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All About Sam
by V.L. Sullivan
The months seem to have rushed into
December 1999. The momentum feels like a snowy avalanche nearing its
destination. Past centuries postmarked for delivery are rolled up inside
as the world awaits with baited breath to experience the next century. We
hail ourselves as the most educated, well-equipped people in the history of
mankind. But, I wonder. What have we learned, really? The new year
beckons us to take time to reflect. Shall we sit a spell, maybe spin a
yarn and wonder at the magic of the year's birthing a new millennium?
THE YARN
The poor are still with us and rumors of war spark anew each day. With all
our technological advances, we seem to still be babies in the way we relate to
one another. To speak in Christian terms, we talk a good game, but few are
willing to pay the price to live a life in the pattern set 2000 years ago by one
known as Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
In my community, there is only one man whose life speaks louder than his words.
He is known as Sam. I don't know his last name, but I see him sometimes as he
rides his bike, or walks along the roadside. Sam is allowed to live as
"the adopted schizophrenic" of the wealthy in my community. His
life provides us with a sense of charity so that we can live guilt-free in our
lavishly furnished homes. We don't understand how one could live as he
lives. We don't want to learn how one could adapt to living on the street.
We don't want threats to the lifestyle we have worked so hard to achieve. So
seeing Sam, every now and then, help us to remember that, when we are sick and
tired of working.
As long as Sam smiles and waves to us when we pass him by, we will allow him to
live in the bushes along the highway. Sam has learned how to survive and
not threaten our well-being. He has learned how not to be threatened by
us. We think he wants to live like he does. We say he has chosen to
live this way, so we will let him, as long as he does nothing to scare us.
Sam is not like Jesus Christ of Nazareth. He doesn't make disciples.
He just exists alone in his world. I think he has learned this to be the safest
way for him to live in peace in our community. He doesn't want to be
crucified. He wants to live in the community in which he was born some 60 years
ago because it is his home.
I talk to Sam sometimes when I encounter him on my evening walks.
His eyes are so bright they sparkle when he smiles. He has rosy cheeks, and
white hair and beard. He is most always dirty and smells of urine.
But if Sam were dressed as Santa, children could be forever convinced the
Christmas myth was truth. Sam's spirit is so gentle and peacefully quiet.
I always feel good about me after our short visits.
Local legend has it
that Sam worked until he was in his forties. Some say he has a sister who
lives nearby and that Sam sometimes visits her.
I wonder what happened to
Sam. I wonder why I feel so happy when I see Sam.
About The
Author
V.L.
Sullivan holds a B.A. in Psychology/Human
Services from Mary Mount University,
Arlington, VA; has done graduate study in
Social Work from The University of
Arkansas at Little Rock; as well as
graduate study in Adoption, Foster Care
and Attachment Theory for The Institute
for International Connections,
Druskininkai, Lietuva. She worked for 3
years in Psychiatric Residential Treatment
Centers with children ages 6-12, and for 3
years work in Psychiatric Hospitals with
mentally disabled individuals of all ages
and populations. Her poetry has been
published by Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum,
Inc. in "Treasured Poems Of
America", Winter 1993 under the name
of Vicki S. Johnson.
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