S'more Community

Last Sunday night I got a hankerin' for S'mores. But I didn't want to have them alone. It is strange how something really fun like a barbeque or a swimming pool is terrible if there aren't others to share it with. S'mores are the same way. They are the type of food that is really an excuse to get together and spend some time talking, laughing and chasing your brother with a flaming marshmallow at the end of a stick. They aren't made for singular consumption. How depressing it would be to make s'mores on your own. I almost did it. But I came to my senses and invited some friends to share them with me.



I initially decided to share my s'mores with the dudes from our church that live a few blocks from my house. But then it occurred to me that maybe some of the kids in their neighborhood might have never had a s'more before. Something about the combination of sugar and fire delicately masked in the inherent responsibility of a stuffy graham cracker was sure to be fun for the kids. So I packed up the marshmallows, wood, firepit, chocolate and graham crackers in the back of my truck and drove the 3 blocks to the community house. We set up the little clay firepit on the concrete walkway in front of the house a few feet away from where we found a hypodermic needle a couple weeks ago and where there is still some gang grafitti on the sidewalk -The Great Outdoors. Kevin got a five gallon bucket of water in order to prevent anyone from burning alive and we got busy building a fire.



Sometimes I overestimate some of the experiences of kids in the city and underestimate others. For instance, most of the littlest kids know the word "foreclosure" and "eviction" but very few have ever seen a wood fire in real life before. None had tasted a s'more. A few of the kids mistook the fire for a grill - others acted like they knew what was going on but most of them didn't. They were acting cool but were really curious about the wood and smoke. One of the kid's moms had to explain that we were having a "real fire" that could hurt you if you touched it. So we roasted marshmallows - in reality most of the kids burned them to crunchy, bitter sweet ash. As the little white pillows sizzled and glowed, the kids, in a joyful panic, blew on the them to extinguish the sugar-fueled flames. When the chocolate all ran out, and it was getting as dark as it gets on a city street, a ring of kids began to form around the fire. They were loud and obnoxious, fun and free. They burned a bunch of sticks even after I told them not to. They all tried to make the funniest animal sounds they knew. One person started a story and the next person around the circle added to it until the plot grew too ridiculous to continue. And we all escaped the neighborhood for about an hour. We were the loudest. We were the coolest. No booming car stereo or big wheels or even goofy obnoxious teenagers could compete with our fire. We were the neighborhood for an hour. We were it. People gawked at us. I only wish we could have seen the stars past the street lights. They're up there even if you can't see them all the time. Glints of crystal brilliance dulled down by the glare of the city. I guess the stars are a lot like the kids. I saw them that night and it was beautiful.