Social Chair

I’ll go ahead and tell you what specific day and time works for everyone. None of them. None of the times work.

It comes as no surprise that our neighborhood association board, a volunteer group of parents who have enough going on already, struggles to meet in person. 

Because someone has to do it, we make landscaping, communication, and social decisions largely by proxy and on the backs of whoever has the time slash motivation. Maintaining the status quo has historically been good enough. Nobody is asking for another expense or commitment. 

I occupy the role of Social Chair. It’s a formidable game of making things fun with minimal cost or inconvenience. Not sure I’m qualified. 

People nominated me because I have a reputation for throwing parties. The data is a bit misleading though, because all of these shindigs have all taken place at my house. An idea will strike me, I’ll invite over some peeps, then kick them out when I get tired. Any budgetary or volume-related sins are dismissed with “but wasn’t it more fun that we did!?” and my much cooler wife agrees. It is no coincidence that my “band” had only ever played “gigs” at my parties. 

The neighborhood-level scale was proving to be well outside my comfort zone and capabilities. With almost three hundred families to consider, there are bigger challenges than grabbing a few tables out of the basement and choosing an evite template. 

Our founding fathers forgot to include a common space, so gatherings require the commandeering of a street or volunteer house. For our largest get-togethers, traffic control must be considered. Everything I do requires an ask of somebody or someone. It makes me itchy simply thinking about the next pretty please on my to-do list. 

One must also process a lot of opinions as the Social Chair. People may not speak up on the landscaping budget, but everyone has something to say about events. The planning of parties allows us all to dream a little. And as the group in charge, it was our duty to create occasional moments where our neighbors say “that wasn’t a waste of my dues!”

At our first few board meetings, I came in hot with presentation decks - giddy with lofty dreams of soapbox derbies, front yard golf tournaments, sunrise yoga (led by me of course) and a seasonal market. We were going to make the world a better place, starting right here in our neighborhood.The first order of business, everyone agreed, was to get through our annual staples without incident. We know better than to mess those up. 

Each Spring brings our Crawfish Boil, where the beer disappears quickly but we always have decaying crawfish to clean the next morning. There’s the Halloween Parade, which draws people from as far away as around the corner. Santa (the real one) rides around on a fire truck each December, encouraging residents to get their chimneys cleaned. Finally, our Ladies Holiday Dinner pops off with wine and a hunk of beef before a lively exchange of favorite things. 

Since I’d hired myself as the musical entertainment at our most recent Crawfish Boil (to mixed reviews), there was room in the budget to get creative when the summer dust settled. We had a while before Halloween rolled back around. Like any administration, we wanted a way to leave a positive legacy before tricking the next generation into taking our roles. What could we turn around quickly without a ton of effort?

There had been a suggestion floating around about adding a Free Little Library. After all, who among us isn’t a fan of books? This idea had been kicked down the road continuously for years. Maybe now was the time.

Like any new initiative, a champion was required to finally make the library happen. An ideal location next to the creek was already volunteered. How hard could the rest be?

As tends to happen, I caved immediately and said I’d give it a try. Everyone knows I’m probably the least busy. They’ve seen me walking the dog at all hours and happily bouncing around on my ebike. Then some additional enthusiasm took hold in this rare in-person meeting. While we’re at it, everyone decided, why don’t we make the unveiling an event!

With a fast-approaching deadline, I set to work the next morning offering up Free Little Library models for scrutiny. The collective voted for a double-decker blue version, assembly required. Shipping projections were optimistic. 

We were already cutting it close to make all of this happen in just over a week. There were a few days of cushion initially, but the unassembled bundle of wood immediately fell behind schedule. 

Distraction is how I get through difficult times. Don’t think about the bad things. Stay busy with other stuff. Why not grab the dog and head out on a nice long, relaxing walk?…only to discover that our intended spot for the library had turned into a trash dump. Carnage from a huge treehouse lay piled upon our library location. This was not a “grab your friend who has a truck” situation. 

“Hey, have y’all seen our spot?” The group chat lit up. We were assured that the city’s waste removal division had been notified, but all I could do was imagine the horror: a bunch of sweet little well dressed children swimming through rubble with their books. Precious Jan or Timmy getting Tetanus, whatever that actually means.

Attempts to track down an ice cream truck were also uncharacteristically difficult for August. Though this event may be focused on literacy, we know better than to throw an event in Alabama without snacks. But this was also proving to be overly challenging. I prepared myself to, among myriad other tasks, pick up hundreds of dollars worth of ice cream and keep it frozen until party time. With all the pieces out of sorts, everyone started questioning if we should still have what was being referred to as our “ribbon cutting ceremony” on Friday.

The post of the library arrived first. This did not gain us much time back, as it was only two pieces. Yet, there was a spark of hope for the next day when all Chapmans were on deck to help with final assembly. 

 That was a win, finally. A trash pile still loomed large, so in addition to thoughts and prayers, we asked everyone we knew to pester the city with an outlandish number of waste removal requests. RSVPs were climbing. No backing out now. 

Miraculously, a questionably licensed ice cream truck operator called someone back. They would be parked long enough to give out a few hundred bucks worth. 

Still, we needed something to take this party to the next level - an element that would make those goobers over in Countrywood, Countrybrook and TangleCreek stand up and take notice. I wanted a scene our neighborhood could look back on and be proud of.

Our ribbon cutting ceremony fell on the first day of school. I was mingling that morning with other parents on the curb after enthusiastically throwing children back into the public school system. An architect friend heard of my ambitions and offered to assist in my quest for flare. His company might have what I’m looking for in their supply closet. 

On top of that promising lead, other good news. The pile of trash had been picked up just in time. Everything could proceed as planned. 

I showed up early to install the base and set up a decorative display. The library, ribbons and tablecloth were left in a slightly pitiful state as I started to worry that the base should have been in the ground already. 

Within moments, I was frantically making a mess of that seemingly simple task. As families walked and rolled in, dads began peeling off to witness my utter incompetence with tools. I was in the process of stripping what was left of a pivotal screw when I was politely asked to step aside. Men of a more hearty stock would get that base in the ground. 

Sporting a face flushed with embarrassment, I shuffled back over to the crowd to find my meager library display now transformed into a heaping pile of generosity.

The spartan table now groaned under the weight of many books, shelves full and decorated to the nines. Children swarmed around, eyeing their next read. All we had to do now was make it official.

After a few words from the visionaries of this project, they turned to me and indicated they were ready to cut the ribbon. That is when I stepped into view with the largest pair of scissors you have ever seen in your whole life. I tried to play it cool but a silly grin took hold. Giggles sprung forth from adults and children alike.

As alarmingly sharp blades sliced easily through our ceremonial red ribbon, it was everything I could have asked for. Pictures of the scene, as hoped, were brimming with joy. Smiling, ice cream smudged faces stand captivated for a brief perfect moment in time. 

I pass the little library every day now, sitting there in its permanent home. Without fail, the sight of it instantly improves my mood. Occasional reading parties will break out, kids gathering around to share a story or two. Loving hands keep the library maintained, seasonally decorated and filled to the brim. To date, only one complaint has been received: we really should have gotten two of them.