Letter to the Editor

Letter to the Editor;

Or rather, to the gang members of my Canby:

For the fourth time in three years you’ve marked my fence with graffiti signifying what you consider yours, a portion of my community.

In a way, you are right. You see it as your territory. But, better than that, you are a resident. Like it or not, you live in this town, and I welcome you as a part of all the people who live here. Like it or not, this town which celebrates its unity with events of community (Slice of Summer, 3 on 3 Basketball, Cruise-in, General Canby Days, open houses in our schools, plays in our performing arts center...), is a place where you live, and you belong.

I wish you knew the Canby I know. I wish you knew what it is like to work here, to know neighbors, and help the widows and orphans of our town.

I wish you knew what it feels like to belong by buying a home, following the local, state, and national politics and writing and voting and sharing a coffee with colleagues and friends, knowing you are loved and respected.

I suspect there are benefits in being in a gang. You have peers to preen for, brothers in crime to demonstrate your bravado for, spraying on the walls and fences of my neighborhood. You demonstrate your machismo by puffing out your chest and making threats to members of the other gang in town. Small benefits.

I suspect you haven’t a father in your life. I suspect your sense of manhood comes from the grudging respect you garner from by chanting “La Vida Loca” and smooth talking your way out of interactions with our police officers. I suspect this ragged group of young men you associate with is all the family you have. That is more than a little sad.

There are several hispanic families in my neighborhood who I smile and share small talk with. Families with fathers and grandfathers who work hard, keep their lawns tidy. People I care for, people who are embarrassed because they are wrongly associated with your actions.

I’ve put down roots in this town. Literally. I have planted trees, and each year I plant a garden. I like watching green things grow from the soil around my home.

I have planted my first son in a cemetery in town, a deep root binding me to this place. I have adopted two more children and they have grown here, passing through the schools of this town, passing through my own classroom as I teach the children of my neighbors.

I built that fence you painted Saturday night. I planted those posts straight and deep. I painted it white and I admit it must make a choice canvass for your message.

But I am sorry for you, for the path you have chosen, for it does not lead to anywhere you truly care to be.

Please, put down the spray can and join me in loving this town. It’s a good place, and you would be surprised how much pleasure you can find in putting down some true roots yourself.

Will Greenleaf