Built to Last
May 1999
There are four houses going
up around me all at the same time. Cookie-cutter houses, they're
called. The workers seem to know what they're doing yet no one
unrolls blueprints or pencils notes in the margins. Day laborers
quietly carry cement blocks to where their efforts will become
a wall. The wooden framework is up before dinner and next morning
black paper wrap is fastened to wood siding to the constant thump
of a staple gun.
And,
it does begin to look like a house ... but, not a house built
to last.
The
old Bowne House, now, that house was built to last. This is an
ordinary-looking house in the middle of a littered street in Flushing,
Queens, not far from LaGuardia Airport where I grew up. It was
built in 1661 where it stands today among ordinary later-date
houses and store fronts. The governor then was Peter Stuyvesant,
frequently in hot debate with John Bowne who demanded freedom
of conscience. And, it was not New York then but the New Netherland
Colony.
The
pegged floors and hand hewn beams, as well as the magnificent
functional fireplace, were built to last for years and housed
nine generations of Bownes. The little Dutch house weathered the
British, the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Civil War
and all the wars of this century. In a region known for hot and
humid summers, hurricanes that batter the shore and snow storms
that paralyze the city, this house has survived.
It
looks the same as it did when Bowne built it. Some might say Divine
protection preserved it as a monument to our religious freedom,
fought for and signed into law at the Bowne house, but I think
it's still standing because it was built to last.
We've
lived in our house for four years now. When I want to hang a picture,
I push the nail into the wall with my thumb. Need I say more?
It's said a house is the biggest investment most Americans make,
but my house was not built to last more than a generation or two.
Luckily,
I was.
Like
most people of my time, I am like an aging tree whose twigs were
bent by loving hands and as such I grew. Some people would say
the building blocks of character are hewn out of The Golden Rule;
others would say the blueprints are the Ten Commandments. I would
add having role models who take time to fashion the garment of
character and mend each tear as it starts -- that old "stitch
in time" philosophy.
Just
as the houses going up around me are all alike, so also are the
rampaging children our nation seems to spawn also all alike. Are
we mass producing cookie cutter kids whose foundations are not
built to last?
With
houses, the features and fixtures are programmed to fit speedily
into the landscape with the least amount of time and effort so
I'm not surprised if occasionally a faucet drips. The one-handed
staple gun is faster than the two-handed hammer and nail. But
will the house withstand storms, the elements, and normal wear
and tear of families living under the roof?
Children
wear the same clothes everyone is wearing, play the same games
everyone is playing, and are programmed to fit into society with
the least amount of time and effort by parents who are working
longer hours to provide even more clothes and more games. Should
they be surprised by a few glitches in character? Parents are
acquiescing to societal demands imposed by the children themselves
whose ideas and ideals have not been tested by time . They want
what they want when they want it and the parents -- out of misguided
love -- give it to them.
What
they want is programmed into them, I'll grant you, by those hucksters
who'll sell anything for money and invest their start-up dollars
where they'll do them the most good ... with the young and the
gullible.
The
houses go up before my eyes while on television I hear what's
been going on during the first month or two since the Littleton
Massacre. The questions continue to be why it happened and the
answers still insist it's the parents who are to blame. However,
the grief-stricken parents of the Columbine gunboys refuse to
be held accountable. They live in nice suburban homes and gave
the children everything the other kids had.
I
thought again of being able to push nails into these walls with
my thumb. What if I had met with resistance? Perhaps a stud? Or,
perhaps a stone wall? I wouldn't get what I wanted as easily,
would I? I might have to exert a little effort, find a hammer;
I might even have to work at it!
It's
always fascinating watching buildings go up and no more so than
on the sidewalks of New York City. First a ten foot fence is slapped
up around the square block before the construction begins. Eye
level peep holes are drilled into the wooden wall for curious
passersby stopping to watch as every brick is placed squarely
upon every other. If shortcuts are taken, the interested become
the guardians of how it should be done. First, there's a murmur
of "hey, hey, hey..hey waitaminute, there..." and then the hard-hatted
superintendent, turning to see what the gawkers are yelling about,
walks over to make it right.
I've
watched children being raised, and I've heard mothers say to well-intentioned
passersby, "Don't tell me, don't tell me, I don't want to know,"
with lips tightened, eyes closed and hands raised against the
disturbing news. Okay, so nobody tells them their 12-year old
is smoking at the bus stop, or shoplifting gum. No one yells out
"hey, hey, hey..." so those little twigs get bent out of shape.
And, just think, those parents gave them everything, running to
their child's defense whenever a teacher, a neighbor or a school
bus driver put the child on report for their conduct.
Statistically,
a house is our greatest investment; but, ask anyone who's had
one, a child is our greatest asset. Raising a healthy child with
character and backbone and building a house with fine workmanship
and a good foundation are not very different.
They
both take more time, more work and more money than you thought
they would ... but, if you take the time to make them strong and
build them to last, they will.
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