Bring Down The Walls Of Fear

We’re all craving a little human interaction

By Ron Ciancutti

I sat at a table, enjoying a break from holiday shopping at the mall, and you were sitting just a table away. Each of us was eating alone. You looked like me—a middle-aged dad wearing a Cleveland Indians cap. I hate eating alone, and I wanted to ask you to join me—just another human being—for lunch, but I was shy, I guess. Now I really wish I had said something because we may never get to enjoy that opportunity. We have to eat alone these days, until further notice, due to Coronavirus.

Photo: © Can Stock Photo / Antonio_Diaz

I had no idea the world was about to change, that we could lose something so simple.

You were in the seat next to me at the movies, and it seemed we had a similar sense of humor. We both laughed at the same moments, but pretended not to notice each other. One of us should have said something and recognized our mutual interests; we might have become friends. You can never have too many of those. We’ll likely never have such an opportunity again.

I never would have thought sitting next to another human being would someday be outlawed.

Our sons played Little League baseball together for years, but I sat with my family and you sat on the other side of the bleachers with your family. I wish we would have been closer. It’s nice to have friends who have kids the same age. There’s so much to relate and compare. I just didn’t know I was running out of time to make new friends.

There used to be nothing but time ahead.

And now? It seems like the clock is suddenly ticking at an alarming rate with an inability to stop the momentum. It’s like someone is saying, “Well, sorry, you missed the opportunity, but it’s too late; maybe you’ll get another turn later but no promises.”

Close-Knit Community

So now, with time on my hands, I began to ponder this situation. And I went for a walk through the hometown of my youth.

I sat in the bleachers of my high-school football stadium in the spot I had always occupied. Years ago, I was a drummer in the rhythm corps, and we performed on the field before the game, at halftime, and when the game ended and fans filed out. During the game, I parked my drums right here and cheered on my buddies.

It felt like a fall day, one of those you can smell and feel. Sure, the air was crisp and cool, but it also tasted dry and perhaps a little smokey—like there was a fire burning somewhere nearby. It brought back all that “looking-forward-to” feeling.

Mom had always told me that the days before Christmas were much more fun than the actual day of Christmas because the anticipation was far more alluring than the payoff. Friday night football was a lot like that. The day was filled with anticipation of a great evening, with great times and great friends.

The band would march into the stadium to the cadence of a strict rhythm, while the fans spread apart and watched and pointed and waved. The little kids would cover their ears, and our trombones and trumpets would blare ever louder. Everybody loved the band. Moms would wave their flags and wave to the band members, and the kids would march along, so sweet and innocent.

I wondered about how much more friendly my parents and their contemporaries seemed compared to parents in my current age group. My parents and grandparents were simple but straightforward folks whose idea of success was dinner on the table every night, and their “investment portfolio” was also simple—pay off your house.

Will all of these new rules of engagement prevent us from ever coming back to the way it was?

Family Ties

Because, once, in simpler times just a short while ago, there was a boy born on a snowy December night. His father stayed with his wife’s parents in a waiting room then. And a nurse came out and said they could see the baby. Mother sat up in bed with the boy. She was beaming but looked tired; he was a big boy. The father kissed the new mother, and his in-laws kissed their daughter. It was a happy time.

In his infancy, the boy battled asthma, pneumonia, and other respiratory issues, but he grew stronger and so did the relationship between his parents. Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy would visit. There would be an older sister and a younger one, and the family of five would be very close. There were first days of school, drum lessons, Indian Guides, Boy Scouts, and the Pinewood Car Derby. And the family ate dinner together every night. It was there they learned to tell a tale about something interesting and understand the cadence of a joke or a funny story.

After dinner, Mom and Dad would work on the daily crossword puzzle over coffee and cake, and the boy often stood just out of sight to watch them laugh and tease each other. It was so right—maybe even perfect.

And the boy grew up, and his relationships with his grandparents and uncles and aunts were all good. They were proud of the boy’s grades, sports participation, and responsible attitude. He was close to them physically and mentally. Nothing endorses an accomplishment like a solid hug.

A Cocoon Of Security

The boy cut lawns and shoveled snow. He accumulated a sizable bank account. And he had a dog that was never leashed but always at his side. He and his buddies climbed the apple, cherry, and pear trees that adorned his parent’s acreage. The boys ate their fill through the summer and provided Mom pie filling when everything finally ripened in the fall.

Everyone from teachers to coaches said he was a “great kid,” and he worked to keep that reputation. Making his parents proud was a high priority. He didn’t “distance”—he was close.

He was elected captain of the Safety Patrol, home room representative, and class president because his peers trusted him and were close to him and hugged him like good friends do.

And his grandfather and uncle owned a neighborhood barber shop where the boy spent a lot of free time when the weather was harsh. He swept up, listened to old men swap stories, and always had a fresh haircut. He rode his bike everywhere and knew most of the people in town. He was always waving to someone. And neighbors said, “Take some of these cookies home to your family and give my love to your mother.”

He was wrapped in a cocoon of security. Once, at a Christmas tree lighting ceremony in town, he stood next to a girl he was “sweet on,” and their mitten-covered hands happened to bump together as the carols were being sung. Their teenage smiles lit up like the tree, and they eventually held hands. It was one of the best holidays either of them would remember.

So, my fervent prayer is that cooler heads prevail, and we take down the walls of fear and engagement and find a way to hold onto the simple things we hopefully have re-found and will continue to embrace going forward. Our America, traditional America, will bring us back if we let it. To bring our country forward, we just need to take a few steps back.

Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.