Mamacita says: There are many things that are wrong, in this country. Many, many things. Open a newspaper; listen to the news; all we hear about are the things that are wrong. We should be hearing about them, too; if we don’t hear about them, we can’t work to make them right. One of the many things this country does do right is allow its citizens to talk about what it does wrong.
Making wrong things right is what we do here. It’s what this country was founded for. We’d still be a British colony if it wasn’t important for us to work hard to make wrong things right.
Any time more than four people get together for anything, one of them is going to want to do wrong. It’s the responsibility of the other three to help that one person do right. But it goes deeper than that.
It’s the responsibility of the other three to help that one person WANT to do right. Doing anything without understanding, and against one’s will, isn’t progress of any kind; doing anything without understanding, and against one’s will, is a kind of slavery. Uneducated people sometimes have to be dealt with in this way, and that is a shame, and that is entirely their own fault, too. Everyone has access to education in this country. Some schools are better than others, but any of them will at least teach a child to read if that child lets it. And whether or not a child lets it is the responsiblity of the child’s family, and a family that does not allow the school to teach its child to read is a bad, bad family.
This country has always valued education as the means to promote the understanding that would help a person realize that. It used to work, too, until education was forced to do pretty much nothing except review for tests, test, review some more, and do most of the raising of the students because the family unit that is supposed to teach and provide such things as basic alphabet, colors, numbers, manners, shoes, and dinner are opting instead to demand that the school do it. We are fast becoming a welfare state, and that is a definite downgrade from being an education state.
And why is the family unit not providing what it is supposed to provide, these days? Most families still are, and some families are experiencing some temporary hard times, but many families simply prefer to mooch off the government rolls. They have chosen to give up their independence and become the permanent poor relations, supported by those citizens who do still work. This was supposed to be a temporary fix, and people are supposed to be just a little bit ashamed of being in this position. Welfare is supposed to be a somewhat embarrassing short-term episode in a person’s life, preceding a wage-earning job. We’ve removed the ’embarrassment’ thing in the name of self esteem, and that was a mistake.
But you really don’t want to get me started about the ‘self-esteem’ movement. Which, like most movements, is full of the same sort of fecal matter.
Every day, more and more people join the welfare rolls, and for many it’s not the temporary helping hand it was meant to be. For many, it’s a way of life. Some people believe that the welfare way of life is a right, and other people SHOULD be supporting them, sometimes forever. No. Temporary help, yes. Permanent? Absolutely not.
An uneducated, or undereducated population is a dangerous thing. It quickly becomes a parasite, not an asset, sucking the lifeblood out of resources that really ought to be aimed elsewhere.
Ronald Reagan, who was not perfect either but then neither are any of us, said “We should measure welfare’s success by how many people leave welfare, not by how many are added.” He was right.
This country was founded by hard workers. This country has as one of its foundations, education for the masses. It’s there, for free, for anybody who lives here to take full advantage of. To become an adult in this country and still not know how to read and write and support oneself is a disgrace, and that disgrace is not the country’s disgrace, it is a personal disgrace.
People made this country, people who wanted freedom and independence and education for everyone. We must never lose the desire for any of these, for if any one of them is lost, all is lost. At the same time, as free and independent and educated people, we must not forget to take care of those who honestly and truly can not care for themselves. It goes without saying, which means, of course, that it must be said.
Those who are able-bodied and able to work, should work, for to take charity when one is fully able to do without it, is a shameful thing indeed. No job is too menial if one is truly determined to do what is right. And what is right, is to support oneself. Any honest job is a good job if one has no job at all. Some of our immigrant ancestors were doctors and lawyers and teachers back in the old country; they came here and took jobs as janitors so their children could have the benefits this country offered. And since their children learned to speak the language, their job horizons were brighter than those of their parents. It is still so, today. Educated people have more options, and this is as it should be.
I do not begrudge in the least a helping hand for people who need a temporary helping hand. I am honored to help people who need some help.
However. People who take charity when they are perfectly capable of getting off their bums and getting a job, are to be despised for the societal leeches that they truly are. For every adult who uses welfare money to buy cigarettes, beer, or pretty much any kind of luxury item for that adult, there is a little child somewhere NOT getting milk because there wasn’t any more money. The degradation of these adults is earned of their own free will, and they deserve every bit of the disgust they receive.
This country has a lot of faults, yes. Those who like to list them, one by one, on a regular basis, and yet do nothing to help fix them, are one of the faults.
There are many people living here who claim to hate this country, and who work to bring it further down. There are people living here who rejoice in the streets when bad things happen to this country. I suggest that those people leave and leave now, and live elsewhere and see if any other country would put up with their whines and violence and gleeful reactions when others get hurt.
Those who insist on living here, yet reject the education, the opportunities for supporting themselves, are not true Americans. They are parasites.
Yes, this country has many faults. I defy anyone to name any other country who would put up with some of yours, or mine.
Freedom. Independence. Education for the masses. Rights. Responsibilities.
That is what we are. Take advantage of them, if you have the guts and the brains and the heart and the decency. Ignore them if you don’t. That’s the freedom part.
Understand that the hardworking educated population is getting very tired of supporting those who choose not to work, choose not to be educated, and choose to not behave themselves properly. We are also very tired of supporting anyone who does not understand that the right to swing his fist ends where the other person’s nose begins.
And those who claim their rights had better be prepared to stand up to their responsibilities as well. You can’t have one without the other, and keep either for long.
This country has learned many lessons; slavery is gone, discrimination is legally gone, although many people still have some lessons to learn (EDUCATION! DECENT FAMILIES!). Europeans came here to an already populated country and took over, without regard for people who had lived here for hundreds of years and already had well-established civilizations. Think how you would feel if aliens landed in spaceships and took over this country, completely disregarding your prior claim to your home and demanding that you leave immediately so they might build their culture on top of yours, and labeling and treating you as some kind of violent savage if you protested and tried to defend your property.
The point is, we made, and make, mistakes. Big ones. We must use our educations to help right those wrongs, and help the nation aim for other and better goals. Learning from the past is what educated people do; dwelling on the past, not so much.
Aristotle said, “Educated men are as much superior to uneducated men, as the living are to the dead.”
Those who care only about themselves are not much good in any other circumstance. People who become accustomed to getting something for nothing become pretty much useless, too.
We must all get up, get to work, get cracking, get learning, get smarter every day. When we stop learning, they might as well bury us, as Lucy Maude Montgomery once said.
Nowhere in the world is there any other country as free as ours. Nowhere else can everybody be educated. Nowhere else can we all go where we want, when we want, wear what we want, say what we want. . . .
In some countries, even if you have the money you still can’t have some things or go some places; it’s all about social levels.
If I said we didn’t have social levels here, it would be a joke, because everybody knows that we do, even though we’re not supposed to. But here, our social levels are much about education and behavior, not who your daddy was, or wasn’t. Unless you’re a Kennedy, of course. (joke)
And after teaching at the college level for nine years, I would have a very hard time indeed believing someone who tried to tell me that they couldn’t go to college, nobody would take them. I might have believed that before, but not now, not now that I know about all the incredible opportunities available for EVERYONE.
In this country, we have equality of opportunity. Opportunity does knock, but you have to be smart enough to answer the door when it does, and to recognize it for what it is when you see it. That’s the education part.
Everybody gripes about the state of the nation. You do, I do, everybody does. There’s a lot to gripe about. But I honestly believe that there is even more to rejoice about, and be grateful about, and to appreciate.
I am proud to be an American. God bless America.
Mamacita says: I agree. When my kids were little, I used to subscribe to several parenting magazines, and few if any of my problems were ever featured anywhere in there. Maybe on the joke page, but never in an article with advice and solutions. Where were the articles about snakes and albino rats and a garden full of rotten tomatoes and little boys, and how to hang a swing on a tree when the branches are all taller than a four-story house, and how to tell a good yard sale from a bad yard sale just by reading the ad, and how a handful of chocolate chips won’t hurt your child in the long run, and how to deal with household trash when you can’t afford trash bags, and how to scrub out a child’s swimming pool without actually climbing inside, and how to make the neighbor’s cows stop breaking their fence and looking through your bedroom window and scaring the absolute living $%^&* out of you in the predawn hours before noon, and how to pack a school lunch when neither of your kids like sandwiches. . . . Etc.
It’s still that way. Magazines don’t talk to me. I’m not sure who they are talking to, but it’s somebody way richer and more normal than me.
It’s not that I don’t like magazines, whether online or paper; I like to read them. I like to read magazines about Beautiful Homes, and about Cooking. However, my own admittedly unique problems are NEVER in there. “Women’s magazines” are not written with a woman like me in mind.
For example, today I walked into the sun room and saw a slug the size and shape of a Caterpillar tractor on the air hockey table. Where did it come from? Why was it there?Nobody in the publishing world can tell me. Nobody in the house seems to know, either. The cats looked as though they knew, but they weren’t telling.
As for the Cooking magazines. . . I do like to read through them as if they were fiction, but most of those are not for the likes of me.
See, when I read an article called “Quick and Easy Summer Meals Your Whole Family Will Love, Using Ingredients You Already Have In Your Pantry,” I do NOT expect the first recipe to start out with “Sprinkle 2 tsp. of saffron and 1/4 cup freshly-squeezed lime juice over two pounds of veal, let marinate for an hour, and grill, grill, grill!”
Whose family, and whose pantry, are they talking about? I love to cook and bake and I keep a pretty good inventory of spices and herbs, but SAFFRON? Who can afford saffron?
Lemons. I have no limes, but I always have lemons. The veal I don’t have either because I have a thing about eating something newborn, but maybe I could substitute the frozen catfish that’s been in the freezer since. . . . well, for a while.
I guess I can make this dish anyway, by substituting lemon for lime, paprika for saffron, and catfish for veal. Do you think anyone will notice?
Not in this house they won’t.
I’m really a very good cook, but some of the recipes I’ve seen on Pinterest, etc, lately seem to be aimed at either complete beginners who need to be shown, via picture diagrams, how to break an egg and deposit only the inside in the bowl whilst putting the outside in the trash, or people who advocate recipes using spices that can’t be found at Kroger’s and meats found only in gourmet shoppes or hanging in the attics of mighty hunters.
But don’t mind me. I’m still flabbergasted that so many of the Girl Scouts in my troupe back in the sixties didn’t even know how to follow the directions on a box of CAKE MIX.
Flabbergasted, and more than just a little bit disgusted.
The truth is, I’d much rather read a good article about social media, electronics, business, blogging, education, market research, and baking. THOSE are meant for women like me. And if there’s something in there about TV or a promiscuous celebrity, I just skip it.
(By the way, if you haven’t already discovered “Stone Soup” by Jan Eliot, you’re missing out on a really wonderful comic strip. It’s one of my favorites.)
Mamacita says: Oh please, society, let us learn from the past, just a little bit? Because those in charge of those in charge of the education of our children are doing it all wrong. Real education has nothing to do with money, and everything to do with honor.
“Francie thought it was the most beautiful church in Brooklyn. It was made of old gray stone and had twin spires that rose cleanly into the sky, high above the tallest tenements. Inside, the high vaulted ceilings, narrow deepset stained-glass windows and elaborately carved altars made it a miniature cathedral.”
Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1943) p 390.
This is Most Holy Trinity Church in Brooklyn. Betty Smith used it in her novel and had her heroine, Francie Nolan, in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, love to look at it, and love knowing that her grandfather had carved the altar as part of his tithe. He had no money, so he donated his considerable talent. Francie’s grandfather was a horrible abusive man, but he honored his commitment to God.
Francie’s grandmother and all but two of her daughters were illiterate, but revered literacy. The grandmother did not at first understand that education was free to all in America, so her two older daughters didn’t go to school. Her two younger daughters, however, were sent to school and kept there as long as possible, until family circumstances required them to go to work. Such was life, back then. Formal education was honored above most other things, but it was also one of the first things to go when times got harder.
Two of my favorite books are A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith, and Everything But Money, by Sam Levinson. They are a great deal alike in that they are both about immigrant parents, the value of education, the great love of learning that is the source of pride to secure parents, and the sacrifices that good parents make so their children can have better lives.
Our immigrant ancestors came to this country pretty much knowing that there was no chance of them, personally, fulfilling very many of their own dreams and aspirations: all of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were for their children.
Our immigrant ancestors didn’t really move to this country for themselves; they were adults, and the time was long past for them to develop and use their talents in any official or professional capacity, especially in a new land that had customs and language that were both unfamiliar in every possible way . There were exceptions, of course, but the truth is, most of our immigrant ancestors put their own hopes and dreams and ambitions on the back burner so they could concentrate on the hopes and dreams and ambitions they held for their children.
Tenement houses were filled with mothers, grandmothers, maiden aunts, and shirttail relatives, singing in the kitchen that their children might some day sing in Carnegie Hall. Factories and stores were filled with fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and more shirttail relatives, singing at the assembly lines and behind the counters and down in the mines that their children might some day sing in synogogues and cathedrals. People with artistic talent displayed their art with beautiful pies, cakes that were a picture, carved altars in the church, rich embroidery on simple pillow slips, and tailoring that was a work of art. Ancestors who, today, might have organized businesses and found success on the stock market used their skills to make something out of nothing, that their children might have something to make something more out of when it was their turn.
Their children were being educated, and that was enough. Our ancestors looked ahead to the future; they had no time or energy or money to do much for themselves. It was all for the children, and for the future.
Parents too weary from sweatshops and never-ending domestic drudgery didn’t have much time to “play” any more. These parents loved their children far too much to stop and indulge themselves; every nap meant pennies not earned. Parents were there for discipline and meals and clothing and love that was demonstrated by the laying aside of their own desires to focus entirely on the future of their children. NOW was never as important as TOMORROW. This forced their children to be inventive, creative, organized, resourceful, problem-solving, appreciative of things that today’s kids throw away, and hungry enough every night to eat whatever Mother put on the table. A child who asked for something else would have been laughed at.
Adults gave each other blessings that relied on the behavior of the children. “May your children bring you happiness,” “May your children make you proud,” “May your find joy in your children,” etc. Children who misbehaved in school or in public or right there in the house brought shame to their parents and disgrace to the family name. His siblings recoiled from a misbehaving kid, and his mother cried. Families used “shame” to help shape a character that knew what it meant and therefore stayed as far away from it as possible.
Adults have changed. A large percentage of adults put their own desires and urges and feelings and wants before the needs and wants of their children. Kids today don’t care if they bring shame and disgrace to their parents. It’s never their fault anyway; it’s that heartless teacher who doesn’t understand Buddy or Muffy and doesn’t appreciate the cute way he stomps his foot when he’s mad or the adorable way she twists and chews her hair when she’s deciding who to invite to her latest party. Adults get home from work far earlier (usually) than their great-grandparents did, yet adults today are too tired to go to PTA meetings or choir concerts or spelling bees, things their ancestors viewed with such honor (they were not available to peasants in the old country) that they wept and trembled with emotion as they bathed and put on their best clothing in order to show respect to the school and the teacher, and to watch their children represent the family in a scholarly event. (Surprisingly, many adults are not too tired to go to an athletic event.)
Many immigrants came here in the first place so their children could take advantage of the free public education. Illiterate parents pointed with pride to the row of schoolbooks on the kitchen shelf, and boasted that their children could READ THEM! They weren’t worried about new ideas; they encouraged the learning of new things. They did not worry that the new ideas would usurp the old ideas; they just honored all learning and assumed their kids were wise enough to blend the old and the new together and come out with a new “new.” Sam Levinson writes most eloquently and beautifully about his father’s pride in his many sons’ books and accomplishments, even those the old man knew nothing about and knew he never would.
A poorly behaved child brought great sadness and shame to his parents; usually, the sight of his father and mother’s grief, brought on by the child’s poor choices, was enough to straighten the kid out. If not, our ancestors weren’t afraid to use other means to demonstrate to a child that certain behaviors brought certain consequences. Shockingly, this didn’t result in a child quivering with sadness and with no ego or esteem left in his system; it usually resulted in a child who knew better than to try THAT again, by golly.
Modern parents are often so worried about causing their children emotional pain that they ignore or neglect all kinds of opportunities to demonstrate to their children that nice people are a lot more welcome in society than people who feel they have a right to do their own thing regardless of where they are or what the mean old rules might be. A child who is taught in no uncertain terms that one sits quietly at the table, be it at home or elsewhere, eats whatever might be on his plate – or at least tries to eat it – without complaining, and who knows, because he was taught, that one does not get up from the table without permission, and that “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me” really are magic words. . . well, let us be euphemistic, even though I loathe euphemisms, and just say that nice people of all ages are more welcome and appreciated than are people whose manners and whose tolerance for poor manners need some adjustment. Think of the mall. Think of restaurants.
Our ancestors would be appalled at some of the attitudes and behaviors of their descendants. I know I am.
In many households, the kids are running the show, and the parental helicopter is hovering even over universities and workplaces, lest some “right” is denied and a kid’s self esteem is dealt a blow, deserved or not.
Self esteem. You really don’t want to get me started.
P.S. Self esteem must be EARNED. It’s not a given. Nobody has a RIGHT to it. We’re not born with it. It can’t be presented as a gift. And kids know the difference even if some adults don’t. We have to deserve it. Otherwise, it’s all just a big joke, and the joke’s on the adults.
P.P.S. I guess I got started on it.
Mamacita says: First of all, I haven’t had anything to eat since 10 p.m. last night, and as I type this, it’s almost 6 p.m. I had to go into the hospital lab today for a fasting blood test. It was an interesting experience.
Excuse me while I go get a sandwich.
Where was I? Oh, yes, at the hospital vampire lab.
While I was signing in and promising them ALL of my blood so they could test a little of it, I heard a commotion from one of the little rooms. “Someone is scared,” I said.
No. Someone was autistic, and the social worker, nurses, and techs had been in there with him for several hours trying to persuade him to let them draw a little blood. This was the fourth day of it.
“I want ice cream. McDonald’s ice cream!” the young teen kept insisting. “After you let us draw your blood, you can have McDonald’s ice cream,” he was promised by everyone in the room.
Still, he could get no further than close enough to touch the chair.
I asked the nurse checking me in if this boy had ever seen blood drawn at all. She didn’t think so. I asked her if it might help if he saw my blood drawn. She went and asked the group in the room, and I was invited in.
Fortunately – because I am not an easy lay draw, this time it went smoothly and easily. I said “Why, this doesn’t hurt. I can’t even feel it!” and “This is just a rubber band! Just a rubber band!” and the boy would call me on it whenever he could, reaching out and feeling the wide rubber band and testing the “bounce” of my vein. I said “I get ice cream after this is done!” and he repeated that several times. “Is it over already? I didn’t feel anything! It didn’t hurt a bit! Now I get ice cream!” It was kind of odd to have a crowd of perfect strangers clustered around me as I sat in the chair with a needle in my arm, but who cares?
People educate each other in all kinds of ways, and more often than not it’s those unexpected, unplanned ways that are the most effective.
I was wearing a Spangler Science shirt, and the social worker said he’d seen Steve on “Ellen” and asked me all about the products and experiments, and if they worked for autistic people.
Yes, indeed, I told him. Science isn’t just for geniuses whose brains work “normally,” whatever that might be. Science is for everybody – all ages and levels and personalities, and it connects with every other aspect of curriculum and philosophy and hobby and life. I told him he might start by sharing a story about people eating bread and butter, and then making butter. All science ain’t rocket science.
When I left, the boy had advanced as far as the chair, which was a first, but it was doubtful they’d draw any blood today. Then again, the day isn’t over yet. He was still demanding McDonald’s ice cream, but I hope they didn’t give him any if he didn’t let them draw his blood. Autistic kids can manipulate, too. They’re not stupid.
I gave the social worker the Spot Dot I always carry in my purse – it’s good for so many things: reading, drawing attention to something, rewards, gaining a child’s confidence, magic, whimsy. . . . and yes, I do consider magic and whimsy to be right up there with reading.
The boy and his “crew” will be back tomorrow to try again. Maybe they’re a step closer, and maybe they’re not. Who knows? A kid is a kid, and autism has nothing to do with THAT.
Now I want ice cream. And I’d go out and get some, too, except for three minor details: I’m fat; I’m diabetic; and I’m broke.
If not for those things, I’d be in line at the Pokey Treat Jiffy Treat RIGHT NOW.
Darn minor details.
P.S. You’ll get there, kid. I liked your face. However, the ice cream is only for AFTER you let them draw your blood. A deal is a deal.
Mamacita says: This is Moxy Fruvous, one of my favorite bands. They’ve been on hiatus for several years, no doubt the day after they discovered that I liked them. I have that effect on bands. And restaurants. I don’t expect them to get back together any time soon, as they’ve all gone on to other things; besides, them rebanding would make me happy and we can’t have that, can we. I still love them, though. They had a beautiful sound.
Go on and click the link:
We got a call to write a song about the war in the Gulf
But we shouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings
So we tried, then gave up, ’cause there was no such song
But the trying was very revealing. . . .
What makes a person so poisonous righteous
That they’d think less of anyone who just disagreed?
She’s just a pacifist, he’s just a patriot
If I said you were crazy, would you have to fight me?
Fighters for liberty, fighters for power
Fighters for longer turns in the shower
Don’t tell me I can’t fight, ’cause I’ll punch out your lights
And history seems to agree that I would fight you for me
So we read and we watched all the specially selected news
And we learned so much more ’bout the good guys
Won’t you stand by the flag? Was the question unasked
Won’t you join in and fight with the allies?
What could we say…we’re only 25 years old?
With 25 sweet summers, and hot fires in the cold
This kind of life makes that violence unthinkable
We’d like to play hockey, have kids and grow old
Fighters for Texaco, fighters for power
Fighters for longer turns in the shower
Don’t tell me I can’t fight ’cause I’ll punch out your lights
And history seems to agree that I would fight you for me
That us would fight them for we
He’s just a peacenik and she’s just a warhawk
That’s where the beach was, that’s where the sea
What could we say…we’re only 25 years old?
And history seems to agree
that I would fight you for me
That us would fight them for we
Is that how it always will be?
——–Moxy Fruvous
Learn this by heart. Do it. All four parts. (Please.) You know you want to, and I know you can. A Cappella is a kind of magic.
*from Pete’s Dragon