What being an American means to me can best be described by relaying an experience I had this morning. I caught the free community bus to the Co-op soup kitchen west of downtown Ft Lauderdale and waited outside like everybody else for them to start serving. As you may or may not know, south Florida get unbearably hot and humid this time of year. And, even though I got there an hour before they opene, there were already about 50 or so people in line, many baking in the sun because any spot with any hint of shade had long been acquired and was now being defended religiously.
While I waited, I watched, and listened to my fellow Americans. A few of them were obviously deranged -- people I have seen around town for a few years now. As you may or may not know, being an American means, in this the 21st century, in what even in our current depression still remains one of the richest nations the world has ever known, we loving, kindhearted, generous, Americans have chosen to allow most of our fellows citizens who happen to be clinically insane wander aimlessly thru the streets. And, as you may also know, many of these deranged fellow citizens happen to be military veterans. For despite what we Americans _say_ on holidays such as Veterans Day, what we do is consistently underfund services such as the Veterans Administration which is supposed to exist to serve our war heros after they risked their lives to serv us.
On this day, as I was waiting, I noticed a ruckus -- not the only one that morning -- as one of the deranged veterans came running from around a corner, with his glasses off and his face flushed beet red, cursing to the heavens, pointing a finger at a member of the staff, and claiming that young man had struck him.
Ah, there is no place quite like the Home of the Land and the Free. And, we aer such a kind and compassionate people. And, again, please note, all I am telling you about is true story about, sadly, the sort of events which occur every day in every metropolitan area in these United States.
Just before they finally started calling us in a few at a time to eat, I noticed what turned out to be the oldest lady there -- a white woman in her 80s --- asking a couple of people who were sitted on a bench to squeeze over a bit to allow her to sit down. Now, again, note that this was the oldest person on the property. Now, in our world, there are many cultures where elders are respected -- where an elder would not have to go to soup kitchens because her friends and relatives would be ashamed to eat a crumb before the elder had, first, been fed. But, this was America. In other cultures, even if an elder was at a soup kitchen, she certainly would not have had to ask for a seat because younger people [and certainly every grown ass man] would have leaped up to offer her his seat. But, again, this was America. So, she first had to ask. As a matter of fact, she had to ask twice because the first time she asked the two fellow citizens who could easily have moved over to allow her to sit strangeky chose to pretend not to hear her request.
Another 20 or 30 minutes went by and it just got hotter and hotter and more humid. The elder lady's seat was, of course, in direct sunlight. Her entire face was covered in sweat and I began to seriously worry that she might faint from the heat.No one else appeared to even be aware of her discomfort. For, again, this who we Americans are today.
This is what being an American means to me.
I was standing at the time, so I did not have the option of offering her a better seat --- one inteh shade. But, I did pull a jacket out of my back pack and held up in front of her face so at least her head would be in the shade. She smiled, thanked me, and spoke about how she suffered from high blood pressure, which only underscored how insame it was that a woman her age should be waiting in the hot sun to get her first meal of the day.
They were calling us in in numerical order, based on what ever number was on tickets they had handed out. I switched coupons with the elder lady, but my number was not that much lower than hers. Still, as her number approached, she got up and waited near the door as a young man stuck his head out periodically and called out the current number. I marveled at how a young man could so callously gaze upon a woman old enough to be his grandmother suffering in the hot sun, yet do nothing to ease her suffering.
But, again, this is our America.
This is what being an American means to me.
