Bullets

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I have a job at first I thought I was too old for, and I actually might be, because it requires driving and parking and walking and visiting clients in some parts of a poor inner city where violence can spark.

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It's been two years since I became a psychotherapist in a community mental health center. There are offices to use, but most of what I do is see clients and sometimes their families in their homes.

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At first I was nervous about going to the low income projects. There is one I won't go into again. Then I was careful around Mason Square, where I'm told gunshots sometimes come out at night. And I have learned some things that surprise and even bowl me over: what to do if a client grabs my hair, how to figure your exit in advance if a quick exit became necessary.

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All of this has proved to be pretty innocuous. I'm not saying I don't have to be aware and street-wise, but generally I am comfortable and most people I see smile and I smile back. Once when I stopped to use the bathroom in McDonalds a middle aged black man told me he would stand outside the door until I came out--no problem, he said.

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Another time a woman stared at me and said, "You're not from around here, are you?", and I leaned over and grinned, "Why do you say that?" I asked her. "You don't look like everybody else." I can't believe I hadn't thought about it. I looked around and sure enough, there were black faces and Hispanic faces, and my white face.

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So where am I going with this? Well, I work all over the city and there are parts that are treelined with single family or duplex houses and some have two parent families, well maintained yards. I tend to see clients there at the end of the day because the street is safe and I can stretch the dark a little longer.

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Well. So much for that. Two weeks ago there were three bullet holes on the front porch, a drive-by shooting at 2 am. No one was hurt, but my 18 year old client had left the living room only ten minutes before the bullets.

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And one of the bullets happened to come through the living room wall not more than eight inches from the couch where I sit every Tuesday at 5:00 pm. It richoceted off the woodwork and into the side wall, probably two feet above my head.

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Ironic, huh? There is no reason for me to change anything, really. Sometimes I'm part of the drama: that' part of the work and I love the work. So many of my clients worry about their neighborhoods and potential violence and my risk is far less than theirs, even if it's far more than if I were doing a different kind of job. For me, I feel reasonably safe, I feel reasonably confident about my judgement, and it's another reminder that you can't get too comfortable with assumptions. Trust in God but tie up your camel. I've always liked hearing that.

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It's Renee's Birthday tomorrow (Sunday). Just a year ago I was writing to her and falling in love with her wild and wonderful ways as if I had known her for years, not for barely two months.

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I am positive Renee, even if she has been required to become somewhat holier, will like this birthday cake. I wish I knew what she would say. I miss her fantastic comments so much.
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I am completely in love with this wonderful watercolor by Caroline Soer and I can so easily see it as the blog header, and perhaps the cover, for Renee's Book of Love. I look at this and I think of Renee, of wings and flight, ascending from plane to another, free, strong, beautiful. Caroline has said yes, and offered another--a gorgeous meadow with wild yellow flowers. But I keep coming back to this one....

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One last thing: the Sex Survey. I don't know how I am going to shake up the questions and not repeat last year's, but I will try. If you haven't yet read last year's first annual sex survey, I can't help but direct you there because really truly it is hilarious. I think even if you are uncomfortable with the subject matter or the details, you will find yourself really laughing. I was laughing non stop by myself last night. It started with Renee and never stopped.

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http://karenjasper.blogspot.com/2009/06/survey.html

♥

kj