Skip to main content

Asleep at the Wheel

I'm tired of negative politicians telling me that life in America is on the brink of disaster, that no one in the world likes us, that the only hope for America is to elect some politician who can make everything better.

Senator Biden's speach to the Democratic convention is just the latest example.
"We learned [from our parents] the dignity of work, and we were told that anyone can make it if they just try hard enough. That was America's promise.... but today, today that American dream feels like it's slowly slipping away. I don't have to tell you that. You feel it every single day in your own lives."
What a bunch of empty words. The problem is not the American dream. The problem is the American dreamers.

Too many of us aren't willing to "try hard enough." It isn't sufficient for us to just "make it". We want more than we've earned so we go into debt to finance our purchases or vacations. And because we aren't willing to save money as a society, we have to find the funds to finance our follies from other countries. That drives down the value of the dollar and drives up the price of what we buy.

We don't really work for what we want.

How do we overcome the problems we face? How do we dig ourselves out of the mess we've created?
"I watched how Barack touched people, how he inspired them. And I realized he had tapped into the oldest belief in America: We don't have to accept the situation we cannot bear; we have the power to change it. The choice in the election is clear. These times require more than a good soldier. They require a wise leader. A leader who can change, change -- the change that everybody knows we need."
Right there is my problem with so many politicians. There is no sense of personal responsibility. The answer is to elect a particular politician and look to government to solve our problems.

The Obama campaing, like so many others, has tapped into the mad belief that the solution to our problems is easy and requires little to no effort on our part. The politicians are fighting for us.
"When I triumphed, my mother was quick to remind me it was because of others."
If that is indeed the case, then we deserve no credit for the good times. We've done nothing to merit them.

Comments

Thelma said…
I couldn't have said it better. I was reading about the DNC at 4:00 a.m...part of my sleep problem today. Grrrrrr. I'm tired of them. Isn't the American dream opportunity? Is that gone? I don't think so. Not for me.

Popular posts from this blog

Block Facebook Ads with CSS

(This is my experience evaluating Facebook for my daughter.  It turned into a technical exercise in CSS.  If you want the full narrative, read on.  If you just want the steps for using CSS to block ads on Facebook, jump ahead .) Emma asked permission to create a Facebook account so she can keep in touch with some of her cousins and friends.  Emma has been very responsible using our family computer and does a good job keeping our rules about what to do and how to behave online.  So, Thelma and I decided that it was probably OK once I had a chance to check out and become familiar with the privacy settings and parental controls. Even though I work for an online business and Facebook is a frequent topic of conversation when it comes to reaching out to and retaining online customers, I have to admit that I have rarely used the service.  I created an account for business purposes to become a "fan" of a client so I could keep tabs on some social marketing campaigns.  That's it.

Awake. Again.

I arrived home from work with just enough daylight and just enough Spring to mow the lawn.  Braeden and I reveled in the straight lines and greening blades.  "It's the awakening," he said. — I sat in the temple and smiled at the sight of Emma and Braeden sitting side by side, quiet and content.  Outside the temple, we stared up at the stained glass, the angel, the glowing walls.  I asked Emma how she felt.  "Light and airy," she replied. — Driving home from the airport, I listened to my mother describe her trip to Disneyland with Megan, Talia and Jackson.  "If your dad were still alive..." she began to say.  For the first time, I smiled and laughed instead of fighting back tears. — Awake. Light. Laugh. Alive. Again. — Everyone is asleep.  I sit down to write.  I don't cry.  I don't turn away.  It's a change.  I can write again, at last.  But it's not the same as Before.  Everything seems different now that I live

Helped or Had

I feel uneasy tonight. I'm not sure if I helped or was had. In what has become something of a Thursday-evening-post-basketball tradition, I drove to Walmart for some late night shopping. Two weeks ago it was new shorts and an exercise shirt. Last week it was another exercise shirt (because I liked the first one so much). This week it was new insoles and laces for my basketball shoes. (Thelma, who has thoroughly documented her distaste for shopping at Walmart has driven me to these shopping trips under the cover of night.) Approachable is not how I would have described myself as I trudged across the Walmart parking lot in my wife-beater sleeveless shirt, shorts and coordinating fleece vest. Sweaty, yes. Beleagured, perhaps. Approachable, no. But a woman did approach. Something told me to stop and wait for her. She was caught somewhere between out-of-breath and verge-of-tears. I could see she was nervous talking to me. She tripped quickly over some desperate story that I co