My sense is that if I spend more time talking to you then I spend complaining about you, then something wonderful often happens and the enlightenment is mutual.
Ta Ne-hisi Coates, The Message
The man in the straw hat sat next to us at the Mexican restaurant and stared at us as he ordered. He threw glances, smiled, guffawed. It was obvious he was keen on conversation and hoped we were willing. I wasn't pleased as I'd looked forward to a quiet evening with my husband parsing Jack Smith's new filing to the DC court. Before long the man in the straw hat commented on the fish design on my husband's shirt. I'd bought it for him years ago in Sag Harbor; my husband loves to fish. Now the man in the straw hat said, "Do you like to fish?" And, of course, that began a bonding conversation between the two men about fishing. Before long, the man in the straw hat revealed he was a pastor, an evangelical pastor, that he ran a rehab somewhere, that he'd been an addict, that he'd met his wife in grade school and really really loved her, that his five kids and five grandkids lived with them during Covid and that none of them were vaccinated and look at them all: they are all thriving now.
I kicked my husband under the table. It was obvious he hadn't heard the bit about the vaccines or he might have stopped talking to the guy. We all know that there is a strong correlation between anti-vaxxers and the traitor running for president who can't keep his mouth shut, whose mouth is spewing hateful, horrible lies all day long, who exacerbated the pandemic, amplified its toll, because of the anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers who still adore him.
I tried to start a conversation with the pastor's ever-so-retiring wife. I asked her name, but that's as far as I got. Then I called for the waiter and asked for the check. I couldn't wait to get out of there, away from the toxic pastor. Once we were in the car, I began to reflect on life in public places before Covid and before Trump. In those long ago days, my curiosity never quit, I'd talk to anyone. Now I sometimes feel that an invasive species has rooted itself into my once tranquil neighborhood. As much as I'd like to listen without judgment, which is my inclination as well as my occupation, I am finding it difficult, if not impossible, as our election looms.
Will we ever return to mutuality and civility as Ta Ne-hisi suggests we should and must? It seems like a utopian ideal, one to continue to strive for nonetheless