A Cross Section of America - Views from a Neighborhood

At the intersection of two streets, two cars collide, not violently by any means, but with enough force to cause damage to both vehicles. One, an older model with numerous dents and, based on their color, expired tags, failed to yield to a larger car. Doors fling open and the young, unkempt driver of the car who failed to yield, starts yelling at the other driver, cursing him that it was HIS fault with a onslaught of profanity that would make a sailor blush. The driver with the right of way was in his early 60's, I'd say, with a ball cap with the name of a military unit on it. He stands calmly and firmly, enduring the abuse until the police show up to sort things out. I admire his calm, but I doubt it's the first time that outrage was directed at him by someone for simply doing what he was expected and charged with doing.

Cars stop behind me as we wait for the police to arrive, or adequate space to move through the area. Between my truck and those two dented vehicles, one car that looks like it hadn't been washed in a year. The young lady in it opens her window and starts throwing several days worth of empty bags of fast food out the window into the street, the large "O" on her election bumper sticker nothing more than a big blind eye to the litter she was leaving for others to clean up.

Behind me a soccer Mom van, the windows darkened by shadows. The window is down enough I can hear "Bark!". . ."Bark Bark" "Down Boy!!" She's either got Fido in there or is listening to Shades of Grey on books on tape.

She passes, to get into the left turn lane and I see a bunch of small heads, the kids waving at me (or more likely Barkley riding in the back). Not soccer, Scouts. I see the neat haircuts and the little uniforms as they slowly and carefully pass the accident scene and I simply smile. I remember scouting, the leanings of self reliance, good citizenship, respect, I thank God there are still those that instill that in our children by organization or simply example at home.

My route takes me around the central part of the city, not a really bad part, but one I wouldn't want to break down in, as I head to a friends on the other side of the city.  On a corner stands a young woman, makeup applied with a trowel, shivering in a short, thin jacket, which barely covers cheap tight clothes, her thighs straining what little fabric is there. The fabric is bright pink and written across her ample backside, in shiny rhinestones no less, is the word "LOVE" in BIG glittering letters. I guess I'm reading the wrong fashion magazines, my pants are khaki and just have pockets for a money clip and a spare magazine.

She's not waiting for a bus, but given the cold damp air, no one is stopping for her. Working girl. As I wait for yet another light to change, a man stops his car by her and rolls the window down. A customer or someone asking for directions? Neither. The car looked like one of those brightly colored futuristic 150 mph tropical fish shaped cars we saw at Tomorrowland at Disneyland in 1966. I was too young to remember most of that trip, but I remember those shiny cars. I could not help but notice his bumper was competing for hers for bling.

No, this was her. . um. . "employer", I'd wager. The expression on their faces is obvious, hers, the high flush of shame, his, one of ownership and anger. I whisper, please don't get in the car. She doesn't; she shouts something at him and walks away to share the love more enthusiastically elsewhere perhaps. There are always those who prey on the weak, offering up what appears to be shelter and sustenance, not for any altruistic means but simply to take from them what is needed to retain control.

A few more miles westbound, heading out towards the airport, traffic  is slowing. At a intersection with an island between lanes,  there's a young man holding a sign homeless, hungry, please help, god bless. I notice $100+ tennis shoes, a newer high end label coat, clean fingernails and hair, the only mark of his "homelessness" being a days worth of beard.

A few blocks away there are numerous warehouse type businesses, Indy being a huge shipping center for the country.  There are many of them with "help wanted" signs posted by the roadways, hiring for the Christmas season  and beyond at fair more than minimum wage. I've seen people leaving those places when the 3 o'clock shift gets out, some on bicycles, even in the cold, some walking even, toting a lunch pail, the nearest area of housing or bus stop a couple of miles away. People wanting to work, and work hard even if it means a long trek in the dark in the cold air. I looked that kid right in the eye, keep the window rolled up and start moving away.

On the other corner from the young man with the sign, competing with a bigger sign, is a woman. Hers is a face void of expectations, sunken in, no meat on her bones, bad teeth and the pock marks of a bad meth habit all over her face. She leans against the stop sign, a rag doll held up simply by need and addiction. The sign is just leaning against the pole, unreadable to me. She could be 23 or 63. If I give her something it will not buy food or care, only her next fix. I still drive on, but this time, not easily.

I see a lot more used cars on the road, now, the car dealerships full of bright shiny new cars for folks that aren't going to buy one, bailouts or not, unable, or like me, unwilling to take on any debt when the future is uncertain.  I see a lot of older cars. I don't see a single Chevy Volt.  I look down at the dash.  The bat truck has 80,000 miles on it.  Five years ago, I'd have  just gone out and bought a new one without a second thought. Not any more, even if my income allows for such things. More and more of us are learning to re-use, repair and replace things ourselves and make do. But not everyone. 

A  much older acquaintance asked me if he should cash in some of his retirement to help out a family member. Both the family member and their spouse had enjoyed quite high incomes for their age, for years. But they loved to spend, the newest and best of everything, upscale neighborhood, new cars, vacations, whatever caught their eye for themselves and their only child.  Ignoring the word "budget", the money went out as fast as it came in. When it wasn't enough to pay for the bills for the lifestyle they wanted, they took out a second mortgage on the home. Then, the highest earner of the two, lost their job of 15+ years. After many years of well above average income and good health, there is no savings, no equity in the house, no credit left on the cards.

I told him do NOT give them money. There comes a point when NO ONE should be bailed out simply because they were fiscally irresponsible and that goes for family, friends, cities and States. If they don't send you a Christmas card next year, or they don't vote for you next time, so be it.

I stop at a big box mart type store, to get a particular type of contact lens solution the drugstore was out of that the eye doc said big box mart stocks.  I do not shop there if at all possible, the savings I get being passed on to me in the form of higher taxes to pay for the food stamps for the great number of their employees who don't get enough hours or pay to live without them. I'm not "saving" on my purchase, I'm simply paying for it elsewhere. Smoke and Mirrors.

But sometimes I have no choice but to run into one and grab something I need quickly.  I do notice though, that such stores are often full of people quite happy to have a handout from the government, one of them wandering the aisles in size 24 shorts and a big furry hat made out of what appeared to be Naugahyde and roadkill, her obese pre-teens in tow, peeling the plastic from slices of processed cheese not yet paid for yet and shoving the slices in their mouths whole, as they wander the aisles. Just let me get my one thing and get out of here Lord, and please, if the ancient Celts were right and I die and come back to earth in another form after death, please not let it be at Walmart (would that be reintarnation?)

In line with my one item,  the person in front of me, an older man, neatly dressed and groomed, likely living in the modest apartments behind here, buying just a few things, paying with some single folded dollars bills, carefully counted out. His shoulders are straight. This is a person who has probably never taken a handout but for the Social Security he paid into his whole life. He's not buying chips and soda and frozen meals. There's dried grain and beans and some apples, carrots and a couple of onions, powdered milk, no good coffee, just cheap tea and a small inexpensive chuck roast, food he will likely stretch as long as is possible. His hands show decades of hard work, his frame is thin, his stance is proud, even if all it can bear now is a hard and spartan heritage.

This community, thank God, still has more people willing to work, than to take and seeing him lifted my spirits after my walk through the store. He accidentally drops some coins as he gets something from his pocket, leans over and picks them up, takes his things and walks towards the parking lot. As we leave, I say. "Sir, I think you dropped this too?" He looks, up at me, smiles, but is puzzled. I press a few coins and a neatly folded up $50 bill in his hand and rush off before he can stop me.

I've got a few more miles to travel before getting to my friends house. I pass the giant food pantry distribution place. I used to volunteer there. Then they cut off food distribution to a small food kitchen down south because they'd ask people receiving a meal if they would like to join with others in prayer. They didn't have to pray, the meal came with a smile either way, they were simply invited to join in if they wished. There was no requirement for prayer to be offered food. But because prayer was involved, they were cut off from help. They have a right perhaps. I have a right, as well, to not further provide free labor for them.

I am enjoying the Christmas lights  that are up as I drive towards the center of this picturesque little town. The town square will likely have no Nativity scene, just Santa and elves, now that the nation has accumulatively and systematically proceeded to remove God from the tapestry of America, unobstructed by the persuasive power of His Word or His Church. On Christmas as a child, I said a prayer to God of thanks, lit a candle for the baby Jesus, and after church, both evening and morning service, enjoyed a few presents for which I was both thankful and blessed. Now Christmas is all Santa and Reindeer and "what will you give me" rather than stopping for a moment to thank the One that gave all.

Cutting through a small town I notice strip after strip mall, all closed up, shuttered. An open area, blocks long that was supposed to be the mall, before that idea shuttered. I stop for lunch at a small family owned place. It is spotlessly clean, and I am greeted warmly, though a stranger, and enjoy an excellent meal. I hope they are still here next time I drive through, rather than join the growing number of small business who will fail as they will never be in the position to donate to campaigns, hire lobbyists, and get special exemptions for themselves carved out the laws and regulations governing health care and labor that apply to everyone else.

These are all scenes one will never see on TV, on a reality show. on the news. This is simply a slice of a single day in Midwest America as viewed from these eyes. This is America, not Europe, as much as some people want to make it like Europe. Here the land is vast and open, spurning confinement, unlike most of the small countries in Europe where you can't swing a cat without accidentally whacking a Border Guard. Its a land of wide opportunities, where you should be able to succeed without paying socialist tax rates bigger than Original Sin. It's America. Not Europe. My ancestors (but for the Cree one) immigrated here for a reason. Our ideas were revolutionary, our people strong. You succeeded and failed by your own initiative. Besides if you are law abiding and want a new firearm you just go to the store and pick one out.

It's America, My parents America and mine. It's people struggling, people hoping, people succeeding, people failing. People still dreaming of what it once was, and by precept, what it still can be. A democracy, an undefeated democracy, not undefeated because it was never challenged, but undefeated because it was bravely and firmly protected, shielded in its impeccant frailty, but democracy growing.

As I turn down the remaining highway that will take me to my destination, there's a gun store, doing brisk business. They usually do during hunting season, but it's noticeably busier now. It sits in a small strip mall it shares with a small beauty salon and tanning place. I was going to stop, but spent the money I was going to get a box of ammo with on something more worthwhile. Another day, perhaps, as I stick to my budget, even when I don't want to. But I notice the customers of the completely divergent businesses intermingling politely in the parking lot as some big, bearded guy in a  truck gives up his intended parking spot to some one's grandma come to get a new "do".

Small town American, shades of red white and blue. . . and black and white. Not black and white as in skin color by by the way we think. Entitlement, handouts from above and the freedom from want versus self reliance, sacrifice, and the freedom to fail. Both sides may equally support and defend our Country but both differ greatly in what they expect back in return from its government.

As I drive, I see signs that there are many that believe as I do, hard work, responsibility, helping neighbors who WILL help themselves. I am proud to be their neighbor. But as I travel through this city, into the small towns that circle it like stars, the signs of our economic overindulgence and the culture of entitlement are everywhere – in small things many would drive by without noticing, in others that most simply prefer to turn a blind eye to. We sit as the media tells lie after lie about the true state of affairs; more lies than they ever imagined they could say and more so than any reasonable person should believe, but they do believe, accepting the state of affairs with that spellbound stare of the lab rat, happy because he was handed a piece of cheese. But it's an experiment that will have dire results. We only have to look at other countries who have taken the road this country is turning down to see what our future holds.

It is that future that makes me very glad that I still remember how to pray.

-Brigid