Aloha GOP,

“30 more days.” Each month upon paying our rent, that’s what I say to myself, “30 more days.” Beyond that, the 31^st day is uncertain.  So let’s get straight to the point since I may not have the luxury of sitting in my apartment, at my computer, with an internet connection in 30 days. 

With all the “sudden interest” in the un- and/or underemployed, I’m reminded of an interview I happened to catch on TV several years ago.  It was The Larry King Show and his featured guest that particular day was Bill Cosby.  After some polite banter, Mr. King asked Mr. Cosby the question that every white entertainment host asks every successful black celebrity, “What was it like being a poor black kid?”  I’m paraphrasing, but we all know that white celebrities are never asked the same question. 

Mr. Cosby articulated very eloquently his younger years spent in poverty, stating that his family received government assistance.  He added that in those days, it was not referred to as “welfare” but was called “relief.” Upon hearing Mr. Cosby’s explanation, I stopped what I was doing at the time and listened intently to the remainder of the interview.  Perhaps, intuitively I knew that I would soon be in need of some “relief”.

"Relief" recipient, Bill Cosby

The point Mr. Cosby made was that financial assistance from the government provided relief for needy families, and relief was accepted in hopes that the family’s situation would improve.  We know Mr. Cosby’s situation improved exponentially and we can reasonably assume that his tax burden for many decades has been substantial.  We know this scenario applies to professional athletes, public and private sector leaders, and other tax-payers who benefited from food stamps and government assistance in their time of need.  Actor Craig T. Nelson confirmed this in his statement, "I was on food stamps and welfare - no one helped me out."  But, most notably, at the top of that list is our current POTUS!

Since being un- or underemployed, I never EVER considered myself a “freeloader” or thought for a second that I was somehow not being “responsible” by collecting unemployment compensation.   Further, I never EVER felt that I was “owed” anything by our government.  That’s not how I was raised. Remember, my Dad was born in 1930 in a railroad town south of Chicago, the youngest of 5 hungry redheads; Mom was born in Samoa where food literally fell to the ground. Mom didn't know money was printed until she was nearly 20 years old!

But here’s the thing. I just don't understand the reasoning behind calling our unemployed lazy and shiftless.  Does it really compute that the very Americans that have worked steadily and continuously for 25+ years would  1) Suddenly PREFER to make a fraction of their last  salary; 2) Suddenly PREFER a lifestyle driven by stress and struggle; 3) Suddenly PREFER to stay home day and night in order to save a few dollars in order to keep that home; 4) Suddenly PREFER to get food for the kids – ONLY; 5) Suddenly PREFER to live one day at a time unable to make basic plans; 6) Suddenly PREFER to avoid longtime friends only because they have jobs; 7) Suddenly PREFER to write a blog in hopes that it’ll go viral and generate income??!!  

What a bunch of FREELOADERS!!

Poor people having more kids? No PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY!!

A few years ago, I was driving my son and his teammates to football practice and was pulled over by a police officer.  My vehicle tags were expired because I was unable to afford auto insurance, or the registration renewal.  Of course, I was in violation of the law, but I still had an obligation to get my players to practice every day.  I was naturally prepared to accept the consequences of my choice to continue to operate my vehicle.

As the officer was writing out my ticket, he asked me where I worked.  I answered that I had been unable to find any work for two years.  He dropped his pen and pad, laughed, and in front of my son and his teammates he asked, “Aren’t you tired of staying home?!”  Up to that point, I thought I had developed a resistance to people passing judgments associated with my unemployment.  Apparently, I was not that evolved. 

In truth, at the time this police officer tried to humiliate me, I was diligently looking for work,pursuing entrepreneurial opportunities, attending school - full time, volunteering with several community organizations to improve my skill set, actively developing a network that would improve my chances for employment, delivering newspapers at 3:30 a.m. every day of the week to make ends meet, and obviously providing transportation for a carload of young football players every day.  Issuing a ticket was part of his function, humiliating me was personal. 

In closing, the Americans that were promised the dream, and worked steadily for 25+ years but find themselves on unemployment, without healthcare, on food stamps - are not the problem.  It’s the faceless evil that has no legitimate ideology, no moral compass, no humanity.  The problem is the mother-fuckers! 


Please follow this blog. All comments are invited. Mahalo!

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!