Horde One or Horde Two? Which is it?
34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: 36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.— Matthew 25: 34, 35
This serious-minded narrative is dedicated to those worn-out, working wives, husbands, the single parents, good hearted neighbors, rare teenagers with big hearts, what few pets I could name and die-hard friends who are stuck in no motion at this point—just three weeks waiting, just waiting until Christmas 2017 happens.
I’m very serious. You and I need to be really honest with ourselves as we see (above mentioned) people (pets included, yes, “Cicero” a tame boa owned by a comic book freak in Wyoming) who do more than their share for us in the previous 11 months prior to Christmas—and me, who mainly just sits and watches idly by while even those in my own life do such good things for strangers and friends before, during, and after Christmas’ velvet curtains are opened, does its yearly-dance and then retreats back into solitude.
This, the Christmas event, will, God willing, happen again, Dec. 25, 2017, for now 64 years. I am not going to say “64 long years” for that would anger many of you who might think that I am doing a terrible Paul “God Needed a Farmer” Harvey. I would. Don’t think I wouldn’t. It’s just not the time.
Prior to and during Dec. 25, a horde, and I do mean horde, much like that of Caesar’s legions conquering settled lands, of people with warm hearts and gentle smiles, all awaken across our land with one thought in mind: How to serve my family and friends to the best of my ability. It’s not a task. In fact, none of these souls have college degrees hanging on any wall, they just dress, serve, give, and mostly stay in that one mindset from awakening to time to retire. And might I add that these people’s days are long and hard, unlike mine and much like the farmers mentioned by Paul Harvey. These folks, if you want to get technical, work while they may not whistle, but love what they do. Not as much for pats on the back, but for someone else.
Doctors? Nurses? Police? Military? Yeah, even some of these people work in these ranks. But you will never see them run to get a photo opp with TIME hoping to get a “Person of The Year” award on their front page. They had much rather be happy and internally-satisfied with that tangible commodity of (a) warm feeling that goes with handing out one’s heart to another person each day of their week. I think right now that someone at TIME or People magazines should be reading (and thinking) about THIS narrative for nothing would make me happier than seeing one of the people (I refer to in this narrative) on this or any known magazine’s front page. Enough with Donald Trump, Alan Alda, and Lady Gaga. These people with celebrity status, already have an oyster for their world—why not let “Average Joe or Josephine” stand in the celebrity spotlight? Why not? Can (or would) it do any harm?
I mean, just let us stop. We are a driven bunch of rats in a rotten wooden maze carved by someone who was very bored and we took to it. How we loved to run and reach the Prize, a slice of Swedish cheese and this once made us as happy as clams, depending on how we can gauge how to find out how to make a clam happy, but not anymore. We are not just driven by work to make more scratch to pay our monthly bills, but stash more green scratch for a rainy day. I have news for us: It’s raining, folks. In most every nasty alley in cities big and small, there are drunk and homeless laying there in their own urine eating only God knows what to stay alive one more cold, bitter night. Even with the shelter of a refrigerator box, they still shiver and cry for death to stalk by and take them from their misery. I am not talking about Calcutta, but Detroit, Chicago, and even small towns like mine. Yes, even Rural America has become victims of a pace too fast and not sharp-eye’d enough to take a good, long look at how others are faring.
Let me be direct. There are people starving, shivering, begging for work and a place to live all in places where they were told years ago that this land, America, was THE land where milk and honey flowed. Maybe for some. Not for all. And when I see this cross section of people, not lazy people mind you, and hear that America is The Land of Opportunity, I puke. Or something close to that. You should feel this way too if you are an American. But I think I know the problem: You have been desensitized by news stories and CNN news snippet's that broadcast how the Government is letting people live on the Entitlement Programs and that Donald Trump should do something—sounds like that old Western warning when the Comanches are attacking . . .Circle the wagons, Bill. Looks like trouble in the west.
But friend, other presidents beside Trump have said the very same thing and really, the Entitlements Program may be out of kilter, but (some) programs are NOT entitlement-oriented. Some people who are actually living month-to-month are on Disability and have been diagnosed by medical doctors who cannot work due to a mental or physical handicap. Go look at the stats. Could you work with such a handicap? I could not.
There is one sure-fire way that you can tell if you are of the hordes and I do mean hordes of those with warm hearts and a hand-out to give and not take . . . stand or sit in your favorite shopping mall. Stand anywhere you like and when the calendar says Dec. 18, use your sense of smell. There should be coming soon two hordes of people: One horde with people who love to help others and the other horde, those who smell great. I mean the second horde of people are well-dressed from their $300-buck hairstyle to go along with their $200-buck scarf that was specially-designed by some yokel in Paris by the name of “Pierre de Saint leMans,” the very same one now with stores all over Manhattan. Even the women who are walking with these great-looking and smelling guys smell great.
But the hordes of the people with their hands out to work in trying hard to make someone’s day go better . . .well they don’t smell so great. Theirs is the smell of sweat. No. Perspiration to the first horde. To say sweat to them would cause you and I to have them turn down their nose at us and we don’t want that.
Along with the first horde smelling and looking great, they all stick to each other’s side as if God let them charge from their mother’s womb delivered by an expensive mid-wife not due to the wife not needing a medical doctor, but simply because the wife found out that her best friend, “Tabby,” just had to have a mid-wife and then she had to have one. It’s the current fad: Mid-wifing.
And they all have to attend each other’s parents’ homes in the most-styling part of town—not near any of those deplorable bums who tried to work and lord, be blessed, their company was down-sized when one of their fat cat dad’s just had to buy their company for his only brother’s only son, “Buster,” just had to have a job and the nephew pouted until the dad named him the C.E.O. on the spot. This are just a few of how the Elite Hordes live.
But don’t get your Irish up with me. I do not begrudge the Elite Hordes for having more than you or I. They, and I am trying hard to believe this, worked for every dime that they are worth. They never took any Unemployment a day in their life. Daddy took care of them when hard times were evident. You do remember the Gas Crisis in the early 70s and the neat way that the Fed’s bailed out the Chrysler Corporation. To the Elite Hordes, these were their “hard times.”
Sure. And for every man or woman who deserves some help from a government agency, there are two that are stealing their paycheck. I will own that one. But when it comes to overhauling programs where people have worked to pay in a certain amount, you can bet that the labor force will certainly be left with a bag with nothing inside but tears.
Join, and in my personal life, I have joined with three others who are doing their part to deliver loads of food to children who cannot feed themselves due to some poor excuses for parents. My heart breaks each trip we take to give this food that was asked to be given to the children who live not far from my front yard. I would not for love or money, tell you whom they are. And if I did, you would still not know them. All I am asking is that if you are a member in good standing of the Elite Hordes, fine. I can love you with no conditions attached. Just try to help ONE person. Just one. That is all I ask.
I once wanted to be part of a program that was doing something big to just be of help to someone who couldn’t. I was dead wrong. And I am not belittling you or anyone else who has found it tough not to be able to help someone they do not know. This, like this narrative, is between you and your Maker. Not you and I.
Although you might be thinking that I am a bleeding heart, I’m not. But I do have a heart. Doesn’t that count for something? Not for me, but someone else.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery