Alienation

C.L. and I had some errands to run, picking up donations for the yard sale, and S. came with us to help.

When I met them at the Motel that morning, S. seemed a little uncomfortable with me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. She's the gentle, likeable, pretty, tattooed mom of K., who comes to Dinner and stays to play Crazy 8s, but the rest of the family eats at home, so I haven't known S. well. (K. always asks an adult for an escort home because of the ghosts that live in the swimming pool house and the tower.)

We finished our first pick-up and then went for lunch. While we were waiting for the food to come, S., frowning, suddenly blurted out, "Are you the lady who's trying to get K. to go to camp?"

I smiled and said, "Well, we're not trying to ship K. off to church camp, or anything."

She said, "Oh. I thought that's what it was. That K. would have to go to church camp."

I explained that the Church has had some donations and we're always looking for ways to bless people (yes, I said "bless". Got a better word? Leave me alone. I was waiting for my souvlaki.) and since K. is a friend and a good kid, we wanted to offer the chance for K. to do something this summer. Like a week at a YMCA program, or a day camp, or whatever. It's entirely up to them to let us know what.

The frown disappeared and she said that the Salvation Army was covering one week of a camp for K., but summer break is really hard for a lively kid with nothing to do and it would be great to have another week looked after.

Suddenly the tension was gone and we had a really nice lunch talking about our kids and life.

S. told us how hard it is to be a kid living at the Motel. How you call a friend to invite them over and their mom says yes, and then finds out where you live and you can hear her over the phone, yelling in the background, "I didn't know that's where they live! You're not going there!". S. says she's just told her child to never tell anyone where they live.

Which means never having friends over, which means that March Break, Christmas Break and Summer Vacation get really, really, really long and boring, especially when you're the only kid your age living there. The Motel is surrounded on 2 sides by factories and a car dealership, one side by a nursing home, and the other by the railroad tracks and the 10 metre drop to the lake. The only things in easy walking distance are a grocery store and a drug store.

It happens to adults, too. Applying for a job is pointless because as soon as the prospective employer (or landlord) calls and hears, "Thank you for calling The Motel. If you know the extension of the person you're trying to reach..." they hang up.

Public health nurses have refused to go onto the property past the front parking lot, forcing the sick to make their way up to the office to conduct what should be private. Pizza guys will only go as far as the driveway. I've actually had people say to me, "Oh, you go to the Motel? You're so brave!"

A little while ago there was a story in the local paper about a couple who had petitioned town council to have the place shut down because it was "common knowledge that the place is a haven for drug dealers and pedophiles." (Local police deny the latter.) Common knowledge. Yeah.

The many decent people who live there have, understandably, become a bit defensive about the whole thing. C.L. wrote a letter to the editor (which was published) on the subject:

Many people have a low opinion of the Motel, but thank God for the many people who feel we're not that bad.

People are here for many reasons. Broken homes, lack of a job due to shortages of work and many other reasons.

There are so many things people don't know about the Motel.

Once a week we have friends put a dinner on for us. They have become our friends. We have a small church every Sunday. Many people have generously donated to us. There's Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinner.

But most of all I want to thank the people who have donated so many things to us. Food and furniture. One day a lady came with fresh vegetables for us. We have been thought of and helped by so many people. God works in mysterious ways when you least expect it.

Every one who lives here agrees with me when we say Thank you very much for being so kind to us as we all appreciate every one who has thought of us.

God bless you and keep you safe and happy.

Graciously said by a woman who deeply resents being lumped in with "drug dealers and pedophiles".

It all, to me, speaks of a deep vein of alienation: Of the affluent from the poor (they must be criminals), of the poor from the affluent (one woman says, "I never go to Port Hope. Town people look at you like you don't belong."), of the all-too-heavily evangelized and judged from 'the church' ("I thought K. would have to go to church camp").

Which is part of the reason for the yard sale. It doesn't matter so much whether we make any money. What matters is that the people who live at the Motel are inviting 'town people' to come onto their turf, in broad daylight, no farther than the front parking lot, to look them in the eye, to talk to them like fellow citizens, to buy a knick knack and to eat a freakin' hot dog, cooked by R., who has been sober now for 5 months.

I really really really hope people come. I'm actually nervous.

Those of us who live there and those of us who don't are slowly chipping away at those walls and making progress. For some of us, it means being less churchy and more human. For some of us it means being willing to give 'church people' a chance to be nice with no strings.

I started out two years ago hoping for a time when there was no 'us and them', but just 'us'. We're not quite there yet, but I know that the lines have been and are continuing to be redrawn. The circle around 'us' gets bigger and more populated every time we step out closer to the edge and give it a little push.

r

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