…is removing the stick from your ass on the subject of charity. Not that I ever took any vows, but that’s what my chosen lifestyle amounts to. I’m comfortable with walking around without a penny in my pocket, now, but getting there did require some adjustments.
I could probably fill another book with those adjustments, but the one I’m thinking about right this minute is charity. Once I would have been offended – deeply offended – at any offer of charity. I didn’t inherit much that’s good from my father, but I got a big dose of his horror of ‘not earning your own way’ whether I wanted it or not. I laughed at his “yankee work ethic” while at all times practicing it religiously. And part of that ethic is that you can give charity – though you must never advertise it – but accepting charity is a clear sign of your failure as a man.
Thing is, charity was a touchy subject. Don’t get me wrong, I think private, uncoerced charity is a very fine thing. I’ve dropped boxes of food on porches and felt damned good about myself for doing it. But it was in the dark, in absolute anonymity, and the recipient was always either a destitute woman or a man who’d suffered some terrible setback not his fault. I wouldn’t have dared to openly insult an equal with an offer of charity, and I’d have scorned to do it for a bum.
That’s the ethic I grew up with. Regular TUAK readers know I’ve pretty much overcome that attitude, but getting there took a while. My problem is that, by my own very deep-seated standards, I am a bum.
Hell, I set out to become one. I don’t have anything my younger self would have recognized as a job, subsisting mostly on day labor. Bum. I cheerfully scrounge off the cast-offs of others. Bum.
And today I learned that my journey to the dark side was not yet complete. I got a call from my neighbor H this afternoon. I’d spent most of the morning finishing up that job of raking, and I’d been paid, and the next shit-shoveling isn’t due until Friday, so I wasn’t expecting a call. We were pretty caught up. “Hey, I’ve got some food here you can pick up if you want.”
I figured she’d bought an extra sandwich at Subway, because sometimes she does that just to be nice. But no, there turned out to be a big damn box full of food. Canned stuff, mostly, you know, the sort of things people donate from the cobwebby backs of their cupboards. I don’t know if I’ll ever really use that can of beets. But also some nice canned stuff. And also some damned nice stuff; frozen meat nice.
And she rather hesitantly explained, “There’s this church group that gives out food, [female mutual acquaintance] goes there all the time, and you could get stuff like this pretty often. You know…if you wanted.”
I smiled and told her I never turn down free food. And that’s true, I never do. It’s a policy.
But it was a box of food. Almost as if it had landed on my porch, in the dark of night…
I like pickled canned beets. The whole ones have more flavor than the diced ones, if you have a choice…
A local do-gooder hounded, nay, badgered, me into applying for an assistance program. The experience was…enlightening. And uncomfortable, as it ddn’t fit with how I was raised. I quit after six months. As a humorous aside, the Six Month Review Form was on very blue paper. Some bureaucrat or more likely, print shop worker had a sense of humor.
Karma for the boxes you stealthed onto others. The wheel really does come back around and not always to crush you.
I’m not sure you really qualify as a bum. You might fit within the classical definitions, but you don’t seem to fit into the spirit. You work way to hard to be a bum. You work hard for wages, and it seems, give more than the value of those wages. You help out neighbors when they need it and are a welcome part of their community. Many consider you friend, not just a neighbor. You have also mentioned in past posts that you don’t help yourself to other’s stuff without permission, even if it has been long abandoned (wood stove comes to mind). You might have failed at being a bum.
My parents used to run a food bank in your general area. The only requirement for receiving help was to show up and wait in line. They started it because they knew there were many local (year round) residents that lived in the area that although were good people and worked hard they often fell short for groceries. People that even if they qualified for govt assistince would not take it. They considered themselve neighbors helping neighbors. They kept it up until Dad’s health failed and they had to leave the mountains. They never looked down on the people they helped and almost never turned anyone away.
Matt, that sounds like the “Good Neighbors” bunch I belonged to when I lived in the Calif. desert. No government connections at all, neither were any ever wanted. We had a food pantry, clothes closet, and even some donated furniture, baby stuff, etc. It all started as an effort to help several families burned out in a big brush fire, and as far as I know continues to this day.
Neighbors helping neighbors. The voluntary society. Best of any world.
So glad you accepted the food, Joel. And you might try the beets. Very good for you. 🙂 Put a little vinegar and spice on them or drain and soak in pickle juice if you’ve got it.
A bunch of bbq guys recently went down to OK to cook up and hand out food to some of the tornado victims down there. And one made the comment (paraphrased) that when it gets to the point where the people come up to their rig and ask if it’s “pulled pork sandwiches again today?” then it’s time to leave the area and go home.
In your case Joel, look at it this way, if they were giving you extra lumber or machinery you wouldn’t hesitate to accept it. Food shouldn’t be any different. And you don’t fit the bum label cuz you actually do work – AND appreciate the freebies.