Several years ago, I got my first science-focused job. The position was a summer internship at my
university and the stipend meant it was the biggest gig I had ever landed. However, since I had to move out of the dorms,
I was considering all summer housing options for my young and newly professional
self. On-campus rent looked expensive -
it would have eaten up a good third of the stipend – and many friends weren’t
sticking around for the summer. Off-campus
room subleases were another option, but most left a great deal to be
desired. Forced to choose between
potluck roommates on-campus and potluck roommates off-campus, I desperately turned
to word-of-mouth recommendations.
Hearing this tale of woe, a local friend asked his parents
if they could spare me a room in their family house for the summer. The parents said “yes”. Their oldest son would be gone for the summer;
they had the space. I imagined myself
having a separate bedroom, cooking my own meals, and paying some rent for their
troubles – what any professional person would do. I
awaited the big move.
But when I arrived several weeks later, house plans had changed. As it turned out, the older brother was coming back home for the summer after all, and his basement room would be occupied. Instead, I would share my friend’s upstairs room. I also learned that I would not pay rent - the family would not accept it on account of being helped by others when they were in college and merely asked that I pay it forward. I was openly invited to every family meal and was given free reign of the house. I was even invited to their lakeside cabin when I could make it. This was not the summer I had imagined but in a good way.
Yet the most important difference about living in a family house versus one shared with college-age strangers was neither in the financial nor spatial logistics but the personal welcome I received from every family member. It was these relationships that made the family house inviting and wholly different than anything I had ever experienced.
---
After my first full day in the house, my hosts invited me to their family dinner. Truth be told, I was slightly terrified. What would I say? Was speech even expected? Would I make a fool of myself? Suppers back home were mostly somber affairs with little talk and less conversation. At suppertime and with mild trepidation, I took a chair as a pot of bow tie casserole was set down. After a brief “Our Father”, we dug in and relished the inexplicable pleasure of a first bite of good food. Mmmms and aaaahs murmured about the table. Then my wait to observe the family dynamics began, but I didn’t have to wait long. No sooner than the first breath of post-swallow air had been gasped, the witty banter began – smart wisecracks about their days, endearing burns towards the picky eater, cliché jokes that were somehow reanimated by the teller and their eagerly receptive audience. I was surprised anybody could get a bite of food in edgewise with all the talk. Yet I didn’t say much, smiled a little when appropriate, and just tried to act like everything was normal.
Then the dog showed up. Finn was a miniature Schnauzer with a big bark and big appetite that betrayed its petite stature, and most importantly, was the center of the family’s jests. He, if not quite human, was nevertheless a full-fledged family member, berated with all the belittling remarks a furry, foot-tall humanoid is entitled to. Finn was certainly accustomed to joining the family for dinner and while he was not allowed to have a full plate, was deftly slipped a few bites off nearly everyone’s side. I was intimidated by this small dog, mostly by the bark, probably due to a childhood trauma involving a neighbor’s menacing poodle and wetted pants. Whatever the cause, Finn sensed a weakness in me and spent that entire meal growling at my feet. Finn and I later befriended each other, but at this time, I was scared. Sympathetic laughs ensued. The family shushed it and pushed it away, but it always made its way back to my feet. I quickly finished the rest of my food to try and silence it. Even with the food gone, the dog continued growling. More laughter. In retrospect, I’m laughing too. It was such a tiny dog.
With dinner over, Finn demanding food from their terrified dinner guest reminded everyone of a hilarious YouTube video. Without leaving our seats, we watched Ultimate Dog Tease
But when I arrived several weeks later, house plans had changed. As it turned out, the older brother was coming back home for the summer after all, and his basement room would be occupied. Instead, I would share my friend’s upstairs room. I also learned that I would not pay rent - the family would not accept it on account of being helped by others when they were in college and merely asked that I pay it forward. I was openly invited to every family meal and was given free reign of the house. I was even invited to their lakeside cabin when I could make it. This was not the summer I had imagined but in a good way.
Yet the most important difference about living in a family house versus one shared with college-age strangers was neither in the financial nor spatial logistics but the personal welcome I received from every family member. It was these relationships that made the family house inviting and wholly different than anything I had ever experienced.
---
After my first full day in the house, my hosts invited me to their family dinner. Truth be told, I was slightly terrified. What would I say? Was speech even expected? Would I make a fool of myself? Suppers back home were mostly somber affairs with little talk and less conversation. At suppertime and with mild trepidation, I took a chair as a pot of bow tie casserole was set down. After a brief “Our Father”, we dug in and relished the inexplicable pleasure of a first bite of good food. Mmmms and aaaahs murmured about the table. Then my wait to observe the family dynamics began, but I didn’t have to wait long. No sooner than the first breath of post-swallow air had been gasped, the witty banter began – smart wisecracks about their days, endearing burns towards the picky eater, cliché jokes that were somehow reanimated by the teller and their eagerly receptive audience. I was surprised anybody could get a bite of food in edgewise with all the talk. Yet I didn’t say much, smiled a little when appropriate, and just tried to act like everything was normal.
Then the dog showed up. Finn was a miniature Schnauzer with a big bark and big appetite that betrayed its petite stature, and most importantly, was the center of the family’s jests. He, if not quite human, was nevertheless a full-fledged family member, berated with all the belittling remarks a furry, foot-tall humanoid is entitled to. Finn was certainly accustomed to joining the family for dinner and while he was not allowed to have a full plate, was deftly slipped a few bites off nearly everyone’s side. I was intimidated by this small dog, mostly by the bark, probably due to a childhood trauma involving a neighbor’s menacing poodle and wetted pants. Whatever the cause, Finn sensed a weakness in me and spent that entire meal growling at my feet. Finn and I later befriended each other, but at this time, I was scared. Sympathetic laughs ensued. The family shushed it and pushed it away, but it always made its way back to my feet. I quickly finished the rest of my food to try and silence it. Even with the food gone, the dog continued growling. More laughter. In retrospect, I’m laughing too. It was such a tiny dog.
With dinner over, Finn demanding food from their terrified dinner guest reminded everyone of a hilarious YouTube video. Without leaving our seats, we watched Ultimate Dog Tease
Everyone chuckled. I made a weak smile -
the video was sort of funny. Finn looked offended. Then we watched it again. This time laughter. I laughed along too.
Then someone said, “Wait! Let’s watch Orchestra Fail!”
Then someone said, “Wait! Let’s watch Orchestra Fail!”
WHOOPS! HOWLS! My friend’s mother doubled-over from laughter on her chair, face as red as a beet, gasping for air. Finn barked. I wheezed along myself – it was too funny to comprehend. To this day, that video is the funniest thing I have seen on YouTube, and I now double-over in laughter as well. We laughed for minutes afterwards especially at the trumpeters desperately and dutifully trying to hit their notes. I suppose it was better to try and fail than never try at all. And the same went for that family community. Better to try to be a part of the family than be anything else. After that video, I was an official unofficial member of the family.
---
That summer turned out well, with plenty of humor along the way. One time, five of us “kids” and friends packed into my ’93 Corolla on the way to a distant beach, the muffler barely above the asphalt. One of us got terribly sunburned, ached for a good week after, and evoked a subconscious “lobster” connotation that entire summer. Another time, my friend and I decided to start running for personal fitness and “fun”. We stopped after the first run, too sore to walk up stairs for a good week. On another occasion, my trusty Toyota broke down on the way to the family’s summer cabin with the entire family inside. We barely made it back to their house, sputtering the whole time. We later found that a squirrel had twisted my spark plug wires and turned my plucky 4-cylinder into a heaving, 3-cylinder, off-kilter mess. The squirrel didn’t even clean up its walnut shells littered under the hood. We never caught the culprit.
Due to the family’s grace and hospitality, that summer is one my favorite memories of community. Awkward at first, humorous throughout, even trying now and then. They were always incredibly supportive of each other, open and honest, supportively patient or necessarily impatient when required, and so very welcoming – an ideal vision for a community of any size or predicament.
And here I sit years later on the dawn of a new intentional community, headphones playing Also Sprach Zarathustra, and I envision our year together. I half-joked that the first lawn décor we should get was a replica of the Monolith for our front yard to symbolize both pop culture and a great step forward. You know, right next to the mailbox where all the neighbors would see it and hear Also Sprach Zarathustra and envision the Star-Child or long scenes of cascading colors – or something like that.
*cue audio*
But in all reality, I believe the next great evolution of the human race lies not with a biological change, technological leap, or even a Monolith appearing from nowhere, but with a simple idea people everywhere are trying to live out – respect each other by treating others how you desire to be treated, lifting them up and encouraging them when times are rough, and making them feel like their own family. This is the idea my hosts invited me to live out that summer not too long ago, the summer I was looking for a professional independence and found myself more dependent on others than I dared believe. This is the idea they asked me to pass on. This is the idea behind Agape. We might not hit all our notes right, but we will try our best and live out this vision all the while.
