The Pillars

"all wet hey you might need a raincoat, shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight, three hun-dred six-ty five de-grees burning down the house" Talking Heads from "Burning Down the House"

I got a pass to get out of the Asylum for a trip to watch my nephews Little League game. They bound me up like Hannibal Lector and made the nurse push me around, I guess they didn't want me to slit the throat of an umpire over a bad call. It was worth it. To watch a murder of nine year old crows playing the great pastime in inspiring, when you add danger to the mix it becomes downright thrilling.

The other night I was preforming my Uncle duties by attending what i was sure would be another thrill-a-second game of walk, steal three bases on past balls, and score nine year old Little League. There is about as much action in these games as there is in televised golf, without the witty banter of the whispering commentators. If it wasn't for the reasonably priced concession booth and my nephew being a rock star on the diamond, I would have been bored beyond tears. By the look of the parents littering the bleachers, yelling like over caffeinated stage parents, this game was the best the team had looked. I seemed to be the only one in Stage 5, active daydreaming, boredom. Then the danger came into play.

On the other side of the right field fence a plume of black smoke started to rise, a mushroom cloud of despair. The area behind the field is what those in the "big houses" consider the ghetto. Trailer parks and 100 year old homes that are standing up because of pride and little else. These inhabitants had very little to begin with and the fire wouldn't bring a windfall of insurance coin. As the cloud of choking blackness billowed out over the field, causing much distraction for the pastime playing pre-pubescent Padres, ash started to rain down onto the ballpark. Pieces of someones charred hopes and dreams drifting down from the sky like soot covered snow, dark, warm, ominous. Covering the diamond in a fine layer of ironic tragedy. While the well to do played organized community sports, the slums burned.

The sound of the approaching fire brigade quelled the concerns of the baseball moms and dads. It wasn't concern for the neighborhood, but their SUV's, parked in the ghetto adjacent lot that caused their fret. Yes, they were pillars of the community. I have no doubt that the same jackass that bitched that the top of his Mercedes was down will be the first to stand in front of a badly mocked up tally board for a photo-op at the rebuilding fund raiser. The hypocrisy is astounding. As shallow as the image obsessed parents were, the kids did something that amazed me.

They played.

They didn't get distracted by the anarchy of the moment, there was a game to play, a "W" to be put in the win column. Nothing like a fire could sway them from the game they loved so much. I actually admired them. I only wish that I had that kind of dedication, such resolve. A lesson about focus was taught to me by the unlikeliest of sources, normally ADD riddled children. Who would have thought?

Have you ever been inspired by surprise? What are people so self absorbed and only seem to care if someone else is watching?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Boys of Summer

PS - As you notice we have a new nurse in the Asylum. Everyone say hello to Dr. Dot. She is amazing, go to her sight and you will see what I mean, she's way more than just a pretty face.