I admit that I am a bit of a Pollyanna when it comes to being an American. My family has had to struggle for most of its life to eke out a living. We aren’t wealthy by any stretch. We’ve had our share of hardships. We have endured painful losses. And we work very hard to support our children and extended family.
I am an Average American.
Or at least, I thought I was average. But the despair and hopelessness I see gripping this country shows that perhaps I am all alone these days. For I still believe there are better days ahead. I have no choice in the matter. For if I don’t believe this to my core, how am I supposed to give my 13-year old any hope for his future.
You see, I have learned a lot about my heritage in recent months. I have shared the basics of my look into the past on ancestry.com. I had always wondered where I had come from. And when I found out, I saw me in a different light. I wish we all did.
In doing my research, I discovered that not only had my ancestors endured untold hardship to immigrate to this country, traveling in sailing ships and in abominable third-class accommodations aboard steamers, but when they got here, they left their relatively comfy lives in the east and headed out west as part of the famed Western Expansion.
If you’ve ever read your history books then you know the travails they experienced. Days and weeks on foot or in bone jarring Conestoga wagons. They had no idea really where they were going. And on the way, they often starved for days, some drowned in the rivers they forded, others were attacked by “savages.” Around every corner was a new challenge. I read somewhere that 10 people died for every mile these settlers traveled.
My grandparents came from Russia. They didn’t speak any English. They only spoke German. They came to America about two years apart, my grandfather coming here first to find work, then bringing his wife over. Imagine for a moment what it is like being in a strange land and you can’t speak the language. Worse, you’re vilified by the people already there because you’re a dumb immigrant. You live in the neighborhoods of turn of the century New York in horrible filth and retched conditions.
But you still believe that tomorrow is a better day. Whether you were on the Oregon Trail heading west or sitting on a stoop in the slums of New York, you believed that things could and would get better. And you strived with every ounce of your being to make it so.
We think now, in the Great Recession, that times are tough. They aren’t. Even the people I know who are unemployed have it better than most people who still had jobs in the Great Depression. There were no social programs back then – no Medicaid, no Welfare, no unemployment insurance… Nothing. My mother owned one pair of shoes. She went days without eating. Her dresses were hand me downs. She was nine years old when her mother died and she had to became the “lady of the house.”
If you ask those who came before us, we’re living in the bloody lap of luxury, even in our so-called tough times. My mother had relatives who were living in pasteboard shacks with no heat in South Dakota. Ever been through an entire winter without heat? I dare you. And I dare you to choose one pair of shoes and wear them every single day, and when the sole wears out, continue to wear them because that’s all you’ve got.
I think our ancestors would be so disappointed in us. We’ve become soft. We’re so used to having things handed to us that we’ve lost our resiliency. We no longer pull ourselves up by out bootstraps and start over again. We simply bitch and whine and long for the old days when things were better.
We wonder why people overseas stole our jobs, why our mortgages are underwater, and why we are unemployed. And don’t think for a moment that I don’t know what it’s like being on the bottom. I have been unemployed. I have been homeless. I have lost not one but two homes. I have had to start from all over again many times in my adult years. I have had a bankruptcy. I have had no credit. I have seen it all.
Perhaps that’s why I’m not giving up on us as a country. I have started all over again. I have found a way to exist in this world. I have struggled at times, and at times I have been able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. And I do believe that tomorrow is a better day, if we choose to make it so.
My son, like most children, are blissfully unaware of the world around him. He still has big dreams. And when he looks into my eyes, he sees my enthusiasm, not only for his future, but mine.
I have two very simple jobs here on this earth. First, I need to honor my ancestors by striving every day to make this country a better place to live. They sacrificed so much to get me to where I am today. If they had given up, I wouldn’t even be here. Second, I owe it to my son to continue to dream of bigger and better things, for I cannot possibly give him hope if I don’t have any myself.
Quite frankly, we need to pull our collective heads our of our national ass. This country is what we make of it. If the politicians aren’t doing their jobs, kick them out. If your line of work is dead in the water, find a new one. As I said somewhere, there are going to be one million new nursing jobs in the coming years that right now, are unfilled. High paying jobs still exist. But you can only blame yourself if you are unwilling to change your stars and continue to just slam your head against a brick wall that isn’t about to move.
Setbacks are part of life. They challenge us to be better. They are never insurmountable. And often, when we reach the other side, we find things are better than we ever imagined.
We all have choices. If you want to give up and say the American Dream is now a nightmare, go ahead. Just don’t try to sell it to me. I’m not listening.
Out on the Treasure Coast, thinking today is going to be a wonderful day, no matter what the politicians and churnalists say,
– Robb