Aloha GOP,
References to death are not intended to be morbid or bleak, or a call for help before taking a flying leap off the Pali. Rather it is to accurately articulate the depths of despair associated with not having a meaningful livelihood over an unbearably long period of time. Without a reliable paycheck, living through the events of a single day is like an unending roller coaster ride, but without the thrills.
In truth, for the most part, my life can be viewed as exceptional. It is! My son is highly talented, smart, morally sound, and handsome beyond measure; my health is excellent; I share an unbreakable bond with each member of my family; I keep company with extraordinary friends; both my parents are still living and have been incredibly positive influences in my life.
The only setback in my present life is not finding work, but the resultant impact has far reaching consequences which are not limited to the mere absence of a paycheck. Aside from the stress of not being able to meet incidental or essential needs, the emotional toll is intense.
As a parent, particularly as a single mother, I expect to make certain sacrifices for my son’s benefit and well-being. But the heartache of knowing my son makes sacrifices to ease my burden is indescribable. Despite my best efforts to pretend we are “not poor” by occasionally taking in a movie, or splurging on saimin and chili fries at Zippy’s, my son knows that our future is uncertain.
Since he was five, my son has not experienced a single day without concerns about having enough money. He is a stalwart soldier in this regard and, unlike me, is without complaint. He will be fifteen on his next birthday and still kisses me goodbye every day before leaving for school.
Naturally, my guilt is infinite. So much so that acknowledging its magnitude overwhelms me with unimaginable sadness. Not only because he can’t enjoy the heedless freedom of doing what he wants when he wants, or provided with everything he needs and deserves. But because I did, and I had it in abundance - and my son doesn’t even know it.
I never had the heart to tell him that, at his age, I had already been to Disneyland too many times to count; though I attended a school that required us to wear uniforms, I had an obscene wardrobe from Liberty House; I was unfairly rewarded with a new, shiny, red Mustang upon graduation; our whole family vacationed in New Zealand; the “after graduation party” was at my house; our family frequently dined at Honolulu’s best restaurants; and, I even had orthodontic braces I didn’t really need. We weren’t wealthy. We were upper middle-class.
Though I dutifully and most lovingly appreciate my parents’ efforts, there is no fondness in this recount of my former life. My parental sensibilities make it ‘ok’ that I cannot buy my son everything he wants. But, the inability to provide him with the stability and security that I unknowingly depended on when I was his age is a crushing blow.
I attended one school from Kindergarten to high school graduation and lived in two houses on the same block. My son is in the ninth grade and has already attended six different schools and lived in nine different places. Until now, I never thought that simply being stable and secure was also to be free.
The absurd irony is that my son is far more appreciative of the little we now have in comparison to my reckless regard for being able to live and play in Kahala. He actually thanks me for every meal I prepare for him, and even thanks me when I wash the dishes. Frequently, I ask myself, “Who is this guy and what has he done with my son?”
Some may say that I should be thankful for this magnanimous quality my son has acquired.
I am, Mother Fuckers! But he needs orthodontic braces!
