Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Luke 10:27. He answered, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and love your neighbor as yourself."




The other day, my BFF Chris and I were bemoaning the fact that neighborhoods aren't what they used to be. Used to be, we said that neighbors helped each other out. You know, the guy with the snowblower did everyone's driveway without expecting more than a "Thanks" and you could borrow a long ladder from the fellow down the block to clean out your gutters without having to go on Takl and place a bid.  You knew your neighbors would watch your house while you were  on vacation and send a kid over to collect your mail. And if someone in your family was sick or in the hospital, your neighbors would provide you with casseroles and home made brownies. 


As an older woman with a disabled husband and an autistic son, I could sure use some neighbors like that.



But my conversation with Chris got me thinking. What happened to the day of the friendly and helpful neighbor? Linda Poon (2015) writing for the website CityLab, reports that a full third of Americans do not know the names of their neighbors. Yet only five decades ago--you know, those prehistoric days when the Flintstones and the Rubbles were spending every waking moment together--people interacted with their neighbors at least twice a week. It's true our hectic schedules--what Mac Dunkelman (The Vanishing Neighbor, 2014) calls "limited social capital"-- allow us less time for this sort of camaraderie, but is there more to it than that? And, more importantly, can we change it?

 
The Story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37 is often told in Sunday Schools; we want our children to applaud the acts of the stranger in stopping to provide succor to the man beaten and left for dead. We tell the kiddos that the Samaritans were pretty much despised by the Jewish people without going into detail. To get an idea of how far the loathing went, think Severus Snape in the Harry Potter books. How ironic, then, that the Samaritan--like Snape who was trying to protect Harry all along--turns out to be the hero.


But if that's all we see--the grumpy old Mr. Wilson coming to rescue Dennis Mitchell--we're missing the point. According to Marilyn Salmon, a Professor of New Testament Studies at the United Theological Seminary, we need to look at the story from the perspective of the robbed and beaten man, lying broken on the side of the road. He didn't care who offered him help. Priest, Levite, Samaritan. Heck, even Severus Snape would do.



And rather than casting ourselves in the role of the hero, let's realize that we ARE broken people, in desperate need of a hero to save us. And that hero is--ta da!--Jesus the Christ, who serves as an example of the most neighborly of neighbors. 


Remember the Samaritan left the injured man at the Inn and gave the Innkeeper two silver coins as a down payment on the man's care? While experts are a bit hazy on the exact amount, the two silver coins would have bought at least two weeks room and board! Getting involved is costly. Just look at the price that Jesus paid.So if we can put ourselves in the place of the wounded and beaten stranger, we realize that we need to look not at the "otherness" like race, religion, and culture of those around us but the humanness. We're all broken. Every single one. 


It is a young lawyer who asks Jesus, "What must I do to receive eternal life?" The irony here is that the fellow already knows the answer. But Jesus recites Deuteronomy 6:5, the "great commandment", not to embarrass the man but to make a point or two: the way in which we walk with God and connect with others in our lives cannot be separated.


So instead of complaining about the good old days and wishing someone with a ladder would just show up and offer to clean out my gutters, I have decided to take a cue from Jesus and be as neighborly as possible, and that means being open to what their needs might be. When the lady next door told me it was hot in her house because she couldn't carry her room air conditioner up from the basement, I grabbed my tall son and we headed over with a screwdriver. It wasn't two pieces of silver but it was what broken people could do.



It's what I would want someone to do for me. 

Voices from the Edge: Tale of a Haircut

My youngest child got his haircut yesterday, and as I sat watching the very patient hairdresser continually checking with him and asking if he was alright, I almost began to cry. Haircuts can be traumatic. But before you begin asking for photos of my bouncing baby boy, let me tell you that Allen is an adult on the autism spectrum and getting him to even consider a haircut --let alone actually allow someone to take a scissors to his treasured locks--was a process I began two weeks ago.

With Allen, I have learned to take things one step at a time.



The Center for Disease Control (2012) estimates that caring for adults with autism costs the government between $175 and $196 billion per year. But this figure, high as it seems, only amounts to 7% of the total allotted to research and education for children on the spectrum. Research from Sweden indicates that this amount could be cut by 2/3s with early identification; while this makes sense, it is little help to those who, like my son, were not identified until adulthood. Currently, the Office of Autism Research Coordination (OOARC, 2019) states that only 1% of government expenditures for autism goes towards the care and needs of adults with ASD. That's depressing news for 2.7% of the adult population.

Meanwhile, those of us who are parenting an adult child on the spectrum are essentially flying without a net. We learn by doing, stepping back and forth in a dance with our offspring, figuring out what works and what doesn't. Then figuring it out all over again when the tried and true method fails.

In Allen's case, surprises are a no-no. Careful preparation is required for anything more than a change in dinner menu. If I need to address a new situation with Allen, I lie in wait like a mother lioness on the prowl, sniffing for clues that might allow me to broach a new topic.

Two weeks ago, as Allen stood at my dresser mirror, lamenting his thinning hair and the sad fact  that, "all men's haircare products lie," I saw my chance. I stowed the clue away in my brain and waited for an opening, which came a few days later when he and I were running errands and he ran his hands through his hair, expressing dismay at the tangles which had taken over his head.

"You know," I said casually, "Grandmom was a hairdresser.  And she always said that hair grew faster when you cut it. Just something to think about."

And he did. Two days later he approached me and said, "I remember Grandmom cutting my hair. But maybe that only applies to lady's hair."

My pulse quickened, but like the wise lioness, I kept my breathing steady. "Maybe," I said. "Maybe we could talk to someone who knows men's hair about it."

He shot me a suspicious look and I shrugged as if the outcome did not matter to me. "Okay," he said.

Then began the investigation to find a hair salon that worked with adults with special needs. Thanks fo Google, I found Benny's Hairstyling in Springfield. When I called and explained the situation, I was told to make an appointment with Sally. I did.

Next, I started my preparation of Allen, using all of my wily mother lioness skills. We're just talking. You don't have to get it cut if you don't want to. We'll go for lunch afterwards. Yes, anywhere you want.

As a complex development disability, Autism is a spectrum because it affects individuals differently. Allen's hot buttons are mostly sensory--heat, noise, bright lights--but also extend to social situations and the inability to discern non-verbal cues. When we arrived at Benny's, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Sally works in an area separate from the other stylists so noise is limited. Sally invited Allen into her chair, and he backed up with a frightened expression on his face.

Wisely, she took the hint. "We can sit over here," she said, "and just talk."

They did. After a few minutes, he was willing to sit in the barber chair. After a few more, he was agreeable to having his hair trimmed. A little more conversation, and the tangles and knots were falling onto the floor. Then--wonder of wonders--he agreed to let her wash his hair.

According to three different reports summarized on OpenMind.com, in another ten years, 3 out of every 100 adults will exist somewhere on the autism spectrum. And the $330,000 currently spent on researching the needs of adults just isn't--pardon the pun--going to cut it.

Zac Smith, writing for VOX, says this about his own adult diagnosis of autism: Autism  spectrum is a 
broad and constantly redefined space, a frontier of the mind that's still mostly wilderness. The revised definitions of it on the DSM 5--just a few years ago--are still controversial. It's still easier to diagnose aspects of the spectrum in people and more difficult to determine if a formal diagnosis is necessary, if it's even a problem.

Trust me on this, it's a problem and one that is likely to worsen until we recognize the need to explore the wilderness and remove the stigma that is often attached to "having autism."

And we need more people like Sally at Benny's Hairstyling, who treated Allen with the respect and kindness owed to every human being.

And now, since you waited so nicely, here is a picture of my bouncing baby boy. All 6 foot 6 inches of him.