My Humble Literature

Here in TV land, the job is not so glamorous. I sit at a computer in an olive-colored office. It’s not a good olive. It’s the sickly pallor of day-old crusty strained peas. Get the picture?

I spend my time either watching tapes, writing, or doing both simultaneously. There are many trips to the kitchen for snacks and beverages, and occasionally I will step onto the balcony to check the weather or the traffic, since I can see the freeway from there. A few weeks ago, I called the babysitter every day to check on Kyle, but that always made me so emotional that I couldn’t concentrate so I stopped doing that.

For one of my breaks yesterday I drew up a little flyer for my neighbors. It gave the phone number for the police station with a little note that essentially said “if your car had a cap popped in its ass, call the cops!” After dinner I put Kyle in the stroller and we went around the neighborhood, looking for piles of broken glass on the street. Every time we found one, I looked around to see if anyone was outside. If so, I told them that I am their neighbor and please give this flyer to the owner of the broken car. If I could not find a person, I left the note on a door, windshield, or mailbox.

I gave out 8 of the notes. I met 2 new neighbors, and I came home with 1 invitation to the set of The Shield from a neighbor who works on the show. I’d say that’s a pretty good score.

I am a white person. My son is even whiter than I am. When we walk in our neighborhood, which we often do, we encounter mostly Latino people. We say hello (“Gah!”) and smile, and usually get a greeting in return. But we don’t know any of these neighbors. Honestly, we usually stick to a very specific walking pattern that doesn’t take us too close to the major streets around us. The fringes of our neighborhood make me nervous because lots of those families hang out outside and they stare at us as we pass.

I didn’t care about that last night. Let them stare. I wanted the attention. As I mentioned below, I was on a mission. Last night Kyle and I marched right over the border (Chase Ave.) into Brown-skinned Resident Land. People stared, indeed. In one yard, children stopped playing. But for those children and mine, I was not self-conscious. I asked the man in the front yard, in English, if he knew about the broken car windows. He excused himself, in Spanish, and went inside. He returned with a woman who spoke to me in accented English about how every other car on her street was damaged. She took the note I gave her and promised to give it to her neighbor. She thanked me for stopping by, and she said hello to Kyle. She shared my concern that the acts of vandalism were dangerous and we didn’t want things like that happening where our children live. And that is my point exactly.

I haven’t checked yet to see if anyone has filed a report. I don’t know that I will. My enthusiasm for this mission has waned. Just thinking about it makes me tired. But I have it in my head that I might want to start a Neighborhood Watch. I think it’s the least I can do, while we live there.