What it Means to Care

When our house was being built on the north side of Goshen, they accidentally installed windows that were much larger than planned. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then a pair of gigantic, street-facing windows are the window to the community, and oh, the things I see through mine.

There are families slow-poking to the park, kids attempting to race bikes with bent rims and squishy tires, people walking dogs, men talking into their phones, co-workers clocking meetings in walking shoes.

The teenagers always grab my attention longest, and not just because they’re so loud. I see them with their hunched shoulders and their short shorts. They often look surly. They might be trouble-makers or smack-talkers. They refuse eye contact. My instinct is to maintain some distance between us. Besides, there’s no way they’d want to be bothered by me.

Sometimes I find myself wondering, what does it feel like to believe you’re not worth the simple trouble of hello?

I wouldn’t know.

My youth was spent in a one-light town, and that was only the beginning of our deficits. We had a lone RC Cola pop machine, a tiny library with a single shelf of worn teen romances, and zero choices in our school cafeteria. We didn’t even have a football team.

Click here to continue reading the rest of my column in my local newspaper, The Elkhart Truth.