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The Box

Once, I lived on a street in this neighborhood. Those who lived on the right side of the street did not like those who lived on the left side. Those who lived on the left side of the street did not like those who lived on the right. I thought it was somewhat odd considering that we all lived on the same street, and when I asked my neighbors why they felt the way that they felt about those on the other side of the street, nobody could really give me an adequate explanation. I encouraged each side to get along with the other, but, alas, no one listened.


One day, one of the neighbors put a box in his yard. Nobody knew what was in the box, but because he lived on one side of the street, those on the other side demanded that he remove the box. “That box,” they said, “runs contrary to the values of our neighborhood.” They began organizing vigils and protests against the contents of the box. Some even called for the box’s destruction. Meanwhile, those who lived on the same side of the street as the man with the box marched in support of the box and called for the protesters to cease their protests. “The man,” they said, “has every right to place the box in his yard.”


In time, the two sides of the street came to blows over the contents of the box.

Still, nobody knew what was inside except for the man who put it up himself.

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