St. Thomas Aquinas Cleveland, Ohio

I remember a story my dad told me about a guy he knew in the army. If I recall the story correctly, this fellow soldier voluntarily went to Vietnam during the war and my father asked him why he would request to go there. He responded by telling my dad he looked at life like a pie and he wanted to eat as much of it as he could. To him, Vietnam was another piece of that pie.

This was a story I always liked and tried to apply to the "variety is the spice of life" mantra. I look through my life thus far and notice that a number of people I know have lived this way. My wife spent time in Los Angeles. She worked in a variety of different career fields such as business, mentally challenged adults and now special education at the middle school level. My brother and sister-in-law lived in Sweden and spent time in Tanzania and India. They spent a night in a hotel made of ice. They traveled all over Europe.

Meanwhile, I haven't traveled anywhere. I have lived in Ohio my whole life. I haven't skydived. I haven't bungee jumped. I haven't spent the night in a haunted house. I missed out on seeing Yankee Stadium. I haven't done a number of things I wanted and still want to do.

But I think I still have enjoyed a kind of variety that others may not have experienced. While my time has been in Ohio, I have managed to immerse myself as the minority in a number of different contexts with several different cultures or ways of life despite location. I have blogged about some of these experiences already. This time I feel like focusing on my experience at a church called St. Thomas Aquinas which was located in east Cleveland near Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. Coincidentally, I ended up getting married very near to this church.

How many white teenagers born and raised in an affluent suburb get to be a legitimate, participating member of church where the congregation shouts "Amen!" during the sermon? Just like you see on TV but for real. How many would witness their fellow members wave their hands in the air and vocally agree with the minister? A Franciscan monk in this particular case. Would they be a part of the sign of peace that is a social happy hour where every person in the room walks to every other person and passes peace in a sincere, purposeful manner?

I really don't think many do.

In addition, how many would dare travel into this same scary, keep-you-doors-locked neighborhoods on a weekly basis to play basketball? I mean the real street ball version. The loud, trash talking, dunking version where everybody hogs the ball and refuses to play any sort of team basketball. The kind that would make any fan of Hoosiers cringe. We watch this style on the "And 1 Mixed Tape" tour on ESPN, but I was actually there experiencing it weekly. There was one week I skipped since the Rodney King riots were taking place. After seeing the clip of the truck driver getting pulled out and beaten on TV, both my dad and I thought it may be in our best interest to avoid experiencing that possibility live.

Long before nicknames like "Silent Storm" crossed the lips of coworkers at Linden, I was garnering names like Bird and Paxson because: A) I was white like them B) I could shoot better than any of those guys who only drove for layups or dunks and called fouls every time they missed (which was alot). This is where I developed my tendency to shoot the ball alot. Nobody passed it to me--or anyone else for that matter-- so when I finally got my hands on it, I shot it. It took awhile to gain any kind of respect there and even after a couple strong games I still had a lukewarm reputation.

Many times I was laughed at. I could feel the weird looks too. Many of them never understood me. There was this forced interaction at first. It eventually warmed and I got to know the regulars, but there was always this distance. These weren't members of the church who were very warm and inviting. These were the kids coming off the streets near the church to stay out of trouble. In another coincidence, like my wedding many years later, I returned to teach middle school in this area. Buckeye fans would recognize the high school my students (and these kids) would go to as the home of Ted Ginn Jr. and Troy Smith, Glenville.

Regardless, each week I showed up. I shot my way onto a team and played the "every man for himself" style of basketball. I enjoyed the punch and cake or pretzels or whatever refreshments were there. I got into some interesting conversations with Fr. Tom who oversaw the whole thing. I even tried to talk to some of the girls there. Now THAT was a sight to see.

My point here is that this experience shaped much of who I am today. The silent urge to jack up shots any time I am open when I play basketball. My silence when I play with strangers. Also my interest in different religious topics and theology. My belief that religion/spirituality should be an experience not a ritual.

Finally, my last point is that I have been in a position of a minority. Although, I do understand I will never truly know what it is like to live as a minority every minute of every day, in the end, I still could go home to my safe, comfortable house and live easily. Regardless, I have put myself in that position and seen a glimpse. I even felt that uncomfortable feeling of being the only one like me around and watching other people react awkwardly as a result. I take pride in this.

I think that is a slice.