Life is Tough

CNN continues to report on the housing crisis, and they seem to take a perverse pleasure in parading the folks who have lost their homes across my television screen. They usually show a family with a huge home, two or three cars, and all the accessories of the good life. This is also known as living above your means. It's a sad situation, but I can't help but think about the people who have never been able to afford a house or car.

Nobody talks about the poor people in this country who are just getting by. Tough times can be hellish for the folks who don't have anything to begin with. The news never even mentions the poor as they focus on the "middle class". What about the man who walks to a minimum wage job, and then comes home to his family crowded into a one bedroom flat. And then there are the homeless and forgotten. The least, the lonely, and the lost.

There is a thought process in this country that reasons the poor are where they are because they lack the motivation to improve their situation. Bullshit. My grandmother died when I was ten years old. At the funeral, I listened as the preacher expounded on her faith. The pastor claimed if her faith had been just a tiny bit stronger the cancer that had ravaged her body would have disappeared. Bullshit. Sometimes people do the best they can, and it's still not enough to escape poverty or death. Life is tough.

I spent most of my youth growing up in public housing with my best friend Rollie. We lived in a small apartment next door to his family. Rollie was born without a full left arm, which gave me an advantage when we played catch. It also made him popular with the girls. A nub can be used as a club, and they are also functional when petting a monkey. Together we shared the ups and downs of life.

Rollie was seventeen when he shot a corner store clerk during a botched robbery. I often wonder what the fuck my friend was thinking. His robbery attempt was destined to fail. With a gun in his hand, Rollie became confused when the clerk tried to hand him the cash. It should have been evident that there was going to be a problem. I suppose the clerk could have pinned the money to Rollie's shirt. Life was tough for the clerk. He died later that evening.

Rollie made it halfway down the block before the police arrived and cuffed him. I don't know if they ordered him to raise his hands. What they did with the extra cuff also remains a mystery.

At the police station, my friend was booked and fingerprinted. I don't know if they printed the same hand twice. Somebody always asks me. The information highway ends at my doorstep.

Rollie is doing 25 to life at Greenhaven Correctional Facility in New York State. I still send him a card at Christmas time, but my friend has never replied. Convicts can be sullen. Life is tough, especially if it's your sentence.

A foreclosure is not the worst thing that could happen to you. Welcome to reality. Be thankful if you have your health.  Life can be tough, but the consequences are often the product of our own bad choices.

My novel Lyam's Journal ISBN 0741445050 is published and available toll free at 877-BUY-BOOK or online at bbotw.com or amazon.com