State of Unrest

That title could apply to the political situation, in which I see little glimmers of hope.  Some of the state governors are standing up to the federal government's overreach.  Most of them are, of course, members of THE OTHER PARTY, but we gotta start somewhere. 

My dreams have had a recurring theme for a while now, that of moving into or cleaning out a hoarder house.  A sure sign of my dissatisfaction with my current domicile situation.  There are, of course, the issues you get in any apartment building.  The air flow in individual units sucks.  Some of the close neighbors are inconsiderate.  No private yard.  But all told, and compared to previous homes, it is good. 

The hoarder house part intrigues me.  In part, I can blame a certain YouTube channel, which frequently buys such homes or the contents of such homes and takes me along on the exploration.  In one such home, he found artwork worth more than he paid for the entire house!  Both of my parents were hoarders to a degree.  My father because he grew up on a farm and survived the Great Depression and my mother because she had a plethora of untreated mental issues.  I declutter regularly to avoid leaving that kind of mess for my heirs. 

Flipping houses interests me.  The notion of turning a place that's been used and abused back into a viable home really appeals to me.  In a way, it would feel like healing the house.  But in the dreams, I have to empty the house before I can flip it. (It just occurred to me that part of the healing process is removing or rearranging stuff. Especially if the wound has been festering for a while.)  

I get like this from time to time.  Probably soon I will whack off my long hair and rearrange the furniture.  But this time it feels different.  Maybe because I'm no longer playing with Publishers Clearing House.  Funny how much comfort I've always taken from that long shot.  We gotta have dreams or the bastards really will grind us down. 

Anyway... thanks for joining me on this little journey inside my head.  See ya next time. 

Money for Babies

One of the reasons I was bullied in junior high?  We were Welfare People.  Why else would anyone have seven kids in the space of a decade?  The more babies you have, the more money Welfare gives you. The truth of the matter? My father was Catholic.  Birth Control was against his religion.  There were other Catholic families around, with a house full, and I honestly can't say if they got this treatment as well or if I was just an easy target. 

As an adult, I worked in stores and restaurants.  My coworkers were prone to making the same assumption about any woman with many children, especially if she was anything less than a fashionista.  Even the coworkers who got government help to supplement their meager income, or the ones who had a house full of kids themselves.  

I never had children, but was often seen with minions in tow.  I once had to stop my grandmother from "boxing his ears" when a man in the grocery store said something snide to us.  He saw an old lady, a young woman, a teenager, a preteen, and two smaller children shopping.  He jumped to the Welfare Mom assumption.  

I'd be a liar if I claimed I never used government assistance.  Hell, the name of this blog comes from the fact that I'm on SSDI and Food Stamps.  I'd also be a liar if I claimed I've never known a woman who gave birth for more benefits, or who simply accepted that if she couldn't support her surprise baby, she could get Welfare.  

I am in no way shape or form standing in judgement of Welfare Moms.  What I am saying is that for my entire life THEY taught me that "having babies for government money" is a vile thing to do.  But now there's talk of stimulating the declining American birth rate by... wait for it...  paying people to reproduce.  With government money.  

The dichotomy blows my mind, especially since it's coming from the same people who refer to "the parasite class".  What is the difference?  Anyone who thinks it's okay to cut every birthing mother in America a check needs to reconsider how they feel about Welfare Mom.  

I'm Scared

 I'm aggressively nonpartisan, as most of you know.  I've got loved ones all over the political spectrum and my feelings about most issues fall somewhere in the middle of the two-party divide.  I have a lot of faith in the checks and balances built into the fabric of our government.  I don't think the havoc currently being wrought is a permanent thing.  

But I'm scared.  I depend on SSDI, Medicare, and Medicaid.  My apartment is HUD.  Even a temporary hiccup in the system could destroy my world.  Large expenses are put off and the money socked away just in case.  Most of my family is willing and able to help me if needed.  But dammit I don't want to need their help.

I do not think Social Security or Medicare are in danger.  Too many politicians on all sides know that would be career suicide.  But what about Medicaid?  HUD?  We already have planes falling out of the sky, possibly because of slashes to FAA.  NPS is barely going to be able to keep parks open (and those generate a lot more money than they cost).  

I try to focus on the good, to look for the helpers (as Mr. Rogers suggests), but my demon is SO rattling her cage.  There is governmental resistance to the overreach by the current POTUS.  Even Americans who are okay with the rights of others being trampled will switch sides real quick when they or theirs is threatened.  We will get through this.  I just hope it's soon and with minimal harm to me and mine. Yeah, I'm selfish, sue me. 

Student Loans

 With all the fuss and bother going on about forgiving student loans, I feel the need to share my own student loan story.  I went "back to school" in my late twenties, majoring in Human/Social Services Technology.  It's a two year degree, meaning I could be working a decent job by the time I was 30. 

When I left high school, it was a time when the minimum wage was reasonably close to a sustainable lifestyle.  I had no shame in being a janitor, or a dishwasher, or a cashier.  It's all honest work and I believed I'd be able to make ends meet. 

I was trying to find the job where my work ethic would actually get me promotions and raises, instead of one where the dude who partied with the boss got promoted over me.  Meanwhile, in the larger world, the gap between a livable wage and the minimum wage kept growing.    My morale was high every time I started a new job, but favoritism and customer abuse killed it quickly.  (I'm not saying I'm totally blameless here - my Dysthymia had manifested itself and fed on job stress.  I made a lot of mistakes.)

When I finally got medication and therapy that let me cope, I decided that college would get me the sort of job I wanted.  Social Work seemed a good fit, and there was a two-year program at the nearby campus.  So I signed up, agreed to the loans needed (totally intending to pay them when the time came), and earned that degree.

My first job after college was washing dishes in a steakhouse.  While working, I applied for every social services job I could.  Some of those interviews took me into seedy neighborhoods (once a man tried to get into my car and I ran a red light to get away from him) and none of them hired me.  I was back to the minimum wage grind, but now I had a debt to pay.  I tried.  

I tried.  When I was making enough money to have anything left over after rent, I sent them something.  Something was never enough.  At one point, after having my hours cut, I had to have the bank block payments because they ignored my messages.  They knew my situation - I told them the truth, filled out all the forms for a payment plan, everything, but no.  "You make 500 a month?  Send us 400 or it's going into default."  Still, I had every intention of paying them somehow someday.  Most of my job-hopping was a constant quest to make enough money to pay the loan!  

Eventually, I was declared totally and permanently disabled.  I would receive monthly payments to live off of.  The first debtor I contacted was the Student Loan people, intending to set up a payment plan I could finally afford.  They canceled the loan.  Think about that:  The only way I could get out from under the loans for a two year degree was to become legally disabled.  A two year degree.  Only two years.  

At the time of my cancellation, most of what I owed was compounded interest.  Had they worked with me because I was un- or under-employed, I would have owed a small percentage of that total.  They could have allowed me to pay what I could, they could have suspended interest, something, but no.  What they did was call me at least once a day for over a decade.  What they did was accuse me of malingering.  So, yes, I support the forgiveness of student loans.  Had they treated me with anything resembling dignity and respect, I might think differently.    

 

Representation

Lots of talk about minorities being represented in movies and television, on both sides of the issue.  I've never had to deal with my race being under-represented, but I fall into lots of other categories that are.  I'm female, poor, rural, mentally ill, and even left-handed. 

Besides stereotypes, which I don't really mind if they are meant in good humor, I saw very little of those groups in my mass media.  I still have trouble finding realistic models of some of them, but I blame that more on Hollywood Logic than anything else.  (We had ten people in a three bedroom, one bath house.  Can you imagine seeing that on TV as a realistic scenario?)  

Granted, the lefty thing isn't much of an issue.  The stigma was largely gone by the time I started school, but my older sister had teachers trying to make her use the "correct" hand, so it hadn't been gone long.  Imagine my delight when I realized (with the release of Twilight Princess on the Wii) that LINK is a lefty!  Most players are righties and the way the Wii is set up, his being a lefty was problematic for them.  There was a bit of a controversy.  

Until recently, the mentally ill were played for laughs if they weren't the bad guys.  Now even my limited consumption of mass media gives me a few "crazy but useful" characters.  Walter Bishop (Fringe) is a wonderful example.  I am nowhere near as crazy as he is, but I identify with the regrets he lives with and with forgetting his limitations until they slap him in the face. 

Rural...  well, in my day that was limited to The Beverly Hillbillies.  The rural folk I see now are well rounded characters.  Television is rather limited to the urban and suburban settings because there are simply more stories, more drama, in those place. 

The poor, though...  well, see my previous comment about Hollywood Logic. 

Universal Health Care and Gun Control

At the risk of being one of those people who uses a tragedy to push a political agenda, I'm blogging my thoughts on the subject.  One subject, because the two topics are connected.  Hear me out.

Let me get this out of the way first - if you don't want Universal Health Care because your tax dollars shouldn't support the lazy:  They already are.  The tiny percentage of Welfare people who are truly lazy and the do-nothings in office are already using your tax dollars for their Viagra.  UHC, on the other hand,  would help that couple who are working two jobs each to pay the bills (including student loans), the widow of a soldier who is working her way through college, and the guy with a temporary lapse in employment...  all of whom the Welfare department rule ineligible for benefits.

In the wake of the recent school shooting in Florida, the debate on Gun Control is back in force.  The hard-liners on both sides shout so loudly we shades-of-gray folks get drowned out.  The fact of the matter is simple:  both sides are correct, but only to a point.  Banning AK47s is not going to stop the determined, but it might slow them down.  The Second Amendment does exist, but like most things held sacred, is subject to interpretation.

Here's where I get to the connection.  Lots of Gun Control Advocates like to hold up other countries as a model - Nogunlandia has only had 1 mass shooting in 57 years!  Going by statistics, Nogunlandia likely also has UHC.

Every shooter I've heard of has been mentally ill and not getting proper treatment.  (The anti-prozac folks made sure I heard about that.)

I'm not foolish enough to believe UHC would stop every incident.  There will always be those who won't or can't seek help.  There will be, and probably have been, shooters who are not mentally ill.  However, I believe that proper and timely treatment of mental illness, especially the nascently dangerous, would go a long way toward that goal.

My own experience with mental illness has taught me that the existing system will not help you unless you can pay and/or have commited a crime.  Far too many doctors toss pills at the problem without educating or following up with the patient.  UHC would at least help with the first problem.

It is my considered opinion that Universal Health Care would prevent mass shootings.  No one thing is going to be a cure-all, but it could be a cure-most.

White Privilege Revisited

I wrote a previous blog on the subject, which I'll summarize here.  In the previous blog, I took the position that white privilege does not exist.  I have since rethought the issue, learned more about it, and have relaxed that position.

My previous position came from having only been exposed to the issue by the polarized.  The fanatics, if you will.  As a result, the issue was not clearly explained and I felt attacked.  Cooler heads have since prevailed. 

Yes, I and my white brethren do get bullied (by civilians and by cops).  We do have to pay a debt to society if we break the law.  We did have ancestors who were mistreated and sometimes even enslaved.  We've had to work crappy jobs, live in crappy homes, and had folks misjudge us by appearance.   

American society has largely been shaped by rich WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) males.  Anyone who fails to meet that criteria automatically becomes somehow lesser.  The more of that criteria you fail to meet, the lesser you are.  The non-whites who get away with shenanigans that I mentioned in my previous blog do meet some of the criteria.  (Looking at you, Cosby.) 

The way history has played out, most non-whites are still struggling with poverty.  They are not WAS, even if they are P.  Half of them aren't male.  This is what folks are really referring to when they talk about white privilege. 

For example, it's against federal law to deny someone a job because of their race or sex, but it still happens.  The guy doing the hiring may not even realize it.  We're taught to prefer "normal" and that's usually based on the WASP model.  We are not doing it on purpose - at least not most of us - but we do it.  Even those of us, like me, who feel that being called a racist is a most vile insult.

I use race as a shorthand descriptive device.  What's Bob look like?  He's a skinny black dude.  Where'd we park?  Over by where that Mexican lady is loading groceries into her car.  Strictly speaking, that's racist.  Why is their race what makes them stand out to me?  Because I've been socialized to think of WASP as the norm. 

That doesn't make me a racist in the general meaning.  It just means we all, as humans, need to work harder on seeing what we have in common.

Tarred With The Same Brush

My mother warred with the school, usually for justifiable reasons,  But there were times... like when my sister didn't want to take a required class or the English teacher who punished my brother for saying "ain't".  A few of my siblings were trouble-makers and the ones who weren't, Mother made up for.

I was the seventh Schmidt to go through that school.  Very few of the faculty saw me as the quiet, scholarly thing I was.  I was a trouble maker from the moment they saw my name on the roll.  One teacher even confronted me the first day of class to tell me as much.  That would have been bad enough, but the class in question was something I was looking forward to.  Eagerly.  Like Christmas. 

Creative Writing.  A subject already near and dear to my heart.  On one assignment, my character was meant to be brutally honest but came across - in the words of a classmate - like "an asshole."  I asked for advice on how to write the character better and the boy responded with something along the lines of "stop being stupid".  She ignored the vulgarity and the verbal abuse.  She had a student, near tears, in her class room and did nothing. 

The "Asshole" incident was only the most egregious example - in that class and in others.  Because I was a Schmidt, I deserved it.  It's on a much smaller scale, I admit, than racism or homophobia or religious prejudice. But the principle is the same. 

I've also been on and off Welfare all my life and been on the receiving end of "Get a job" (usually when I was already employed).  I've had people make snide comments to me because there's no way that lady using Food Stamps is not the mother of those kids that are with her. (I'm The Aunt.) 

I don't get offended at jokes about stereotypes.  I see them as a useful tool against ignorance. I will, however, give you the sharp side of my tongue if you believe those stereotypes.  Most of any given group are good people.  If I defend whites against being tarred by the same brush as the KKK, it is not because I'm white.  I'm just as likely to defend Muslims against the ISIS brush. 

Because no matter who you hit with it, no matter how small it is, that brush bruises souls.

Keyboard Vigilantes

This isn't about Keyboard Warriors - that would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.  A good Keyboard Warrior is civil, respectful, and logical.  This is about individuals who think they have the right to censor what other individuals say or do.  Not by reporting the offensive thing to the service provider, but by attacking the speaker and anyone who agrees.

Two pictures have sparked outrage and even gotten me unfriended:  Section Eight Barbie and Welfare Barbie.  Section Eight Barbie was the standard blonde - but pregnant, with two or three toddlers around her, and leaning on the wall of stereotype Project Housing.  The children were not the same race as their implied mother.  Welfare Barbie is also the pregnant blonde, but she's pushing a shopping cart full of beer, cigarettes, and toddlers.  None of these toddlers is the same race as their implied siblings.

While no one said in so many words that I wasn't allowed to share or laugh at them, the implication was there.  We who shared the joke and anyone who didn't respond with moral outrage was a racist snob - never mind the fact that many of us have "dated outside our race" and/or are, ourselves, drawing government benefits. Never mind an established pattern of behavior that showed how non-racist and non-snob we are.

In the case of Section Eight Barbie,  the "racist snob" didn't even notice that the children were of a different race.  She saw someone making fun of the official version of Barbie and shared it with me, her favorite Barbie Girl.

I often share Welfare Barbie myself, usually in response to jackasses who believe the Welfare Stereotype. I see the white mom with three kids - one Asian and one black - as nothing more than visual shorthand for promiscuity.

I'm in a Facebook group about The Walking Dead.  You know, that TV show with zombies being the nicest of the bad guys?  Someone there posted a pun about if Judith (a baby) had been caught by the cannibal bad guys she'd be Baby Back Ribs.  You can probably guess the rest.

So...  here is a list of the things I find offensive.  Polarized politics, Willful Ignorance, Thinking men should be able to read women's minds instead of taking them at their word, Looks taking priority over Heart and Brain, Religious fanaticism.  I do not attack people for these things, particularly if they are obviously mocking them.  But I'm the crazy person.

Am I Better Off Than Eight Years Ago?

"Are you better off than you were eight years ago?" is the recurring theme on my social media, with the transfer of Presidents happening today.  It's more of that ridiculous thinking that the President has The Power Supreme, that everything that's happened during his term is his doing.  So...  lets look at where I was eight years ago.

I was living with my nephew, his wife, and their toddler son.  I don't remember if I was still working, but if I was it was at McDonald's.  I have an Associate's Degree and I was flipping burgers.  (In the years since getting my degree, I had one job that sort-of fell into the area of Social Work and none that I couldn't have gotten just with my diploma. But I digress.)

I had, besides the ones I lived with, a slew of minions and grandminions.  In the years Obama was in office, those numbers increased.  Pretty sure he wasn't at any of those weddings or conceptions.  I made some new friends, mostly on-line, and developed new interests.  Don't remember Obama introducing me to any of that.  My father died in 2010, but that was cancer, not Obama.  But that's all personal stuff.  Let's look at the financial scene, which is what the question really refers to.

Now I'm on Disability and Welfare.  It's not much, but it's a steady income and I now have a little apartment of my own. My degree is framed on the living room wall.  So in that aspect, am I better off?  Is a steady income "leeched" off the government better than unsteady income from part-time low-wage work while I'm expected to pay back Student Loans?

I think it is.  Vindication is a wonderful thing.  I value the fact that finally, after all these years, someone in authority has recognized my problem.  If someone in authority had done so thirty years ago and given me the help I needed then, maybe I'd be working today.  But Obama did not do that.  The system that did that was in place before Obama was elected.

Obama did good things.  Obama also did bad things.  Everything he did, however, was within the system created centuries ago.  Yeah, it's been fine-tuned since then, but it is basically the same.  I'm better off than I was eight years ago, but Obama didn't do that.  I did that, with the help of the system that was around before Obama took office.

Another Barbie Rant

Just saw a news story about a woman who made a breast feeding Barbie.  Every now and then another story comes along about the Lammily doll - the normal Barbie is what that one usually gets called.  How pathetic do they think children are?  Dolls run on imagination and if your kid is so lacking in that area that they need all this stuff that's being sold, I'm afraid you have bigger problems.
You want your doll to breast-feed, pop open her shirt and have her hold a baby to her breast.  This is much easier with a elbow-articulated doll, by the way.  You want her to have a period, make her some little pads out of paper or bits of cloth.  There is no need for all these specialized dolls.

I give credit to the toy makers for more realistic proportions, even though I do not agree that Barbie's freakish figure psychologically damages children.

Lammily you can buy scar stickers for.  My Barbies have scars - mostly stray pen marks - and these aren't removable.  Who's realistic now, Lammily?  I've had Barbies lose limbs and explained it away with car accidents.  But some revolutionary out there is making amputee dolls.

I'll admit to having to coach my minions a bit, but I am not going to buy them something they can improvise for themselves.  If your child cannot figure out how to make a Zombie Fighter out of dolls, clothes, and accessories they already own...  I blame you.  Granted, it is more fun sometimes to have the specific character, but I'm referring to generalities.  A lot of these amazing, innovative dolls I'm hearing about are variations my doll-play even as a child. In the 1970s.

A Place Of My Own

The boy is twelve now, hardly in need of 24 hour supervision and able to do most of the chores that had been mine.  I started feeling rather useless, even though the family jumped up and down and insisted I was not!  There were also some minor personality issues. (I like sunshine and fresh air, they are vampires. I like to get 'er done, they procrastinate.)

Some folks seem to believe that I was kept in a deep dark dungeon and only let out to be a slave.  Looking at my history, there is a basis for this.  I have been known to stay in emotionally abusive relationships for far longer than needed, and even to defend the meanie.  But it is an insult to Josh and Chelle.  They treat me with more respect than most of the planet does.

I worried a lot about using my freeloading abilities to take more than I really needed, but several friends and family encouraged me to do it.  So I did.  I now have my own open window, sunshiny apartment with the help of those government programs for folks like me.  It's a nice little place and the only problem I've had is the smell of cigarette smoke.  Air fresheners are my friends.

I did have to leave Cleo behind, but she's happy at Josh and Chelle's.  Moving at the advanced age of seventeen might have been too much for her, anyway, and I do get to see her since I visit often.  I find myself talking to the Barbies.  I guess that's all right as long as they don't reply. 

Getting all my financial ducks in a row has been a little rough.  I'd saved the money for rent and deposits, big stuff like that, but the incidentals?  I had to buy a broom!  And a kitchen trash can!  Every time I turn around it, it seems like there's another small thing I need to buy.  Most of the big stuff is hand-me-downs - my family and friends are still offering me stuff.  

The conditions of my lease (IE limits on how long guests can stay) will protect me from being taken advantage of.  There's a reason Josh calls me The Big Sucker Lady...   So here I am, enjoying the sunshine and listening to Cat Stevens.  Maybe later I'll even open a window.  

Bullying, Again

I pontificated before about the bullying problem and what I think should be done about it.  This one is for the kids.  Not the victims, not the bullies.  The other kids.  The ones who aren't sure what to do or how to do it.  The ones who will say "I didn't do anything to him."

I'm speaking from my own experience as a bullied junior high schooler.  Strange as it may seem, one of the kindest things a classmate ever did for me was a note.  It said "Please don't tell anyone because I don't want to be picked on, too.  I like you.  I think you are nice." With her signature.  I've never forgotten that.  That girl reached out to me the only way she felt she could.

A couple of other girls reached out, too, They gave me a makeover during Study Hall.  Maybe it was just that I was the only one who would let them, I really don't know.  When they finished and held up the mirror, I expected to look ridiculous.  I thought the whole thing was a set up, a means to humiliate me, but it wasn't.  They even offered to give me some of their make-up that they didn't want anymore. (I suspect knowledge of my family's poverty had more to do with it, but they wanted to protect my pride.)  One girl offered me clothes she didn't wear any more.  I declined the offers - I just knew it was a trap.  When I wore the offered cosmetics and clothing, they would make sure they entire school knew I was a rag picker.

Why did I feel that way?  When the teacher left the music classroom and the bullies pushed me into a corner, going through my purse and making fun of the contents, or just making fun of the purse itself...  No one spoke up.  A couple dozen kids let them do it.  To me, that said I deserved it.  That said we hate you just as much as those guys do.  That said I was loathed by the entire student body.

My period as the victim was only a year or two, but at the time it was forever.  All those kids who I know now did not hate me...  I just want to apologize to every one of them.  I want to tell them I understand why they didn't act.  But at the time, their loathing of me was a fact.  

So, boys and girls, the next time you see a classmate being pushed around, realize how your silence is perceived.  Realize that, in their eyes, you are either cheering the bullies on or - maybe worse - you don't care either way.  Even if you don't have the courage to confront the bully on their behalf (the best course), the least you can do is a kind word when no one is looking.

Why didn't I stand up for myself?  No one else stood up for me, at a time in my life when the opinions of your peers is crucial, so maybe I thought I deserved it.  (Well, I did eventually stand up for myself.  I like to think the small kindnesses mentioned above helped me to do so.)  Why didn't I just stop being *insert adjective*?  It's easy to blame the victim, maybe even part of human nature, so don't beat yourself up too much if you've done it.  A lot of the things kids get bullied over are beyond their control.  I couldn't make my mother get off Welfare, I wasn't allowed to do "normal" things, and I sure couldn't stop doing things I didn't know were "wrong".

So, you other kids, I give you life from the perspective of at least one bullying victim.  It's not enough to not bully.  It's not enough to feel sorry for them.  You have to act, even if all you do is plead with them not to blab the fact that they don't hate you.

Minimum Wage

"Minimum Wage work is for school kids."  Even the language of the legislation belies that statement.  Look it up if you don't believe me.  Read the text of the actual law creating Minimum Wage.  Anyone who works forty hours a week should be able to, at the very least, eat and keep a roof overhead.  

"You want more pay, get the skills".  How can the worker get the skills if he can't even afford gas to drive to work?  They should have gotten the training before entering the job market?  Sure, that lady ringing you up totally knew she'd end up raising three kids alone. Also, the real world is full of people who do have the skills but are (for various reasons) unable to get a job using said skills.  Others lost "better" jobs through no fault of their own.

The one that really galls me is this: The assumption that no one, ever, would do a minimum wage job for the enjoyment of the work.  That no one, ever, can simply take pride in an honest day's work.  I know from experience that there are freaks out there who actually enjoy providing customer service or doing manual labor.  Some people are without a "need to succeed" in the financial sense.

But I don't think raising the Wage is going to fix anything.  Because bosses are greedy.  If they have to pay more, they will find ways to protect the profits.  The worker who was getting 40 hours a week will suddenly be getting 30 or 35 - if that many.  Some workers will be fired and not replaced - increasing the workloads for the rest (who are now working fewer hours).  Prices will go up.

And people will start calling for an increase in Minimum Wage.  It is a vicious cycle.  If we do raise the Wage, we need to also prevent the protection of the profit margin.  Since God Money dictates all this, maybe employers who don't do that stuff could get a tax break.  Or outright fine them if they do raise prices and cut hours.

But we definitely need to get past the thinking that minimum wage earners are somehow wrong for not being doctors or lawyers.  We will always need ditch diggers.

The Welfare State

There is an awful lot of misunderstanding out there about Welfare.  Or whatever politically correct label it bears this week. People are under the impression that we get eight million dollars a month and spend it all on beer and cigarettes.  I've been told more than once it is not the government's job to take care of me if I can't work, it's my family's.  I'm going to rant about both these points.

The amount you get varies a great deal, depending upon how many folks there are in your household and if they are working.  Then it depends on how much they are working, and their hourly wage.   Rules vary from county to county, but a very few folks are not required to at least look for work.  The disabled and children, for example.  It is not an automatic free ride, and the Welfare Department has to know everything but what color underwear you prefer.  When I was last on a "check" my monthly amount was less than the rent on a one bedroom apartment.  Currently, my SSDI is less than 800 dollars a month and all I get from Welfare is a medical card, which I have to pay a "spend down" on.

I've known countless people on Welfare in my nearly half-century on this planet.  Most of them were in need temporarily.  Most of them, if they smoke and drink, do it in moderation and put the needs of their children first.   Most of them follow the rules, and accept the (relatively meager) help with gratitude.  And, yes, shame.   I can think of maybe three examples of stereotypical "Welfare People".

Now, about it not being the government's job to take care of me.  In theory, I agree with this.  If someone in your family needs help, you should help them.  And society should reward that with, if nothing else, a proverbial pat on the back.  My experience teaches me that our society does not work that way.  What should be is not the same thing as what is.

I've taken in homeless friends and relatives, even if all I could give them was a floor to sleep on and four walls around them, and they have appreciated it.  Society told me I was foolish, I was being taken advantage of, I was flat-out stupid for doing so.  Because of Society's rules, my family cannot put me on their health insurance.  When I was in need, my family came to my aid and got the "stupid" treatment from Society.

So... Welfare is not a free ride, is not a million dollars a month, and most people on it are not scum.  And, yes, it is the government's job to help them. Because society won't allow the people who should to do it.

Bullying

With the new school year upon us, there's an upsurge in talk of bullying.  Having been a victim of bullying and a pseudo-parent, I thought I would toss my opinions into the ring. Peer pressure has long been seen as a means of social control, and it can have positive outcomes. The egregious examples of bullying, of course, are the ones we hear about the most. The ones who drive the victim possibly as far as suicide.  But often it is simply peer pressure gone wrong.

When I was in junior high, I was hygienically challenged and I clung to things my classmates had left far behind.  I got un-stinky and (as far as they knew) I'd given up childish pursuits, so they zeroed in on the clothes.   These were what I consider real bullies.  The ones that, if they sense a weakness, will exploit it.  My wardrobe was mostly hand-me-downs and my youngest sister was five years my senior.  In 1978, I was wearing 1973 (if that new) fashions.  Finally, my stepmother took me shopping for new school clothes.  Finally, I was in the same clothes the cheerleaders were wearing!  That did not shut the real bullies up.  They started in on my hairdo, or my lack of make-up, or anything they could.  That was when I gave up.  Not gave up as in suicide. I gave up trying to please them.

I know it isn't always so simple - especially if the bullying is physical - but in my case that worked.  By the tenth grade, I was largely accepted.  Or at least left alone.  I've always tried to encourage that in the children I know.  Ignoring the bullies is best, if possible.  They simply do not matter.  I also give my kids instruction in how not to be a bully, because I do believe it can happen by accident or by omission.

If you tease a classmate for being really short, does it hurt their feelings?  Make sure it doesn't - let them know you are just playing.  Everyone playfully teases the people they like, and to teach our kids different is just going to confuse them.  If you see a classmate being hurt - emotionally or physically - get up and defend them.  As a parent, teacher, or doting aunt, it is the adult's job to teach children that even kids they don't like do not deserve to be bullied.

What to do if you are being bullied?  Something I find alarming is that most practical solutions will get the victim into at least as much trouble as the bully.  Retaliate, either physically or verbally?  You get busted, both by the school and frequently by both sets of parents.  To tattle on the bully is counterproductive - he is gonna deny it and then beat you up worse later.  Banding together with the other victims, for some psychological or sociological reason, does not happen.

What to do if you see someone else being bullied? The same logic applies here.  One who intervenes will likely end up in the same situation as one who retaliates.  Teachers have to actually witness the incident themselves before they can take action, but who wants to always hang around the teachers?

So, what do we do?  We, as a society, need to stop this.  Because it ain't just the kids doing it.   As a kid, I was bullied by the same adults that were supposed to be protecting me.  Gym teachers who heard the mocking of my peers and said nothing - or even joined in.  An English teacher branded me a trouble maker, just on the basis of my surname.  Parents, even.  As an adult, it can be co-workers or bosses who give you extra work while they chat.  Your child's teacher who condescends to you because you work at Burger King.  The other parents who refuse to chat with you at pick-up time.

Entire dissertations have been written on why bullies bully.  What it boils down to, really, is because they gain power from it.  We need to take that power.  When your kid comes home with a detention slip because he stood up for himself, or someone else, then do not punish him.  He did the right thing.  Or the wrong thing for the right reasons.  "Bobby got detention for fighting, but his parents didn't ground him" sends a message, and not just to Bobby.

Granted, I'm no expert, and there are always exceptions, but I think the problem with bullying is that we've taken away the Leave It To Beaver solution.  Teach the victim to fight - emotionally, physically, verbally - if attacked. Teach our young to defend each other - even that annoying girl who has a crush on you - from the bullies.  Take back our playgrounds, our parks, our sidewalks.  Hell, even our Internet.  Go on the offensive.

Ancestors

If you could see your ancestors,
All standing in a row, 
There might be some of them, perhaps,
You wouldn't care to know.
But, here's a question which requires a different view: 
If you could meet your ancestors...
 Would they be proud of you?

Someone posted this little ditty in my genealogy group and it set me to thinking.  Would my ancestors be proud of me?  Ashamed?  Indifferent?  So, from what I know of my ancestors, I attempt a reply.  

My ancestors were common folk, mostly farmers and the like.  From what I've heard of them, and the ones I actually have memory of, I don't think my financial status would be of much concern.  They would be more concerned with my work ethic and how I treated people in general.  

My work ethic may not please them.  When I was working, I started out in a job with an excellent ethic.  I'd come in on my days off, work late, clock in early, and do the dirty work.  Yet my spirit would flag quickly, after slights both real and perceived.  Most of the ancestors would, I think, take into account that I have "Nerves".  I'm not sure how I feel about that...  I've always tried not to use my disability as an excuse.  I do stand by my belief that employers need to appreciate those they pay.  To be condescending, to bully, and to exploit are counterproductive.  Often, though, the problem was not nearly as bad as my perception of it.  My ancestors took pride in a days' work well done, and phooey on those who looked down on them.  I somehow am not capable of that.  

I know the fact that I'm 47 and never married (but not a virgin) would alarm many of them.  Either they would see me as a tramp or as the victim of male trickery.   No husband AND no career - some of them would surely see me as someone to pity.  

I've always made it a point to treat others with respect.  I give people the benefit of the doubt.  I become very upset if someone thinks I'm being hateful to them.  If you need ten bucks and I have it, it's yours.  Pay me back when and if you can.  Some of my ancestors might see me as naive or even stupid (plenty of living people do) but I think most of them would be proud of me for that.  

But when it comes down to it, even if they weren't proud, I think they'd find me acceptable.  I've never married or had children, but I'm so good at the Aunt thing I was moved in by a nephew to help with the next generation!  My sister likes to say her son handed his favorite toy (me) down to his son. I've always tried to live by the Golden Rule. I've never been able to keep a job, and there are people I've hurt, but I tried.  And not one of my ancestors is a Jedi named Yoda.

Basic Truths About Disability That Are Lies

Basic Truths About Disability That Are Lies:

That disabled person looks fine, therefore they are a fraud.   There are many disabilities that are not easily seen.  My own is a mental problem and I don't "look crazy".  A guy with a slipped disk in his back is not going to look like Quasimodo.  He's gonna look like a guy...  and yes, it can be bad enough to keep him from working, especially if he is uneducated and/or untrained.  My own problem is made worse by job stress...  in fact, the Social Security office told me I can work if I can find a job without a boss, co-workers, or public dealings.  They didn't word it that way, but that's what it came down to.

Anyone can apply and get it real easy. I applied several times, over many years, before I got it.  My successful attempt took three years and I still view it as some kind of miracle.  If you have worked with your 'disability', prepare for a battle.  If your doctor says you can work, you may as well not apply.  

The disabled person has no commitments.   I do light housework every day, I drive a third grader to and from school, I drive an adult to and from work, I have doctor appointments, and I sometimes even socialize.  Do not assume I can do whatever it is you want me to do - be it meet you for lunch or act as Primary Care Giver to an elderly relative.

Disability Income is generous.  I get less than 700 dollars a month.  Granted, my job history was mostly part-time and minimum wage, but even if you've worked decades in a high-paying job, what you are entitled to from Social Security is a pretty low percentage of that income. Your standard of living is not going to remain the same.

It is easy to defraud them.   I've already covered this under the first one, but I want to add something.  If anyone has managed to get through the application and screening procedures without actually having some sort of disability, I applaud them.  He or she is a genius.

Being Disabled is a cakewalk.  Whether your disability is physical or mental, it is not fun or easy to live with.  I spend my days with a freakin' demon inside my head, whispering to me constantly.  The slipped-disc guy can't even take out his trash without pain, or fear of pain.  The lady in a wheelchair is all kinds of inconvenienced.   The very idea of needing to count on others is bad for self-esteem.

 

Guest Blog: Cleo the Bitch Kitty

I'm almost 15 years old and if I get seriously ill, my human will have no choice but to have me put to sleep. Some folks would say she's a bad "owner" because of this, but I do not agree.  My human saved my life in 1999.  I was born under the porch of a mobile home and would have been feral... if I had lived to adulthood.  She has always kept me warm and fed, and kept my litter box clean.  When we had to leave the apartment we lived in, she refused to go anywhere I was not welcome.

Some people equate pets with children.  My human does not do that, and I am okay with it.  Humans outrank pets in the grand scheme of things, if only because they have access to medical cards and food stamps.

Other people equate pets with  -- well, I don't know what, really.  They sure don't treat them with the respect due any living creature you claim to care about.  I've heard talk of dogs tied to a tree and ignored, except at feeding time.  Why?  Pets exist to keep humans company!    If a human is not willing to do a little extra for the sake of the pet, they should not adopt one.  My human sure doesn't enjoy cleaning the litter box, but she does it for me.

My human does her best for me and always has.  I'm a grumpy old lady, something I could never have been without her.  I've never gone hungry or been in danger of freezing to death.  So she would have to have me put down if I got terminally ill - that's what she'd probably choose if she could afford treatment, to be frank.  (She's watched too many of her fellow humans suffer those things.) If you think that makes her a bad "owner" I hiss at you.  I scratch and bite you.

Empty homes and the homeless

I have a comic somewhere, a Wizard of Id in which the King is sitting on his throne.  Someone walks up and says "Do something about the homeless".  Second panel, another person says "Do something about all these empty buildings".  Third panel, the King thinks "They make it sound so easy."

The truth of that comic resonates with me.  I think it could be that easy.  Whether a private individual did it, or a corporation, or even the meddlesome government.  If a building sits empty why can we not give it - yes, GIVE IT - to the homeless.  They can live in it and therefore no longer be homeless.  If it is not up to code, they can be given funds and/or time to fix it.  Or - here's a radical thought - the codes can be relaxed.  Our ancestors lived without running water or electricity.  Even in an era where "Welfare Apartments" have dishwashers and central air, it is possible that someone might find a Little House on The Prairie preferable to a Van Down By the River.

If it is a larger structure, say an abandoned factory, it could be made over into apartments.  Or even a tent city with a roof.  Yes, there are shelters, but I've been told that sleeping under a bush in the park is safer than a shelter.  By someone who was homeless.

If the buildings are beyond help, they should be torn down.  Plain and simple.  Empty buildings are unsafe and ugly.  Stop arresting the homeless who squat in them.  Give them the place, help them fix it up, and everyone's happy.  Well, everyone but God Money.  God Money can go take a flying leap.