As I find myself wrapping things up and winding things down, I have to admit I've had pangs of guilt in regard to this blog. Have I been too mean? Have I been too hard? Have I been too judgmental?
And then yesterday I went to the market.
I found myself in line behind an attractive young guy. And then I noticed the giant tattoo on his forearm.
A swastika.
A big one too; you couldn't miss it.
I'm not sure which was more horrifying, the swastika or people's reaction to it, which was... nothing.
The woman in front of him chatted him up, the cashier cheerfully made small talk, the box boy happily offered to help him out with his bags, no one seeming to notice or care. But you couldn't not notice it.
I'm not so naive as to think there aren't neo-nazis or white supremacists lurking in any given part of the country, but I never thought I'd see them accepted as part of polite society.
It would be easy to dismiss if it was an isolated incident but it's not. A few weeks back the dogs took an unexpected detour through a vacant lot around the corner. The lot is huge and the neighborhood kids use it as a dirt bike park, building up mounds of dirt to make jump ramps. I was just gazing at the ground as we walked along when suddenly we came to a trench that had been dug in the hard dirt. It was about a foot wide and went in a straight line for about 20 feet where it made a sharp 90 degree turn. "What the hell?" I thought as we walked along and then I looked up and realized we were standing in the middle of a 50 foot swastika.
Why on earth would someone take that much time and effort to carve a 50 foot swastika?
I'm glad we aren't sticking around to find out.
