The Horn of Plenty is a Parade Float - Page 2
Yesterday I got a phone call from my daughter's school.
"It's me," said my first grader on the other end. "You forgot my lunch."
I walk into the kitchen and see her lunch bag sitting on the counter. "Can't you just buy the lunch today?"
"It's turkey tacos," she replied, with finality.
I drive to school. To bring her the peanut butter sandwich.
In America, the horn of plenty is a giant parade float, shaking under its own weight.
I am not idealizing poverty. I have no illusions about the difficulty of life on $2 a day. If this is survivor guilt, so be it. Anything to shake up this complacency that blinds us to the everyday luxury of American life.
I once laughed at a comedian who imitated the complaints of airline travelers, then shouted "You're FLYING THROUGH THE AIR!" We forget the miracles under our noses. We complain. We grumble about traffic — as we drive in our comfortable cars with full tanks. The computer is slow and I nearly blow a gasket.
"Live simply so others can simply live." Never has that directive felt so essential, nor so necessary.
We can send the Haitians our money, our thoughts, our prayers, our shoes. We can petition for Haitian debt relief. But after the benefits, the fundraisers, the education, we still owe them something else. We owe them gratitude for our own lives.