only in the white neighborhoods...

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Champa is my dog. Not my homie or my ace, but literally my dog. He's a 14 year old male Lhaso Apso with the trademark under bite. Interestingly, men that have those exact characteristics seem to have the most confidence and are quite attracted to me. Champa has toured with me all over the states and is one of the most well mannered dogs I've ever been around. Yet, he is still a dog and is treated as such: He does not have a Louis Vuitton doggie bag to accompany me to the trendy LA hot spots for lunch. He eats regular dog food and does not sleep in the bed with me. Ever. He is not allowed on the furniture and will not stare down house guests while they are trying to eat. That said you would think I'm within the black dog owners guidelines. But according to the "neighborhood standard", I'm out of pocket just a bit. The mere fact that he's inside my home is a violation, as most dogs stay outdoors and are lucky to have a dog house.

Another violation was brought to my attention when he went into my neighbor Renny's yard and decided to relieve himself. I greeted Renny with a plastic bag in hand and without hesitation I curbed my dog, which is a fancy term for picking up dog crap. Renny laughed and said, "I only see that done in the white neighborhoods". He was so tickled he had to tell his wife and they just came undone. I officially became Kim "Cosby Kid" Hill.

As I walked home with laughter in the background, I wondered why that was such a big deal. Wouldn't you want your neighbors to respect your yard and clean up behind their pet? Oddly enough, this man has the best and most envied yard on the block. In fact, all the lawns on the my street are right out of a Better Home and Gardens magazine spread, (well the black version at least) perfectly manicured and lush. There is an unofficial lawn watering party that takes place between 5pm and 8pm on any given day. That's when we all pull out our hoses or sprinklers and catch up, bonding as neighbors. This is just as much a part of S. Central as screeching cars and hydraulics, but you won't see that on the news.

But then I remembered there's a strange relationship with neighborhoods like mine and littering. You'll see people, old and young, who are two feet from a trash can, throw an entire McDonalds bag of trash on the ground. My first Easter in my house, my aunt and cousin were visiting and were in my front room where you can clearly see my street. We watched a car of twenty somethings pull in front of my house and take a bag from KFC, empty its contents consisting of gnawed ears of corn, chicken bones and flattened ketchup packets onto my lawn. They then proceeded to pass a bag from the back seat, crumble it into a ball and do a Michael Jordan follow-through into the center of my lawn. We watched in awe. Before I knew it, I was on my way outside against my aunt's better judgement. But before I could say anything, Jay (the neighborhood watch) was already crossing the street and handled it. He is represented in every nook of the hood. The mid 30 year old who occupies his parents back house. Young enough to be able to approach younger cats who are still huslin', but old enough to understand consequences therefore having more to lose. By the time I got to the car, they were apologizing, picking up the trash and calling me ma'am. I grabbed a trash bag and helped them pick up the mess, cracked a few jokes and we wished each other happy Easter. When I went back inside, all my aunt could say is how surprised she was by both sides of the coin. That those kids went to a neighborhood other than their own and boldly threw trash on someone else's lawn, yet showed the utmost respect when called on it. What resonated with me is how the streets that are subjected to this kind of dumping... are the same streets someone will die over, protecting a block that more often than not, they own no part of. Are people as disposable as trash? Are we that disconnected, that disenfranchised? The notion that someone gets paid to pick the trash justified the act of littering. This is their logic I've come to know.

With gas at an all time high, I'm walking a lot these days. That's right, I live in LA and I'm walking. There's so much flavor and texture in my neighborhood and I thrive on that. But it's disheartening when I turn the corner and the collection of cans, broken glass, food and debris from GOD knows where is gathered where kids are playing. What happens to a child's psyche when a used condom gets stuck to the bottom of their shoe or they step out of a car into a pile of cigarette butts from the ashtray of a car? I blame the city as well, don't my taxes pay the street cleaning? If the weekly trucks can't get all the debris, can't they get people on foot?

You know why you don't see trash on the streets in Beverly Hills and Brentwood? Not because the locals don't have an inclination to litter, but rather that there is an understanding that what is clean, should stay clean. People are less inclined to litter if everything around them is pristine. This is the toxic conditioning we all can turn around. But it will only happen when we start to feel connected with our communities again. When Jay stepped to those kids, they listened. He showed respect as did I, and I'm certain they will think twice before they use someone else's lawn for a trash site. When children see me picking up trash, 8 times out of 10, they stop what they're doing to help. That behavior is just as contagious as its polar opposite. We can use those opportunities to connect with the kids and share our stories while being an example. Let's face it, our mama's raised us to keep a clean house and a kitchen you could eat off the floor of. This is not who we are, but who we have allowed ourselves to believe we are. So for now, I will still pick up behind my dog and remain the Cosby kid of my nook... plastic bag in tow.