Maybe ten years ago, my bride and I cruised east on Ohio’s Route 90 after visiting family for the holidays. As we settled into the ride after a pit stop, I cranked up the heat and savored a sip of my Starbuck’s dark roast. Then I flipped through the local radio offerings. One news commentator was sharing the story of a twenty-two-year-old refugee who was trudging alone, through foot deep snow, in the black of night.
Wearing sneakers, but no coat, his only goal was to make it through the mountains of northern Italy, so he could slip into France undetected . He was a young man who saw only two likely scenarios ; the first being to face an almost certain death if he was caught, and sent back to his homeland with it’s endless wars, OR the second; he could face the substantial possibility of freezing to death, but at least have a chance of escaping to freedom and a new life. He chose the latter. And I chose the type of cookie I wanted from my Christmas tin.
I have neither earned, nor in any way deserve, the state of privilege I enjoy - it was an integral part of the “package” I inherited at my birth. My own travels through Ethiopia and work in two wartime refugee camps have revealed personal stories that have humbled me. I’ve encountered countless people who have worked harder and under more extreme conditions than I could ever fathom - and from year to year!
Just for perspective, from mid 2001 through 2003, I took a break from my work as a Physicians Assistant to continue the types of work I had done during college breaks. But this time, I was self-employed doing full-time construction. Back then, I used to think that carrying bundles of shingles up ladders during the sweltering summer heat or digging footers by hand during the upstate NY winters - somehow made me “hearty”. But, I always had at least adequate clothes to wear. And I wasn’t doing work with bare, oozing feet, an empty stomach and no access to clean water. Privilege is indeed a nuanced and therefore controversial subject. I’m sure the topic will come up in future newsletters as it is critical to a better understanding of those voices that sound so much different than our own. They all deserve a place in the “choir”.
I wrote the following song about four years ago. It is a metaphor which draws a comparison between our origins, subsequent lives and …
Packages by Mark VanLaeys (link for video)
PACKAGES come in all shapes and all sizes.
No two just alike between the labels and shades
Reflecting the nature and place of departure
Along with a path - some call fate.
CHORUS -
We’re all drawn to the bright, the big and the pretty
Surface stuff calls us by our chosen name.
Few can see past the scuffs and the defects through time
To the contents so rich that remain.
PACKAGES wrapped in silver or gold,
others cartoons right out of the bin
Innards not showing, a few can’t help glowing
No bank vault could hold their light in.
Chorus
PACKAGES filled with memories or chains
others anchors yet lost out at sea
But a few can see past the trials that don’t last
to the essence they carry and feed.
Chorus
PACKAGES pass through the landfills with grass,
Some have markers that last a few years
But a century from now, when our dust meets the plow,
It’s the ripples of our love that remains