It goes without saying that what I am talking about is not the family fallen on hard times, trying to get by. This is about a lifetime of abuse and not by the poverty stricken.

The best thing about having your own blog is you are your own boss. For me that means nothing is too controversial. My life is made of bits and pieces of moments with my family and real people.

I encounter people everyday that do not have the same morals, same background or education I have. That is where the interesting parts start. As I stand in line in a grocery store on the third it is easy to see who is on food stamps. Our town is small so the socio-economic divides are up close and stark. The people paying have a few things, they linger in the store up and down, and making sure, they are getting the best prices. Those on food stamps throw any item in the basket on the third. On the 25th they are slower than Christmas.

Living in this area for eighteen years I am accustomed to it. In a large city, you can refer to people or visit their area but you are not in the midst of their lives. A small rural town has no other option; we have to deal with whatever or whomever we see. If you see further down there is a man that believes conservatives are uneducated. We are close enough to touch what politicians, policy makers and think tanks only dream of.

The first time I remember thinking I had to be honest and creative as a parent was the day I would not buy Dunk a Kool-Aid drink in a bottle. Those were a treat when they were on sale, he was about three, Dunk saw another basket with some in it. He said, “Squeezies must be on sale.” I looked up and a family with several adults and two small kids had a basket full of groceries we never bought, and it was the second of the month. Perhaps I have never written about it but Dunk thought a Merry Go Round was a horse walker until he was six. We have a friend who has horses, and always would call it that. Dunk had never been to a big park so he was not exposed to a real Merry Go Round. The kids I saw in that basket that day are probably having kids of their own. My son on the other hand is expected to either graduate from college or get a real job. Stark and up close does not begin to say what the reality of a welfare system gone array is like.

I see generational neglect, welfare babies raising welfare babies. Not because they have to but because they know no other way, no one in their lives has told them they need college, a job, a budget, a goal. No one. It is not a pretty picture it is a sad one. When I first moved into the stark up close reality my heart broke, all I had ever known were educated caring people that had grown up poor but their parents pushed for them to strive harder. That was the socio-economic divide I had seen. It was not reality, just as thinking more money in a welfare check will help this situation.

I was naive I thought maybe as a substitute teacher I could reach out. My words fell on deaf ears, I was no role model. I was a rich white woman saying what they did not believe.

I have no answers only realities and observations. I know more money only buys more Koolaid or the twelve pack of Red Bull I saw one mother buy on the third. It will not inspire any child to grab the brass ring. If only it would.

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