07.10.07 Motors, Meat, Music, Megan and a Masters

It was a weekend of first time experiences and enlightening conversation, beginning with the second show.

We pulled up into the Lutheran church’s parking lot and drove slowly by the Dodge Viper, old Chevy convertibles and Harley Davidsons, wondering what we were walking into.  We stepped out of our rental and into the haze of barbecue and shook hands with the promoter, a long haired man with round pink cheeks and a smile that said “Let me explain.” And he did.  Our concert was part of the church’s first annual Triple M Extravaganza: Motors, Meat and Music. 

“You’re the music,” he said.  Glad we cleared that up.

Then, yesterday, on our first flight of the morning, I sat in the middle seat beside a brilliant Canadian who now teaches social work at a university in the Midwest.  She was asking me all sorts of questions so I finally closed my newly purchased magazine and asked her one: So, knowing as much as you do about social work, what’s your take on the U.S. system?  Does it work?

That’s all it took.  The dam broke and she unleashed argument after argument against the U.S. social services system.  The line that stuck with me was “It’s not designed to help people.” Her take, and remember she’s a sought after expert on this stuff published and lecturing around the world, is that politicians on both sides of the aisle create and sustain welfare and other social services for two reasons: 1) It makes those in “need” think the politician is helping and buys their vote. 2) It makes those who aren’t in “need” feel as if voting for this man or woman is helping those in “need” and exempts them then from actually doing anything for those in need.

She wasn’t a Christian, yet she agreed wholeheartedly with me when I said local churches and individual Christians could eliminate the need for government programs like these if we were simply better neighbors who helped when we saw a need in our community.  If we just did the bare minimum of what our God has asked us to do: love people.

We talked about how to do that exactly and how to get doctors together to donate a percentage of their practice to the uninsured “poor” in their cities.  We talked about their fear of being sued and the government’s rules regarding Medicare and other programs - rules that say if you, a doctor, donate care to anyone you can no longer be paid by the government to administer care to those on it’s books.  We talked about how to get around these two barriers and she’s going to help me do that here in Tennessee.

We also talked a lot about Compassion International, what they do, what I do for them, about the belief that physical poverty is tied to inner poverty.  She called it “hopelessness.” She thinks I should get a masters in social work.  I think she’s kind but doesn’t know me that well yet.  I told her I’m not the masters degree type of person but I’d love to read anything she thinks would help me understand all this stuff better.  She invited me to come talk to her classes about Compassion sometime and says she’ll send me some things to read.  Amazing woman and I’m betting she’s an incredible teacher.

Then, while waiting in the Southwest line to board our second flight, we met an 18 year-old snowboarding beauty named Megan - a “Morjew,” she said.  Her mother is Jewish and her father is Mormon.  We talked toenail polish and flip flops.  We talked Utah and polygamy and about how turning twenty-one isn’t really as momentous and cool as eighteen year-olds think it will be.  “I’m gonna party!” she bubbled naively.

She told us her story, her entire story, for some odd reason. Drug addiction.  Rehab.  Drug addiction.  Rehab.  Mom and dad had no rules and were “cool” and “nice” and then, when she started using drugs and getting into trouble, they were “mean” and “harsh,” which is eighteen year-old drug user speak for “then there were rules.”

“Do you have daughters?” she asked, determined to give us parenting advise regardless of the answer.  “Be nice to your girls,” she told me.  “Let them have their freedom and do what makes them happy.”

Up to this point our conversation had been very sarcastic and fun, like three friends shooting the breeze on a road trip, but then the Dad in me came out.  “I’m sure I’ll sound like the old guy when I say this but sometimes the nicest thing we can do for people we love is to keep them from hurting themselves.” She immediately started in again on how not nice her dad is and I interrupted.  “You might want to write that last part down.  That was good stuff.  And it’s free.” She laughed and we boarded the plane.

She’ll spend the next few weeks at an aunt’s house in Tennessee, detoxing from drugs and a dad she can’t stand and the boyfriend he can’t stand - responsible for both her addiction and her hatred I suspect.

Fascinating people are all around you in airports and on airplanes and with enough caffein I actually notice them.  Wish I did that more often.

Motors, meat, music, Megan and a social worker who wants to send me back to school.  Just the usual unusual weekend on the road.