We Are...


 

It’s a froggy ass morning here on the sandy hills of South Central Georgia, where the coastal plain meets the piedmont. I’m dressed down in my old Alamo uniform of sweatpants, heavy t-shirt, and sweat jacket. With the curtains pulled open wide to get the full view of the heavy froggy air. I’m surprised by how few cars and semi’s have passed on the highway. I guess everyone got an early start this morning just to beat the day.

But I’m comforted by the distant sound of an ambulance, for the fifth day in a row. After a night of tossing and turning repeating the same dream about going to some conference with a Swamper I didn’t know, meeting his family, and riding on a dirty air boat. Yeah, that kinda dream. Anyway sitting here in the relative quiet of the morning, there ain’t much to say other than I have to drive 30 miles (again) in the rain. To have my bi-annual echocardiogram done at the hospital to see if I’m still alive.

I suppose I could be a little pissy about having that sprung on me with a two-day notice. But such as it is in the life of a chronically failing heart patient, which they easily could have written off ten years ago. So I’m grateful for the treatment I can get under my increasingly reduced insurance plan. But such as it is for us minor leaguers in the game of life. Where we are told we don’t live under a caste system, yet we are judged by the change in our pocket.    

Our lives are more than our ever decreasing LVFs or the amount of credit we carry. Yet we judge each other no matter how poor by the car we drive, the apartment in which we live, and the Dollar Store clothes we have to wear. Make no mistake we all do it (guilty as charged). And yet we whine and we whine that we are the oppressed.

#caste #worth #respect #GivingAway #compassion


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