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Scarecrow's Christmas
His friends call him Scarecrow. None of them knew--or even cared to know--his real name. This moniker suited him just fine. It fit him well too; he being lanky, his tattered clothes seemed to hang on his frame in a most careless sort of way. In fact, everything about his outward appearance and manner seemed careless. His interior though, was as full of care as as any forty year old transient's could be.
Indeed, Scarecrow felt such a daily load of care that he amazed himself at his own ability to carry on. Where did this persistent will to survive come from? How was it so often revived--even when when it seemed to have died out a thousand times over? However it was, Scarecrow had discovered he had somehow reached the 358th day of yet another year. Christmas Eve evoked in Scarecrow all the same images--real and fanciful--as it seems to bring to everyone. His sadness this night, though more demanding of his attention, was really no greater than on any other night of the year. In fact it was a better sadness in some unexplainable way. Something about the ache and longing he felt was truthful, telling, and revealing--if only he could know what it meant.
For Scarecrow, this mysterious good sadness somehow had to do with the old "insider/outsider" argument. An argument which had mostly filled his thoughts ever since his first day in kindergarten. Thirty five years later, here he was, standing and watching the knots of families and friends stream into the glowing vestibule of the big old church at 4th and Date. And still, after all these years the argument persisted. The feelings tossed, churned, ebbed and flowed, but never did they seem able to resolve themselves in Scarecrow's mind. He mostly really liked being an Outsider, but all the while he longed for something, something--he wasn't sure what--something that seemed only to be had on the Inside. Even more than Christmas Day itself, this night was all about Outside and Inside.
Standing across the street, Scarecrow watched as a few latecomers scurried into the church. Even though this was San Diego, one could see their breath by the light of the entrance. As the old building itself breathed out, through the big oak doors, the faint sounds of the first hymn, Scarecrow thought "God, are you an insider or an outsider"?
Date Street, Dec 2002
