Rich Man Poor Man

 

 

During the composition of an article the other day I happened upon a photo from around 1960 or so of me sitting in a yard with a puppy. My intent at the time was to emphasize that the dog (Maybelline) had been a real dog thereby lending validation to the storyline I was purporting to be true (Which it was!)

Now, fast forward to today. As many of you know Karrie (The Puck) has chosen to move to Detroit to seek her fame and fortune. This completely flabbergasted all of us down here. Karrie is adopted. Without going into all the drama her “real” mother was . . . well, a slut. Not that I have anything against sluts, having known a few, but that’s what caused the Texas Child Protective Services to service her by telling her “Texas ain’t big enough for me and you partner,” whereupon she went to the West Coast where slutification is a fine art. Anyway, Karrie was adopted.

As Karrie approached her eighteenth birthday she began to seek her roots. In short order she found “Mommy Dearest” who was living in a halfway house talking about Jesus down at the local Walmart. As an added feature “Real MaMa” gave her “Real Daddy’s” phone number and Karrie rang him up. Whereupon she fell in love with “real family” and to make a long story short, moved to Detroit or the vicinity thereof.

Down here we are in the entertainment industry and up there they are well, NOT! Not that they are bad people, just don’t leave anything valuable out when they drop by, if you get my drift. But for some reason Karrie loves it! From Austin Texas to Lost-in Michigan.

The more we waited for the demand for a plane ticket the more she rolled in it like a dog in a dead armadillo and the more we thought “treatment center.” Then today, while talking to the lady who adopted her, hereafter known as “Not the MaMa” she was picking up some items at the local Walgreens up there, comparing notes on the phone with Not the MaMa in order for money to be Zelled to her (What did you expect?) I overheard her laughing and skipping down the road, all her items in some kind of a baby buggy and I thought, This SUCKS!

Simultaneously I was skimming through pictures on my iPhone and came upon the picture of me with Maybelline circa 1960 and it hit me . . . I didn’t know I was poor white trash! And brothers and sisters I was poor white trash! My grandparents were first cousins, and they didn’t even know it until some of their kids were born with tails. I never ate Spam until I was fifteen years old and even then, it was at somebody else’s house, and I have helped my rich uncle take the wheels off his mansion.

And, reflecting on recent events I developed the theory of Poorectivity. The idea that poverty is relative. In any given society you judge your rank by that society. You are only as broke as when compared to the other brokesters around you. If nobody has a car, and you steal one then you are the commander of the garrison. I was that guy! I was sitting in that photo on a lawn in front of a shotgun shack holding a dog that my dad had found waiting to eat liver gravy and rice for supper, and I thought I had it going on. I’d hit the streets running every day, meet my friends, run down to the Red River and act like we were riverboat captains. On holidays we’d all meet at Uncle Charlie’s house and he’d make ice cream . . . with peaches! I loved school because they fed us there. Cops were our friends and I later fell in love with my cousin Cindy. Hey! It was a family tradition. But I didn’t know I was poor!

Thou shalt not covet anything that is thy neighbor’s, but hell, if thy neighbor is as broke as you are what’s to covet? That why poor folks have those hellacious block parties. That’s why they all show up at the Broke Baptist Church on the Hill every Sunday so the broke ass preacher can tell all them broke asses that Jesus loves them because He and all his followers except for Mary Magdalene were broke ass too! (Mary had a check.)

And broke ass is in the DNA. That’s what was wrong with Karrie. When she was pushing that baby buggy full of “on sale” items that was wealth to her. And when she got to “Real Daddy’s” they all jumped around like a bunch of seals slapping their flippers for a free fish. But, in truth, they were broke-ass happy!  Did you ever notice how poor people almost never commit suicide? Rich people do that. After they buy everything in sight, get married five or six times, their shrink tells them they’re crazy so they go home and blow their brains out with a gold-plated pistol. Poor folks just overdose!

I hope Karrie has found happiness. My love for her is forever. Now I have to leave. I need to buy a gold-plated pistol.