One of the things that I love most about living in Australia is that it is a cultural melting pot - a mosaic of people from all walks of life. The council/county area I live in is one of the most diverse in the country. Over 184 different nations are represented in my council. I live in a gold mine of culture and I love it.
We live in a society that demands acceptance, understanding and respect for all people. In light of recent events, I have come to realise that acceptance, understanding and respect is not just needed between different races and cultures, but across people with different values and belief systems, between those with different upbringings, those with a less fortunate lifestyle and those with a more fortunate lifestyle than ourselves. Even if we don't truly comprehend what other people's experiences are like, we need to be less judgemental and more open minded.
Earlier this year, I had a great 'Greyhound Adventure' - catching a bus 4,000 kilometres (2,500 miles) across the United States from California to visit a Rotaract friend in Arkansas. To put it in perspective for the Aussies, this was light going from Sydney to Kalgoorlie but slightly longer!
I'll be honest, my mother was not particularly keen for me to go on the bus. She caught a Greyhound back in the 1970's and apparantly it was not a top quality experience for her. She said the stations were dirty and in the sleaziest parts of town, and the people were the same.
I brushed her concerns off, partly because I figured she was just being an overly protective mother and things can change a lot in 40 years - but mostly because I wasn't that concerned. I've had minor run ins with some interesting people over the years and I've never had any major dramas. I do not make decisions based on the fear that something bad might happen. If I did that, I'd never leave the house. The other part was I wanted to see some of the country, and the bus was what I could afford.
As all my Facebook friends can attest, I had quite the adventure on my 52 hour bus trip. At times it was like being in the middle of the Jerry Springer show. Relationships were breaking up over the phone and in person right in front of me. Catfights were breaking out and people got thrown off the bus. There were ex-cons, ex-marines, ex-homeless, backpackers, students, grandmas, young families - all kinds of people.
It was an eye-opening experience, coming into contact with people unlike anyone I'd ever met before.
One of the people I shared my cross-country journey with that I will never forget was Patricia - a 30-year old mother of three (aged twelve, six and one). Now a three day bus trip is tricky enough without adding three young children into the mix.
I remember seeing Patricia asleep on a bench at the bus station in Phoenix while her kids ran amok. I'll be honest,
in that moment, I made a snap judgement about her - I thought to myself what a horrible mother she must be leaving her children unsupervised in a strange city.
When I got on the bus, she sat next to me with her toddler, and the other kids sat on the other side of the aisle. The toddler handled travelling better than most, but after a few hours of watching poor Patricia struggle to get any sleep whilst keeping her children fed, entertained and quiet - I could see she needed help. I offered her my pillow so she could be more comfortable whilst snoozing with the toddler. As the hours rolled by, her story became apparant. She had just left her abusive ex-con husband in California and was fleeing across the country with her children to live with her grandparents that she hadn't seen since she was a child.
I had to rethink the snap judgement I had made back at the bus station. Here was a woman not that much older than me, exhausted physically and emotionally to the point of barely being able to function, yet she was still holding it together as best as could be expected and putting her children's needs before her own. For that, she deserved my respect and my understanding.
For the next 30 hours of our trip, I took turns watching the children so Patricia could get some sleep, I took kids to the bathroom, shopped for meals, found a cake (the 12-year old turned 13 on the bus!) and baby panadol (poor toddler was teething) and gave Patricia pep talks to help her mentally cope with the situation at hand. When we parted ways, she told me I was her guardian angel, and that she didn't know how she would have survived without me.
I can't help but wonder what she would have thought if she'd known what my first impression of her was.
I may indeed have been her saviour on that bus trip from Los Angeles to Oklahoma City, but in turn, she taught me a very valuable lesson.
Who am I to judge a person based on my values and my experiences?
Who I am to judge a person before I know anything about their situation?
Who am I to judge at all?
I am no different than any one of my fellow human beings. We are all living life the best we know how.
Patricia taught me the true value of understanding my fellow human, accepting their differences and respecting their choices and their values, and for that, I will always be grateful.
