Tag Archives: Introspective

Virginia is equipped state-wide with a warning light system at most major intersections. Essentially, when a fire or EMS vehicle is nearing the intersection, a flood light begins pulsing to warn traffic that the emergency vehicle is approaching, and the light turns red in the direction opposite of that of the approaching first responder. Karen and I were driving somewhere a few days ago…I can’t remember where…and I saw the pulsing floodlight. Quite handy, because it causes you to begin scanning forward and backward to see whether or not you need to move to the right and stop to permit the passage of the lights and sirens.

Over the weekend, it happened again…Karen didn’t hear the siren, and asked why I was stopping and moving to the side of the street. During a recent road trip, we had just pulled back onto the highway from getting a snack, and I had to move over and stop to permit a police cruiser to shoot past me. In fact, the afternoon that I write this, I was cut off in traffic by a suddenly illuminating police cruiser executing a traffic stop on an SUV.

It seems that, wherever Karen and I have lived since we’ve been married, it’s always close to a major source of lights and sirens. Major fire precincts have been within earshot of both of the apartments in which we’ve lived together, and most recently we’re just off of a major artery of traffic, as well. Thus, emergency vehicles of all sorts go blowing by on a regular basis, their lights briefly visible from our sun room window.

I’m not sure if I should read something into this fact, or not. It seems to me I would be over-spiritualizing to do so. A little over a year ago, the building across the street in our apartment complex was evacuated due to a kitchen fire. The parking lots were instantly filled with ladder trucks, rescue trucks, fire engines, ambulances, and a battalion chief. They descended in a matter of minutes. I was comforted by this, that they could respond that quickly should the need arise. It’s certainly not the only time I’ve seen fire vehicles in our parking lot; apparently the building next door has a tenant that experiences frequent medical crises, because an ambulance frequently arrives late at night, red and white strobes piercing through our bedroom window.

It causes me to wonder at times. Have Karen and I just coincidentally lived in apartments nearby emergency responders? Does this sort of stuff gravitate toward me? Does my guilty fascination with police reality television make me hyper-aware of a normal amount of activity? Or is there really that much trouble occurring around us, that many lives in trouble, that many conflicts? Do that many people have to cry for help so frequently?

The tiny apartment that I lived in during grad school…what would be my last “bachelor pad”…was situated in a quiet neighborhood which saw almost no trouble. One night, though, soon after I moved in, about five police cruisers sailed by at blinding speed, lights flaring and sirens wailing. A few months later, a police cruiser was quietly parked on the corner as I filled out a complaint because someone had vandalized my car. I’ve had to stop and call for help after witnessing numerous accidents while driving here or there in my life. Perhaps it really does follow me. Or perhaps I just notice it a great deal.

We all really cry out for help that much, don’t we? And we all feel more comfortable with the thought that there are those who are willing to come to our aid when we do. The allure of super-hero mythologies is that we all want a hero, and we all desire to be one at some point.

All of us. Every one.

Second Photo Attribution: khawkins04 

Sometimes there are joys to living in an apartment building that you just can’t experience if you live in your own home. For example, just two weeks ago, Karen and I were jarred out of a sound sleep by the piercing shriek of the building-wide fire alarm. A false alarm triggered by someone that had had too much to drink. We got back to bed at around 4:00 a.m. by the time the building was cleared.

See? That’s just fun you can’t find anywhere else.

While we were shivering outside, we had an opportunity to meet the neighbors, who were just as cold and just as irritated as we were. You tend to remember the people you meet under those circumstances. Bonding under pressure, and all that.

Well, you would think.

I walked into a local Starbucks late last week. The barista making my drink looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then asked, “Do you live at (enter name of apartment complex here)?”

“Yes.” I blinked. I should know this guy?

“Remember? The fire alarm?”

Ding ding ding! This was the neighbor I had met that night! I hadn’t remembered him. He explained that the girl he was with that I assumed was his girlfriend or wife was his sister, and talked about events around the building, and his life in general. We had a good, if brief, conversation about our lives that had its launching point in a shared experience. But, I hadn’t remembered him. I explained to him that I have a difficult time with names. In fact, though I remember his name now, I can’t remember his sister’s name as hard as I try.

I have a really hard time with the fact that I have a really hard time with that.

The reason is that I think there’s power to a name. Think about how many people you know that fit the etymology of their names. I find it to be very frequently true. The power goes beyond people, as well. Our culture is one of labels. Physicians diagnose illnesses, essentially giving them names. We have titles and labels for common issues and problems and phenomena. The reason we do this is that naming something gives you power over it. We go to a doctor because we are experiencing a problem that we can’t identify. The doctor names the problem. Then there is a staring point from which to begin treatment.

I think that naming a person is a powerful thing, as well. I believe parents are exercising an enormous act of power in naming their children; I honestly think it shapes a part of that child’s future. Names aren’t something to be applied flippantly or without careful consideration. That’s why I have such a huge problem with derogatory labels and defamatory statements that apply hurtful or stereotypical labels to people. As much as we want to insist that these are “just words,” and that words aren’t powerful, that just isn’t true. Words are signs of our deepest reality, and they point to a meaning deeper than just a verbal formation of syllables and consonants.

So, someone’s name is symbolic of the totality of who they are. A name is sort of an umbrella under which all of that person’s beliefs and personality characteristics and thoughts and essence fall. To call someone’s name is a powerful thing, orienting both of you to a recognition that they are a person just like you, and worthy of the same respect.

I endeavor to approach everyone with love and respect, and so the huge memory gap I have with names bothers me a great deal. I’m bothered by it because I feel as though I’m not truly engaged with the person at a substantive level if I don’t remember their name. Whether that person is my wife or the waitress who takes my order at a restaurant, I want to connect with them as a human being. That means calling them by name, because to do otherwise is to reduce them to something less than human in my mind. I don’t want to be so pre-occupied that I don’t recognize a person’s name. I can’t think of anything more de-humanizing than that.

Yet, I do it so frequently.

It’s a work in progress. If I’ve ever forgotten your name, please forgive me. I know it’s a mistake I’ll make again, but hopefully with less and less frequency.

Photo Attribution: quinn.anya