A Political Thought

     This time of year, there's a bunch of political campaigns targeted to get the "average" person to vote for them and/or their platforms!!  Especially in New Hampshire.
     I hate when "regular" people ask me, "What candidate are you going to vote for??!!"  I always offer politely ... with a small smile ... "Oh, I'll decide soon!"  Then, I patiently listen to their verbal jousts about their favorite candidate over someone they hate!  What a crock!!
     Folks, who know me (really know me), know that I am physically disabled.  My ideal candidate doesn't exist ... as far as I know.  He or she would be someone like Franklin D. Roosevelt ... the president in the wheelchair (that you rarely saw)!!  There were so many programs he initiated in his presidency that truly benefited the disabled citizen along with the "average" citizen.  That is who would get my vote!
     The "Health Reform" brought by Mr. Obama is a crock!!  Just another form of lip-service to people who are truly in need.  Granted, there are too many folks who ABUSE the system, but the fault falls on to the politicians!!  I still rack my brain to understand why I get Medicaid (easily) only when I'm working, but have to have the outrageous spend-down of over $400 per month before I can qualify for NH State's Medicaid.  This is no joke ... I have to pay $400 out of my pocket EVERY month to qualify for the State's Medicaid.  I guess I should be glad that I'm working, now, and shouldn't complain ... my medical bills are not that large.  However, there are times like with Physical Therapy that I need financial aide along with Medicare (no spend-down for that, thank goodness) ... I cannot afford the spend-down and the financial aide kicks in, but no guarantee of for how long.  I am permanently disabled ... that is my firm reality!
     The politicians found that they could easily line their pockets with Medicare/Medicaid as they sputter about "helping the disabled citizens!"  They don't want to say to much in that area because they might get the label of "conservative."
     My thoughts are just that ... my thoughts.  I just wish someone might read my babblings and think, "Gee ... this woman has a brain ... and it's not in a frying pan!"

Any politicians reading out there??!!

A Bully

A Bully

by

B.D. Adams

     A long time ago, I had my first encounter with a bully ... a boy about my age. He might have been younger ... he might have been older. In any event ... he was a bully boy.
     It was the summer between my second and third grades. I went to spend time with my paternal grandmother (my favorite grandmother) in Rosenberg, Texas, without my little brother. Time with Dobby (my nickname for her) was always special! She rarely treated me like a little kid. We would have wonderful conversations about the stars (in the sky), some history and a bit of current events. Dobby worked hard to keep my visits active, and I always appreciated what she did ... I would always tell her.
     On the third day of this visit ... a rather hot day of July ... Dobby took me to a small swimming pool of a motel where she knew the manager and was allowed to bring me. I loved to swim! My father had taught me and I so enjoyed showing off to my grandmother (his mother) what new things I had learned. This year, it was diving off the springboard. I wasn’t proficient, but not from not trying!
     There were a few other young swimmers ... and divers ... and we just played and had fun.
     Then, it happened. The Bully came to the small pool by introducing himself with a cannonball dive from the pool’s side! Dobby was almost totally drenched, as were the other spectators by the pool. As soon as he was established in the pool, he began shoving/splashing water in the kids’ faces.
     He was a larger boy ... more than the other two boys already in the pool. The other girl left the pool with her mother ... probably they didn’t want to put up with that rude boy.
     I got out of the pool and stood ready to dive off the board. That boy stayed right where I would make my dive. I was a polite child ... a rather tolerant child (I had a younger brother).
     “Would you move, please,” I asked.
     “Why?” the bully asked back.
     “I want to make a dive,” I answered. “I don’t wanna hit you.”
     “I seen you dive earlier an’ you’re awful,” the bully teased.
     The Bully’s mother called to him to behave and move to let me dive. He moved begrudgingly.
     I dived and came up with a big smile for Dobby! She smiled her approval to me, as well.
     The bully got out of the pool and got on the board to make a running leap back into the pool! It was just another cannonball dive! It was heavier than the last, but the splash surge was, fortunately, away from Dobby and his mother!
     “That was a better dive!” the boy boasted. He smiled with his pride.
     “It was a bigger one,” I concurred. That was all I said.
     My young patience was about to wear thin! I quickly scurried out of the pool to take my turn on the board.
     “Hey ... can you do this?” I asked of him.
     From the middle of the springboard, I made my short approach to execute an almost perfect “jack-knife” dive! Dobby made a proud hand clap, as I surfaced the pool water! She smiled so proud to me and I nearly busted my cheeks with my triumphant smile!
     “Did you see? Did you see?” I babbled to Dobby with the water at my lips.
     “I sure did, sweetheart! That was very good!” Dobby praised.
     I began to swim and play tag with the other two boys ... the bully just sat on the pool’s edge and watched.
     At this point, all I remembered was the look on this boy’s face as he slipped back into the pool and swam towards me. He seemed to be angry with me ... he wore a frown.
     I was near to Dobby, when the boy got closer. I will never forget his face and his words.
     “You’re a lousy diver and you’re ugly ... no one likes you!” he said to me. He emphasized the word “ugly!” He didn’t look me in the eye and he frowned like he might cry. More importantly, he obviously didn’t like me.
     I got out of the pool to stand by my grandmother. She handed me a towel and helped me to dry off.
     “Are you ready to leave now?” Dobby asked.
     I just nodded.
     In the car, we didn’t talk. She was a wise grandmother and quietly began her determinations of how to handle this new lesson of growing-up for her granddaughter.
     Once we were inside her home, Dobby made me a mug of hot chocolate. She always knew what “comfort” food I needed. Even though it was wicked hot outside, the warmth of the drink soothed my hurt feelings. I told her what that boy said to me. She seemed genuinely concerned about his words. I didn’t cry, but I was very close ... that boy really hurt my feelings. All I wanted to do was play!
     Dobby had lighted one of her Lucky Strikes to smoke while she thought and listened (this was an older time before all the dangers of smoking were know).
     “That boy doesn’t know me, Dobby. Why was he so mean to me?” I queried my grandmother.
     She laid her cigarette down in her ashtray and leaned more forward to deliver her words.
     “That boy is not a happy boy. Did you hear his mother praise him or speak kindly to him?” Dobby said and asked.
     I really thought about her question. His mother did not talk to him that I could recall ... other than when she told him to move so I could dive. “Should I feel sorry for him?” I asked a little confused.
     “No ... don’t feel sorry for him. He is the product of his parents ... his mother doesn’t want to “mother” ... his father doesn’t want to “father.” His father has probably never taught him anything except how to bully to get his way. His mother tolerates his father’s behavior, therefore, she tolerates her son. Just be very glad your family is nothing like theirs.”
     I listened and digested what Dobby planted into my teachable mind.
     “Never think that their way is how to be ... you will be disappointed. You are very pretty and your dive was a good dive. You challenged him and the only way he could feel he won was to bully you. The only other thing to remember ... not everyone grows-up to be a bully, but many bullies were little boys,” she stated.


     Years later, I still remember that incident with my grandmother. I have had to deal with a few adult bullys in my work-life and personal life. Also, not all the bullies are guys ... women can be bullies!
     My advice is to not play their game ... confuse them with kindness. That almost always works for me.