You can't live with it.
You can't live without it.
But if you've ever been poor, it's sure as hell a lot easier to live with it. But maybe that's because I've never had quite enough to experience the problems of having too much.
For some of y'all this post may piss you off. For some it may be a solid, "Been there, done that." Others? You may laugh and say you've dealt with worse. And you probably have. This is just my story.
Background: WASP right wing conservative family. We're talking Tea Party conservatives. I volunteered for whatever Republican was on the local/state/national ticket in high school. One thing I was taught over and over and over again was that WELFARE WAS WRONG.
"Hard work pays!"
"Just keep working hard, and that's all you need to get ahead!"
"Hard work equals success!"
You know what hard work pays in the majority of the country?
It pays shit.
And life? Life is expensive.
There are 45968734 blogs showing you how to live on a penny. I know, I've read them. There are 5693749 blogs about how to find a better job. I know, I've read them. And there is NOTHING wrong with them. I follow some religiously for great ideas.
But guess what? I still found myself broke, with a baby to feed and after applying for hundreds of jobs that I thought I deserved, realized, there were 45391892 people that thought the same thing...and they all applied for those jobs too.
I'll never forget my first trip to the public aid office. I cried. I was absolutely terrified. I had my baby with me because I didn't have a family member available to babysit, and well duh, couldn't afford one,...public aid line people. So I sat and waited...and waited...and waited. I waited with a crying infant. I waited surrounded by other people with crying infants. I waited with people who were changing babies diapers on their laps because they were terrified of walking away to a bathroom and missing their name being called. I waited with sick people who can't exactly call in sick to get food stamps. I looked around and realized I waited with people JUST LIKE ME. Just like me.
I qualified for assistance with daycare which enabled me to work at a restaurant. I made
$3.00 an hour. Yes, you read that right. In case you were unaware, servers and bartenders do not make minimum wage. They have a lower wage because they are expected to make tips. The tips? Yeah, not everyone tips. Even fewer tip well. I'm looking at you hoards of church people going out to lunch. You were the worst ones. You left me church pamphlets when I could have really used $5 dollars since I SPENT GAS MONEY GOING TO CHURCH LAST WEEK. Then those tips that are left? They are taxed out of my $3.00 an hour, meaning no paycheck. There were days when I made $5.00. There were days when I made $150. But those were a lot fewer than the others.
I qualified for food stamps. I remember shaking as I used the card for the first time. I remember avoiding the eyes of the man standing behind me in case he was staring in disgust at how his tax dollars were going towards my Honey Nut Cheerios. I remember The people waiting behind me while I had to do multiple WIC transactions for my baby formula. I remember the loud sighs, the actual tapping of feet, the people telling others, "You may as well go to an other lane this is taking forever!"
I qualified for medical care. When my daughter was losing weight as an infant and throwing up all the formula I had just struggled to buy, I remember the nights at the hospital. I remember calling around and looking for a specialist that would take Medicaid. But once I did? Relief. Such relief that I wanted to bake muffins for that office, that doctor, those nurses. Relief that I didn't have to pay hundreds of dollars for every visit for my baby.
But there is one thing that I qualified for that isn't on the chopping block of any election.
I qualified for compassion.
I started looking at things just a little differently. I started smiling at the moms in line using their cards, or offering to helping them load their groceries while they balanced their crying babies. I started realizing that no, there is no perfect system, but until then there are imperfect systems full of people. PEOPLE. Not statistics. PEOPLE. Their stories? They are probably way more tragic than mine. I love my life. Seriously. I do. It's crazy and stressful, but full of love and laughter and I wouldn't take back a day. I ESPECIALLY wouldn't take back that first day I spent in the public aid line. Compassion is something that can't be purchased for any price.
This is what welfare looks like.
No comments:
Post a Comment