With Bernie and Chris in the car, we were on the way to the vacant field almost a mile from our home. They get a robust exercise twice daily. It was just before dawn on Friday, November 24, 2017, when I approached the Resort front gate.
It was the day after Thanksgiving. A lone bright green six-foot-tall Christmas tree was prominently positioned by the Security shack. Several dull red clay tiles propped it up. Its full green branches were bare of any decorations.
The tree remained there all day.
The next morning, it was gone. However, there was a replacement. The security gate was decorated.
The bright yellow crime scene tape is hardly an appropriate alternative.
Here’s the story…
The reason the Christmas tree was gone was a management decision. Management didn’t authorize it. A resident donated the tree. However, management decided the tree represented a religious symbol. It was inappropriate.
In the ‘New Normal’ situation we live today, a few folks may mutter under their breath… but that’s probably all that will happen.
Too many communities have bowed to political correctness (or any other term you are comfortable with) to do more than mentally shrug their shoulders and accept the situation.
The bright yellow crime scene tape is a different situation.
I’ve been a resident of this Resort community for more than eight years. The gate has always been there. It’s always been a mental challenge.
It reminds me of the windmill obstacle in miniature golf.
The challenge is to hit the golf ball through the narrow opening, thus avoiding the windmill blade.
The same challenge faces me every time I approach that security gate. It is one thing if I am the first vehicle through the gate.
I’ve learned that there is enough time to pass through the gate without worry. The gate will remain open for at least ten seconds.
However, my heart beat ramps rapidly when I am following another car.
It’s worse when it’s a large recreation vehicle towing a car. It is so long and moves so slow. It’s easily fifteen or twenty seconds before I can enter the danger zone.
I always hold my breath; acutely aware I am waiting for the violent side shake and loud screech as the heavy metal gate crunches the fragile side of my car.
Even though it has never happened in the eight years, I’ve mentally suffered such anticipation… it might the next time.
I’m like a rabbit whether I am first at the gate or following a vehicle. I quickly scoot through, with my foot hovering above the brake… because immediately after the security gate is the street with lots of busy traffic.
The bright crinkled yellow crime scene tape casually strung through both sides of the security gate silently tells the story.
Someone needed more miniature golf practice.