Rain is falling. My kind of weather. Much better than frozen rain. This month has been a real winter month. I recently talked with some workmen and understood the reality of dancing on a razor’s edge. Friendly helpful people who live close to the economic edge. One told me he had no heat in his home since the Ice Storm. The pain of hard living had lined his young face. He scurried up a tall ladder with no fear as did his colleague. He was a great communicator. I looked for people like him when I was Superintendent. I wanted to hire people who would appreciate the career they had been afforded.

Our country is full of people who dance on the razor’s edge. We cast the blame for our condition on the poor… immigrants and those who are different than us. Hardworking poor people were my neighbors and friends growing up in Eldorado. The kindest souls were those with little and shared what they had. Forgotten people. Referred to as people who have no voice but they do not expect anyone to hear their voice should they speak.

Working poor ask little. They were raised to not expect to receive something for nothing. Poor people work more than one job to make ends meet. The government is for someone else. It does not do anything for them. They are not connected to who is President or Senator.

Churches do not know the poor. When they enter the gates of the Temple it is difficult for them to find a friendly face. Their clothes are rough. Their demeanor is hardscrabble. The poor are searching for the Jesus who loves the little children…all the little children of the world.

Poor people revere the educated. Higher education was for those who had the means. Education is for the smart of the land…not the ditch diggers.

Politicians speak to the poor at election time. They promise them a leg-up and opportunity. After the election, the promises are forgotten. This happens on both sides of the aisle. So many do not register on the people to care about meter. A lot of us drive old vehicles held together by prayer and twine. My uncle Gene ate beans as his primary protein he had no money for better fare. Grandma A trusted in her Bible and the minister in her church. Why not…the American Experiment was not working for them.

I love the poor…I see myself. My Director Phil told me when I was working that he understood why I relied so much on my own devices to succeed. He was more right than I like to admit. I believe in my Guardian Angel. I have always been the fellow looking in the window at the celebration…