Daily Snippet

CQ Press has again announced America’s safest and most dangerous cities, and I am so proud to announce that I grew up right between two of the top five most dangerous cities in the United States — Detroit, Michigan and Flint, Michigan. What an honor!

Periodically, I pass through an area of the country that reminds me of eastern Michigan. A strange combination of comfortable familiarity, mental paralysis and deep depression washes over me like an insidious poison, and I want to withdraw into a fetal position.

What’s that? You have a nagging desire to experience this sensation?

OK. On a cold, snowy night when you don’t want to be outside, put on your most comfortable pair of sweat pants and fuzzy slippers along with a heavy wool sweater. Run three laps around your house. Then, as you itch uncomfortably in that wool sweater, fix your favorite meal, sink into a comfortable chair and pop in a DVD of the 1989 sensation Roger & Me. As the drama unfolds, drink just enough alcohol to make Michael Moore appear thin. That should do it.

At the conclusion of the film, the wool sweater will be driving you insane. Yank it over your head and throw it across the room. Run outside and let the cool air comfort your irritated skin. At that point, my friend, you will experience the incredible sense of relief I felt the day that I stripped eastern Michigan from my life.

During one scene of Roger and Me, Michael Moore attempts to interview executives through the window of one of the plants scheduled to close. The GM representative comes to the window, refuses to talk to him and has him escorted to the sidewalk. That exact plant was the exciting destination of multiple field trips in my early school years.

What a treat! We had the special opportunity to “tour” one of the automotive shops. Don’t recognize that term? In eastern Michigan they are called shops, not factories or plants. In fact, when my first grade teacher asked the class what each of us wanted to do when we grew up, the stock answer was “I’m gonna work in the shop with my dad.”

When I dramatically gestured as if I were running in place and said, “I’m gonna be a world famous writer and die while jogging in Central Park at age 99,” I was met with blank stares. The first time it happened, I sat down, slouched in my chair, and vowed to never share myself with these people again. But, the more I sat and stewed, the more I wanted to show them that I was different.

Anyway, on the first field trip to a shop, I hated it. The fumes and noise made me physically sick, so the teacher had me sit in the bus with the driver. He sat quietly, his forehead vibrating against the large steering wheel as the engine idled. He seemed so sad, but my young mind didn’t know what to do. Having been raised in an Assembly of God church, I was certain that I had a moral responsibility to interject myself into his life.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He sat up with a start. “You and me are the lucky ones today, did you know that?” I announced. He raised his eyebrows and asked, “Is that right?” “Yep,” I said. “We don’t have to be in THERE.” I pointed to the plant. Then, in true charismatic fashion, I stood on the bus seat, raised my hands in the air and shouted “Yeeeeeeaaaah Us!” The driver laughed and laughed; in fact, he was still laughing when I waved good-bye and exited the bus at the school.

Over the years I learned how to cope with everything from emotionally bankrupt adults to classmates with blank stares. My self-cheering, self-applauding and self-encouraging skills increased, and, to this day, if I need some encouragement, I often clap for myself. Sometimes, I cup my hands around my mouth and make crowd noises. But, if I really need to feel better, I remember that I no longer live in eastern Michigan. I stand on a chair, raise my hands in the air and shout “Yeeeeeeaaaah Me!”