Mom Paavola

Last week Kris and I drove to Denver to see her mother. It was Mom Paavola's 91st birthday and we took her to lunch. She's frail now, her back hurts pretty much all the time, but she's still sharp as a tack and enjoys getting out as much as possible.

We were seated at the restaurant chatting, but I became distracted by the woman at an adjacent table who, in a loud voice, was proclaiming a Libertarian version of what's good for America. "If everyone would just take care of their own frickin selves things would be fine," she announced.

Over the years I've learned that it's nearly impossible to change a person's mind in a fundamental way. Not to say it can't be done - people do have experiences like Paul's on the way to Damascus that turn their whole lives around - but such life-changing moments are rare enough to be remarkable. Still, it was tempting to say something, perhaps to use my mother-in-law as a vehicle to illustrate a point.

"Well, mom," I wish I'd been quick enough to say, "You're 91 now. You've been retired for going on thirty years, collecting Social Security for most of that time, certainly pulling lots more money out of the fund than you ever put in, even allowing for interest on your contributions. Don't you think you've abused the system long enough? My generation of baby boomers is just sick and tired of carrying you freeloading oldsters on our backs. 'Greatest generation' my foot!

"They need waiters here. The food trays are heavy, but I'll bet you could manage it. So get up, and get busy. While you're at it, I'll have another raspberry iced tea."

Of course, the rugged individualist at the next table would have missed the point.

There is a chronic tension in our lives as Americans. We believe in self-reliance, that we stand on our own two feet and succeed or fail in life because of our own diligence and imagination. The American mythology revels in the stories of the frontiersman, clearing the forest, planting crops, building the family home all by himself, staving off the ravening Indians and so forth.

On the other hand, we thrill to the idea that the cavalry will arrive just in the nick of time, when the battle is nearly lost, the hired hand has been killed, when ma and the kiddies are in greatest jeopardy. A cavalry bailout! Government employees to the rescue!

It is said, and I believe, that the quality of a culture is measured by how well we care for those among us who are unable to care for themselves. Our children, the aged among us, people who have physical or mental troubles, even the incarcerated. Extend that further even, to the plants and animals, the soils, river systems, the air we breathe.

Or, we can value just the money we make, and insist that my mother-in-law stop "mooching."

(By the way, the early colonists in America relied heavily on subsidies from England. They weren't standing on their own two feet.)