Seeing through another's eyes

When I moved to Philadelphia from Rhode Island in the late '70s, the things that struck me were the strange pronunciation of the sound "ow," the taller-than-New England trees, and the phenomenon of row homes or "twins."

In Rhode Island we have lots of three-deckers, especially in our textile mill towns, but we don't have two houses smashed together sharing a spine. What especially bemused this foreigner is that the Siamese twin domiciles are invariably painted a different color. When 404 Elm is blue and 406 Elm is yellow, it looks like an argument. Such an aesthetic violation. I couldn't figure for the life of me why the two homeowners didn't get together over the picket fence and agree on one color --- so as not to advertise the fact that they each owned only half a structure.

As time went on, without being particularly conscious of it, I got used to the visual affront. And later still it started to look fine to me. Then my parents moved to the Philadelphia area to be closer to me, and my mother remarked while we were walking: "I don't understand why the people in these twin houses don't paint them the same color." I explained to her that it's a matter of expressing our individuality. She shrugged, but someday the twins will look fine to her too.

None of which is an especially spiritual insight, except that it reminds me that I should climb inside another person's perspective now and then, when I am tempted to criticize.