Differences

For a while now, I have been hearing about people who are different, and how we are supposed to interact with them. I am not talking about race, gender, or sexual orientation so much as people who have made different lifestyle choices. People who don't look or speak like good Reformed Presbyterians. For some reason, I feel like I should document a couple of my encounters with just such people. In both cases I am writing about, the people group in question are Punks. Not annoying little sisters, or people who get on your nerves, but the people with colorful hair styled in an unusual manner. People who look a little bit like this.

The first such occasion happened in the summer of 1995. Suzanne had surprised me with tickets to see my favorite band play at Chastain Park in Atlanta. Neither of us knew where it was, and this was before the advent of such services as Mapquest. I figured that since it was at Chastain Park, it must be close to Chastain Road. (I was a little dense in those days.) I stopped at a business on Chastain Road and asked directions, thinking I must be close by. A guy in a business suit gave me directions, but it turned out that his directions were wrong, and not by a little bit. We ended up in a part of Atlanta that we were unfamiliar with, and all of the people in the area looked a little scary. They had green and pink hair, with 5 inch spikes, they were wearing chains and leather. Getting a little desperate since it was close to the start time for the concert, I pulled into a record store, thinking that surely someone there could tell me where to go. Being a fat guy with normal hair and clothes, I stuck out bigtime in this store. I walked up to the clerk at the store and asked for directions. The store was crowded, and this guy appeared to be the only one on duty. He walked out from behind the counter, stepped out into the parking lot leaving the store unmanned, and began telling me how to get to where I needed to go. He walked me out to the road, pointing out landmarks that I would see along the way. He was very polite and cordial, and was totally understanding and empathetic to my situation. Several of the denizens of the neighborhood waved and called out as were were standing there talking, they seemed to be a friendly bunch. Thanks to the record store guy, we made it to the concert right on time and saw a really good show.

The second such occasion happened on my honeymoon with Suzanne. We were jonesing for some pizza but in November, the city of Daytona Beach closes down at sunset. It was about 10:00PM, and we were beginning to despair of finding an open pizza place. We gave up and decided to head over to the Steak and Shake close to the interstate. Along the way, we saw a sign. Pizza!!! It was a small trailer, with concrete benches and tables outside. Sitting on the tables and benches were a group of Punks, and they were a little scary looking. Deciding that at that moment we valued pizza more than safety, we pulled in and walked up the the window, placing our order. As we were walking back to the car, one of the Punks called out. "Oh, no" was my thought. As I turned to face the young Punk, he exclaims "Hey, you guys were just married? That is so cool!" The rest of the group wandered up and started asking about how we liked the town, apologizing for the unseasonably cool weather, and asking us questions about our lives. They turned out to be one of the nicest groups of kids I have ever encountered. And the pizza was awesome. These encounters just go to show that we can't judge someone based solely on their appearance and apparent lifestyle differences. People are people, whether they be green haired record store clerks, long haired tattooed bikers, or mullet headed good ole boys driving pony cars. It is something that I forget from time to time, and these memories serve to remind me, to convict me. Thank you for journeying with me down memory lane.