i made an egg sandwich

Last week, a bunch of Point Loma kids were invited over to the Urban Term kids' house in City Heights. I was pretty stoked to go as some of my good friends are a part of this summer program and I'd been hearing lots of stories about how amazing and challenging and life-changing it was there. As soon as we got there, we were bombarded with hugs and smiles and "make yourself as home"s and "we're SO glad you could come over!"s. Needless to say, I felt welcomed and comfortable in this house in the middle of a neighborhood stereotypically not seen as hospitable.



We all brought something to contribute to the meal, which I think the best way to do things, and soon had way too many eager cooks in the kitchen. Someone suggested going to Azalea Park just down the street, so armed with a frisbee, volleyball, friends and strangers, we set off the quarter-mile walk to the park. It was so relaxing and envigorating to toss around a frisbee, chat about the tough and ridiculous things of life and munch down on some chips and salsa. Just being in the presence of fellow family members brings this indescribable sparkle in everyone's eyes and unwrinkles furrowed brows. Not to say it's any easier, but knowing we aren't going this thing they call life alone brings a fresh, new joy and hope.



Of course, as we don't live in a "happily ever after" book or sugar-coated Candy Land, problems arose. Dinner wasn't done when they expected it to be done; there was no cheese grater to be found; the oil got too hot in the pan and several people almost got burned; the beans weren't quite cocoked all the way, etc, etc, etc. But this joy and community I mentioned briefly earlier made these snafus endurable. The reassuring fact that we were all there to be in fellowship with each other belittled the otherwise terrifying dinner problems.



During dinner, I sat chatting with my friend, Josh. As is typical of conversations, I asked how his day was, expecting the polite, shallow- "fine" or "good" or I'm glad it's over." Not my friend Josh. He cocked his head a little to the left, squinted his eyes deep in thought, and replied, "I made an egg sandwich today." Initially, this caught me off guard and to cover my surprise, I commented something along the lines of, "oh really...how interesting..." He went on to explain that he had never made nor had an egg sandwich before and that was that. We carried on with our dinner and I dismissed the odd statement as we laughed over root beer floats and distributed multiple good-bye hugs all around. Walking down the Urban Term house's driveway, I reminised over our night, smiling at how peaceful and so right of an evening it had been. Josh's comment floated in and kind of got stuck between when to have coffee with Maddie and what I had to do the next day. It refused to budge.

Fast-forward to Thursday or Friday when I was telling my family about what an enjoyable time dinner Monday night was and for some unknown reason, Josh's statement came back into conscious thought. "I made an egg sandwich today." Maybe it was the brutal honesty of the statment. Maybe it was the joy taken in such a simple, everyday task. Or maybe it was the raw reality of what truely being a member of a family is like. Whatever the haunting reason behind Josh's statement, it has caused me to ponder all of the above. To contrast that simple declaration with the facades and barriers and walls we are constantly constructing and campaigning to destroy and rallying around. And conclude that Josh knows what it's like to be alive.

Who knows, maybe I'll make an egg sandwich today. And I don't even like eggs.