We were very nearly such. We had come back from a failed attempt to settle ourselves in the Old World in 1986 with 5 children in tow,having acquired an extra one in transit.We all except for the nursing toddler and 5 year old had part time jobs.Heinrich was on days, working here there and everywhere; the older kids worked after school and weekends and I worked evenings and mornings where I could take the littlest one with me.
Between the 5 of us working at minimum wage we could just make the rent and buy food.Then one winter month we ran short so I had the honour of calling the Welfare people.They came to the house and asked a million and one questions then informed me that we had made over 1000 dollars the preceding month so had too much money coming in.Our rent on the little house in the Holland Marsh was 750, and 7 of us were eating, three of them teenagers with hollow legs.We had between the seven of us 1200 a month.I told the welfare man that I could pay the rent or buy food but not both. He said he was sorry but all he could do was give me a piece of paper that would get me in to the food bank in Richmond Hill.The ancient car we had bought for 400 dollars was on its last wheels and would never make it that far. We had no money to get it repaired.
To my everlasting shame I started to cry. The poor man was so embarrassed. I hopped up and opened the front door. I couldn't bear looking at him.He took the hint and left, wishing me luck.
That is my sorry little tale about welfare bums. I'm sure there are a few who make a career of cheating the taxpayers but I will bet there are a lot more who have had my experience. Walk a mile in the other persons' shoes they say, before you pass judgement. They may have holes in them!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Hon
I can't remember if I mentioned this before and if I have well too bad read it anyway all three of you!I don't know if I can call what I am writing about ageism or sexism or a nasty combo platter-"sageism"-I wish!
People have taken to calling me dear. Which sounds inoffensive enough.In England everyone is called pet or love or darling no matter how old or which gender you are though men are more likely to be called "Gov." Kiddiewinks often have a sweetie handed over with the endearment. That's how you know you are big. Little old ladies still call you pet but don't part with their toffees. One is big enough to get ones own.
Here in the New World, only old trouts like me are called "dear." It makes me bristle as I cannot imagine my husband being called "dear" and he is older than I am. Hence the sexism.
I took action last week. I was in the bank renegotiating investments such as they are. I thought I heard the word dear float across the desk from the lips of the young man with whom I was dealing. It happened again and I told him not to call me that. He had the grace to look chastised and I was Mrs. Davison for the rest of the session. I hope he remembers this for other older women.Life is difficult enough without having to be patronised by young men.Unless one has a whiskey voice and calls us "hon."People with whiskey voices tend to call everyone "hon" and it's just like being back in England where we are all: old, young, male , female the botched and the bungled, "pet."
People have taken to calling me dear. Which sounds inoffensive enough.In England everyone is called pet or love or darling no matter how old or which gender you are though men are more likely to be called "Gov." Kiddiewinks often have a sweetie handed over with the endearment. That's how you know you are big. Little old ladies still call you pet but don't part with their toffees. One is big enough to get ones own.
Here in the New World, only old trouts like me are called "dear." It makes me bristle as I cannot imagine my husband being called "dear" and he is older than I am. Hence the sexism.
I took action last week. I was in the bank renegotiating investments such as they are. I thought I heard the word dear float across the desk from the lips of the young man with whom I was dealing. It happened again and I told him not to call me that. He had the grace to look chastised and I was Mrs. Davison for the rest of the session. I hope he remembers this for other older women.Life is difficult enough without having to be patronised by young men.Unless one has a whiskey voice and calls us "hon."People with whiskey voices tend to call everyone "hon" and it's just like being back in England where we are all: old, young, male , female the botched and the bungled, "pet."
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