Required Reading for the Betterment of Society

I'm convinced book people should take over the world.

I've actually put a lot of time into thinking about this. For years I have maintained that if I were a dictator, citizens under my rule would have mandatory reading for the betterment of society. The assigned readings wouldn't be dense or obscure, they would be accessible to as many in the population as possible. I'd offer optional readings for different levels and, of course, everyone would be encouraged to do as much 'free-will' reading as possible. Literature wouldn't come from just one genre and required reading for the betterment of society would include both fiction and non-fiction. For those with reading disabilities or vision issues, audio books would be available. I'd be a benevolent dictator, after all.

Think about it. There would be no more mind-numbing reality TV. Nobody would care what inane people with no real talent were doing. They'd be too busy reading. Intelligence reducing twenty-four hour news cycles would be obsolete. People wouldn't have time to listen to factless drivel. It would be a calmer, gentler, smarter, quieter period in which people expanded their minds, increased their compassion, and generally exercised civility. Society would be better, I'm sure.

Because book people are nice.

Okay, I may be speaking in gross generalities here but I'm pretty sure I'm on to something. I've figured it out after years of observing book people at a local library annual used book sale. The sale is huge. Books are everywhere. Readers flock to the sale en masse.

(Source: Google Images)

Table after table is lined with books of every type. Fiction. Non-fiction. Classics. Mysteries. Cookbooks. Children's literature. It is all there. Some books are older. Some are newer. Some are foreign. Some are simple. Some are complex. Some contain hate. Some contain love. And they all mingle together with only loose classifications. It isn't unusual to find a love story set in Burma amid the travel books, or a romance novel cozied up to the cookbooks. Their links may be loose, but somehow they find themselves together co-existing under the general 'species,' books.

At the book sale, shoppers browse up and down the rows with little personal space, but an abundance of patience. If someone lingers in a particular area, the other browsers simply say, excuse me, and go around. I've never heard anyone yell. Never seen anyone push. Not even an exasperated sigh. Occasionally, a shopper will pick up a book by a particular author only to have the stranger standing next to them ask if they have read anything else by that writer. If the answer is no, they recommend one. If the answer is yes, they briefly discuss the merits of the tome. Sometimes there are outbursts of joy when a particular book finds its reader. Sometimes shoppers search for a copy of a much desired book for another bibliophile they just met. Their links may be loose, but somehow they find themselves co-existing under the general species,'reader.'

Mystery readers don't disparage those who immerse themselves in historical fiction. Readers who hang out in the science section never mock the ones who love classics. It's a caring place; the book sale. The books are peaceful. The patrons are kind. Differences abounds. But then, so does respect. Maybe we should all consider behaving like book people in our regular, everyday lives, regardless of our religious beliefs, racial differences, or political dispositions. Maybe we should show more compassion. More patience. More kindness.

Because our links may be loose, but somehow we find ourselves co-existing under the general species, 'human.'

Making Assumptions

What's that saying about making assumptions?

Last week I decided to put a pink streak in my hair. Well, it was supposed to be a pink streak. It ended up being a pink splotch. But still, I thought it would be fun so I did it. In retrospect I realize I probably should have found out how long pink dye in blond hair would last before I committed to the splotch. I didn't think about that at the time.

I haven't done anything crazy to my hair for a while now. Having admitted my addiction to color changing chemicals I've been very rational and grown up about my hair recently. I have resisted the desire to make drastic color changes. Until Saturday. When I had a relapse. There I was, home with a free hour and a tube of fuchsia dye in the linen closet. Temptation overtook me. This happened.

It was supposed to be a subtle hot pink strip that just sort of peeked through the blond. Instead it ended up looking a little like I had suffered a head injury.  But, I was late for a party so I didn't have time to worry about it.

I found it interesting that hardly anyone at the party mentioned the bright pink clump of hair on the side of my head. Granted many who were in attendance know me well enough they probably weren't surprised. I'm sure some people couldn't say they liked it so they just chose not to say anything. And it was a pretty polite and conservative group so I wouldn't have expected any of them to say, "What the (insert expletive here)?" 

One relatively young man did say he thought a lot of people would assume a woman my age had dyed her hair pink in an effort to cling to youthfulness. But he added that he knew me and figured I had done it, 'just because.' He is right. I did it just because. Just because I could. Because it was Saturday and I had a free hour and a tube of fuchsia hair dye in the linen closet. And because I'm an addict.

I thought a lot about what he said though. He is right. A lot of people who don't know me would think I had done it in a desperate attempt to look young and hip. Let's face it. If I were going for young and hip I would have changed my hair and clothing style to something a lot more edgy.

Nevertheless, his comments made me think about how often we make assumptions about people.  As if, by mere observation we can actually know something about someone. I'm pretty sure we can't know something about someone unless we actually know the someone. But that doesn't seem to stop us from assuming.

I wanted pink hair because I could. Just that simple.

We all do it. We all make assumptions about people based on what we see. We assume things about people who are fat and skinny and young and old. We make assumptions based on skin color, accent, mannerism, style of dress and a myriad of other arbitrary criteria. Unless we know a person, though, we've no place making assumptions about them.

I'm ashamed to admit that I've made bad initial assumptions about some of the best people I know. Neither size, shape, nor color make the person. It's what can't be seen that truly matters.

I didn't end up loving my fuchsia clump but it was a fun experiment. I'm now conducting a fun experiment trying to get rid of it. I'm always hopeful that I will continue to have hair in that spot even as I try a variety of things to bleach it out. Instead of the bright shock of fuchsia, I currently look like I got a wad of pink cotton candy stuck in my hair.

I can't say I've learned to be more rational about hair color from this experience. I haven't. But I can say it has made me think about how often I make wrong assumptions about people. And about how making those assumptions keeps me from offering grace and kindness and compassion. Without grace and kindness and compassion we can't make this world a better place.

Assume grace.