 19 admonishes against speaking loose-lipped about others ... unless there's a clear and present danger. And, indeed, it implies that that's connected to Godliness."

Shit. I'd thrown down the gauntlet. An obviously secular guy preaching to a devoutly religious person ... dem's was fighting words. I was an impious who thought he knew something about Scriptures or the later writings. Geez ... Two old guys who should know better in a Pissing Fight about Passages and Politics. Truth be told, I didn't have to verbally thwock this guy and he coulda let an infidel alone, as well. But the end of the matter was on the street. Him slamming himself into his car and me walking to mine. Both of us, I imagine, mouthing something like: "What an ass."

Bil'am's Ass was smarter! (Numbers 23/24 ... only someone behaving as an Ass would cite that!)

Sometimes we -- particularly denizens of the Last Quarter -- can be Asses. Good to accept oneself.

(3) Mornings with GuntherDog as we both age. I've been getting up at 3:45, these days. Four hours of sleep appears to be a sufficiency, at least when supplemented by a 45 minute afternoon siesta. For a while, GuntherDog would stay put in his retired chair of honor that he took as his throne some years ago. Recently, though, he groans ... slowly gets out of his chair ... shakes a bit while I'm doing a spine-stretch ... toddles over to the door. I don't know if old male dogs have enlarged prostate glands that drive them to pee by 4:00. I know we're both aging and a little arthritis in the back and a more frequent need to pee seems to go with the process. After a minute, I open the door which is kept closed because PrettyGirlCat who is maybe 13 years old occasionally is too tired to make it to the litter box if she's with us. It's just a threesome, these days ... M, Gunther and I ... The Groaners Three.

Any case, Gunther won't simply run down the stairs.

"New Day, Pops. You gotta prove yourself."

Proving myself worthy of his Trust requires that I take several minutes at the top of the stairs to love him up. He sits and if I go downstairs, he continues to sit.

"Hey, Old Guy. I can hold it a good long time 

or just pick my leg up, right here."

I used to stand there and scratch his head. If I'd stop, he rubs his scruffy head on the balusters:

"Don't stop, now, Schmuck. Just gettin' off. 

Stop now and you'll just have to start from the beginning."

I gave in a few weeks ago. Now, I sit with him and we discuss our prostates, I scratch his head, he occasionally licks the hand that gets him off on the exquisite pleasures of head-scratching. I sit there for a good long time and when he's ready, he leads our way downstairs ... more slowly than once ... but still sure footed. I use indoor plumbing ... he the back yard. Then I write and Gunther naps.

Trust, whatever the Hell it is, takes a long time to develop and I still don't quite get it.