fell off the soapbox

I got my first standing ovation when I was thirteen. I didn't think I deserved it... afterall, all I did was raise my voice and slam my clipboard down while making my final speech during a debate I knew I'd lost. my evidence was thin and weakly supported by the journals of the early nineties, but I knew in my being that I was right; that my partner and I had picked the stance of liberals, of animal rights activists, of adventurous and caring people, of the future. we'd denounced urban sprawl, and all of its related ills - overpopulation, new development in favor of rehabilitation, single-occupant - and we were ready to fight about it.

three weeks ago, while walking fry around the outside perimeter of the missouri botanical gardens, I saw a pair of foxes cross magnolia and slide through the mobot fence. fry freaked out a little, as did the man walking our way who had never seen a fox in real life. I, on the other hand, had a happy little time remembering the fox who lived not far from my cottage at camp and relishing in yet another "perk" of city living: when I can see sights I'm used to in the middle of the desert or on the lakeshore in the middle of my urban situation. like foxes, I see stars, lilies, lightning bugs, and herons, and am instantly somewhere else. maybe some of these things aren't necessarily solely found in more rural areas than st louis, but the association is there, and for me it's a nice little escape.

I used to take drives for escapes when I lived elsewhere. in phoenix, it was to downtown and parks where I knew the homeless residents. in michigan, it was getting lost on back roads and finding my way back again before dark. but now, I find myself the owner of what my eighth grade debate partner would have called an "over-sized predator, a metal beast" that drinks more gas than I can afford, so I rely on small moments on the metrolink and walks through tower grove park for the sights I miss.

during my commutes of late, my radio listening has consisted of NPR discussions about environmental change and oil outrage, which has made me even less inclined to drive. I am now finally agreeing with the rest of the gas-consuming majority: while the american misuse of fuel is outrageous, so is the price of a gallon of gas.

all of these things came together last night when I rolled past an orange-ish brown lump on the shoulder of my street. the smaller of the pair of foxes lay pristinely dead just across from where I'd first seen her, and I suddenly wondered what I'd done to help or hurt the little being's situation. I may not have killed her personally, but I'm sure that somewhere my "footprint" did.

with all of that, I am left with the mental picture of my younger self behind that podium, blushing and wondering if I deserved the applause. if I didn't deserve it then, do I deserve it now? where did I leave the conviction I had when I'd started subscribing to the three modern R's? did I believe it, or did I just slam the clipboard to get a reaction?