8-19-08 - Teenage Poverty

Author - Unknown

Teen Poverty in America We just spent several hours observing teenagers hanging out at our local mall. We came to the conclusion many teenagers in America today are living in poverty. Most young men We observed didn't even own a belt; there was not one among the whole group. But that wasn't the sad part. Many were wearing their daddy's jeans. Some jeans were so big and baggy they hung low on their hips, exposing their underwear. I know some must have been ashamed their daddy was short, because his jeans hardly went below their knees. They weren't even their daddies' good jeans, for most had holes ripped in the knees and a dirty look to them. It grieved us, in a modern, affluent society like America, there are those who can't afford a decent pair of jeans. I was thinking about asking my church to start a jeans drive for "poor kids at the mall." Then on Christmas Eve, we could go Christmas caroling and distribute jeans to these poor teenagers. But here is the saddest part...it was the girls they were hanging out with that disturbed us most. Never, in all of our lives, have we seen such poverty-stricken girls. These girls had the opposite problem of the guys. They all had to wear their little sister's clothes. Their jeans were about 5 sizes too small! I don't know how they could get them on, let alone button them up. Their jeans barely went over their hipbones. Most also had on their little sister's top; it hardly covered their midsections. Oh, they were trying to hold their heads up with pride, but it was a sad sight to see these almost grown women wearing children's clothes. However, it was their underwear that bothered us most. They, like the boys, because of the improper fitting of their clothes, they had their underwear exposed. We had never seen anything like it. It looked like their underwear was only held together by a single piece of string. We know it saddens your heart to receive this report on condition of our American teenagers. While we go to bed every night with a closets full of clothes nearby, there are millions of "mall girls" who barely have enough material to keep it together. We think their "poorness" is why these 2 groups gather at the mall; boys with their short daddies' ripped jeans, and girls wearing their younger sisters' clothes. The mall is one place where they can find acceptance. So, next time you are at the mall, doing your shopping , and you pass by some of these poor teenagers, would you say a prayer for them? And one more thing . Will you pray the guys' pants won't fall down, and the girls' strings won't break? We thank you all, Two Concerned Grandmothers

8-11-08 - Time Wasters

I’ve often heard that idle hands are the devil’s workshop, but I must admit having a few days off between summer school and the beginning of the fall session has been nice.  I fell into my normal routine of staying up too late (2:00 am) and sleeping too late (10:00 am) then to get up, enjoy a cup of coffee and a Sudoku puzzle… lest my brain go to mush and I end up spending my elder years in a nursing home drooling on myself.  I managed to finish my puzzle, got another cup of coffee and thought to myself… “Now What?"

 

Around my house “Now Whats?” usually end up in some mindless online card game of solitaire or canasta.  I call these “life wasters.” In the time I waste in this nonsense surely I could be volunteering in a soup kitchen, scrubbing the baseboards or campaigning for McCain (I just had to say it Marcia and Brian!) But instead, I enjoyed my second cup of coffee with a game of “Thousand Island Solitaire.” (Trademark Pogo.com)  Instead of a nice array of Kings, Queens, and Jacks, the player is given three ships to move from one port to another by playing card with number values (25, 50, 75, etc.) The only twist is, intermingled are cards that block your progression to the next port such as, the “rip in your sail” card, the “boat has a leak” card, the “storm” card, or my personal favorite, “your crew has scurvy” card.   Until you draw a card to take care of whatever little dilemma fate throws you, you can’t move your ship.

 

I was thinking, how funny this game is so much like real life.  We are coasting through calm waters, just picked up a nice bounty from our last port, when suddenly we get a hole in the bottom of our ship.  We sit there watching our little boat fill with water, scratching our heads wondering what our next move will hold, when suddenly we are thrown a life preserver.  It is during these times I rely on my Faith to pull me through.  Unfortunately everyday I come into contact with folks who are bobbing up and down hoping the sharks just feasted on the last sucker to happen to draw the wrong card.  The older I get, I realize just how many sharks there are circling around the poor victims who are struggling to stay afloat.

 

As a society, too may times we bump right into these folks, but wait for the “Good Samaritan” to stop and do the work for us.   I mean after all, remember the famous Malthusian remark of Ebenezer Scrooge “Are there no prisons, are there no work houses?”  This proclamation seems to be our society’s new anthem.   Well, we may not come right out and say it, but how many of us actually turn our heads away from the folks begging on the highway ramps.  Hey, I have said it myself, “He’s probably some con man and if I gave him money he would probably spend it all on booze anyway.”   “Well, he just needs to go to a shelter.” I have never really stopped to ponder if anyone has given the poor soul a gift card to the local grocery store.  Like many,  I have caught myself defining anyone as the Good Samaritan, but myself.  Frequently on the road, as I pass folks broken down I say this prayer, “Lord, please send them someone to help them.”  Now I am not advocating that single women stop on the freeway to get mugged and beaten, but how often do we echo this sentiment in everyday life… “Lord, send someone else.”

 

When I think about all the time I have wasted playing games online instead of helping my fellow man, it sickens me.  My prayer for today is that we teach our children that we ALL (individuals, companies, schools, churches) need a heart of compassion, and begin working together as a society help those around us who have simply drawn the wrong card… lest we all end up with “Rips in our Sails.”

 

 

 

7-31-08 - The Daddy Dance

Summer School had finally ended… I put the last piece of tape on the California High School Exit Exam boxes to be shipped back for scoring with a big smile on my face that resonated from a job well done.  After much work, a great team and lots of prayer the summer session had gone smoothly.  All left to do was to have a few “days” of fun before the regular school year begins.  About a month ago I decided I wanted to spend these precious days was with my parents.  My parents live in rural southern Arkansas and the since I have moved to California the time I get to actually spend with them is scarce. 

 

I knew getting them here would be a challenge.  Both of them have been quite comfortable being big fish in their little pond.  My Dad’s family has lived in the same area for generations where my uncle is now County Judge.  All of my family lives in Arkansas and I was the only nutcase that left!  My Uncle Clayton even announced to the congregation of Bethel Baptist Church one Sunday that I had left Heaven (Arkansas) for Purgatory (Texas) and ended up in Hell (California)!!  After all, everyone knows that God turned the world on the side and all the “fruits and nuts” fell to California!  And… besides it’s gonna fall off in the ocean anyway! 

 

It has always been an anomaly to me why folks in their golden years return to the place of the birth, but in some cases people don’t seem leave in the first place! I have pondered my own plight, wondering if I too will return to my roots, however the gentle reminder of suffocating humidity and bugs the size of tanks hasn’t lured my attention yet.  Anyhoo, I understood the only way to convince the two most stubborn folks in Arkansas to get on that plane is to send them non-refundable tickets!  (So, I get the stubborn part honestly!) I know I am tricky, but better this than turn into Little Orphan Pammie!

 

This was only their second flight, and such a delightful daughter chose to fly them out of DFW International Airport!  What was I thinking??  I have often heard that as your parents age that you change roles with them… I felt like I had just dropped two little kids in one of the largest airports in North America!!!  Of course it didn’t help when I kept getting flight notices that the airport had changed their gates… FOUR TIMES!!!  I could only imagine them ending up on the wrong flight to Kalamazoo!  Luckily Mom had taken their cell phone… but taking it, and hearing it are two entirely different things!!  After multiple attempts to get them… did I mention she doesn’t know how to check her voicemail, she informed me that they saw the changes on the “little TV screens.”  Panic averted!  I thought… ok now I can relax.  Until, the last notice came in that the flight had beendelayed.  Oh Great!  I could only imagine my sassy little mother demanding to see the pilot lest anything be wrong with the plane.  I just knew they would kick them off the flight, or worse yet ban them from ever getting on another plane.  Now I would NEVER get them back to California!

 

When I arrived at Burbank, I stopped by a coffee shop hoping that a nice “espresso” latte would calm my nerves.  I looked at the clock, breathed deeply and thought… Lord, please let them get off that plane.  The fifteen minutes felt like hours, but finally they came around the corner.   Mom had a big smile on her face, Daddy looked like he had just gotten a prostrate exam… either way, they were finally on the west coast!  Now realizing that I had not “ordered” them an in-flight meal, I put them in the car and took them out for a nice meal.  While trying to explain to Dad why they put avocados on his burger I gave him a sheepish grin and handed him a “Daddy Do” list.  I learned this trick from my cousin, Amanda who routinely finds little projects for my Uncle Clayton. Afterall, I was deprived of having the wisdom of my father in dealing with all those little household projects that make me absolutely crazy.   I thought I was being funny, but I had no idea what I had just done!

 

Now if you were blessed to grow up with your father, you understand the concept of the Daddy Dancing!    While mothers are in labor screaming their lungs out in pain, fathers are snuck into a side room and taught the Daddy Dance.  I know this because they all do it!  You know, when the family is about to go somewhere and Dad is pacing back and forth rushing everyone out the door!   Or you go to your friends house to play and he starts saying “It’s about time to go” a half hour before you actually get in the car!  This is what I refer to as the Daddy Dance.   Personally, I enjoyed getting everything together, then proclaiming “Oh, I better go to the restroom before we leave,” it always sent him into orbit! 

 

I tucked them in about 9:00 pm… with the time difference and all the day's excitement they were both pooped.  Unfortunately the good queen-sized high-rise Aerobed had a flat and I had to put Daddy on a smaller version and Mom on the trundle bed.  I was able to finally wind down (and get all the espresso out of my system) about midnight.  When I awoke I found Daddy (who had been up for hours) buzzing around checking on things for his “Daddy Do List”  I had listed minor things I thought, like tightening this or showing me how to do that, but before I could get a full cup of coffee down me… “Where is the screwdriver?”  “I mean the flathead one… where is that drill I bought you?”  “You mean you don’t have any bits in it?”  The Daddy Dance had officially begun… and I wasn’t even awake yet!  It took him less than two hours to finish EVERYTHING on the list.”  I mentioned I wanted him to show me how to lay pavers on the side of the yard.  Next thing I know we were at Lowes buying pavers… when I mentioned how much I had paid for about a yard of concrete he was a man on a mission!

 

Now lest you report me for parental abuse…  I tried MANY times to make him stop to do some sight seeing or a nice drive down PCH, but NO, he wanted to get those pavers done so I wouldn’t have to use the pick axe or even worse pay those prices to get it done.  But dusk came and he had finished about half of the walkway.  I was thrilled… they were simply beautiful! 

 

Now I was tired… I did more work moving pavers and playing gopher than I had done in weeks.  I fell into a deep sleep UNTIL… BANG, BANG, BANG, on the bedroom door.  I yelled “NO!!” thinking it was the Shih Tzus… it wasn’t, the Daddy Dance had started for another day!  It was now 8:00 am and he was up and had already stripped out all the pavers that he laid the day before… because “they didn’t look right” and he had redone them.  He wanted me to look at them to “see if they suited me.”  Heck it was 8:00 a.m. I don’t even know what planet I’m own until 10:00!  Of course they were incredible… I made another run to Lowes for more pavers and we worked ALL DAY long despite my pleas for some site seeing.   He finished the project the same day and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. 

 

The only problem is I could only persuade them to stay three days and they had not experienced all the Golden State had to offer.  I helped them with their boarding passes then put them in the line for the metal detector.  I walked out the airport wearing sunglasses to conceal the tears in my eyes.  How did I manage to fly them to California yet let them work the entire time?  I didn’t realize how much I missed them until they were gone.  It took me three days before I could bear to deflate that stupid Aerobed… it is now in the box, but now I have this beautiful pathway and grapevine arch that will provide precious memories of Daddy Dances for a very long time.