The Great Depression

They said that too much of a good thing was a bad thing, but their plea fell on deaf ears. I watched as others turned from peasants to millionaires, why couldn’t I do the same? I was lost in a reverie of boundless fortunes, clinging to the hope that my perfect life was a few deals away.  It was a high that wouldn’t end until I was ready for it to end, and I intended to capitalize on this luxury that ever-so-graciously presented itself before me.  Money doesn’t grow on trees, but it sure seemed to.  I watched gleefully as my fortune doubled and tripled before my eyes.  I was hooked; my glorious life coming closer and closer into focus.  Pulled more and more into the warm and comforting embrace of the illusion that every American shared, I kept going.  I promised myself that in another month, I was out and watch as everything else fell neatly into place.  That next month, I was out just as I had assured myself.  Just not in the way I had envisioned. Out in the streets, broke.  Everything, gone.  How can so much money just vanish at once?

I was always careful with my money, or so I thought.  I had the common sense to make sure that I always had a healthy supply of money to fall on in case something unpredictable happened, for better or for worse. My mother would always tell me that every day carried the probability of an unforeseen disaster, and she was right.  I made sure to put my money in the bank, a safe and secure vault that would guard my money; something to rely on in times of need.  I didn’t buy into the American dream of quick fortune and free handouts; I worked for what I had. Six days a week, seven hours a day.  During the panic of the crash, I remained calm. This was what I had worked for; this is what I had planned out.  I went to withdraw my money, and was informed that there was no money to withdraw.  How does my money that I deposited in the bank simply disappear?  This isn’t fair.  I worked hard, certainly harder than those fools who fell into the facade of trying to make a quick buck, and I am punished for doing my duty and contributing back to my country? If anyone deserves any money, it’s me. I trusted the bank to keep my money safe for when I needed it.  Years of effort and dedication, wasted. Everything I had ever worked for, gone with the wind.  Lost, like my hope.

I try to rise early to start my day for the sake of the children, and commit to my usual schedule.  Clean the dust off of the table. Clean the dust off of the shelves. Cook food and try to get as little dust in the food as possible. Clean the dust off of the table. Clean the dust off of the shelves.  Count how many times the children cough in a minute. Clean the dust off of the table.  Clean the dust off of the shelves.  Re-secure the shut doors.  Clean the dust off of the table.  Clean the dust off of the shelves.  You know, just the usual. A moment to myself would be nice, a luxury I cannot afford. It’s been so long, I’ve almost forgotten if normal air feels any different at all.  I’ve let my hope die down-better to face reality for what it is rather than to wake up day after day, facing nothing than the incurable sense of disappointment all the while the insatiably bitter sensation of false-hope burning in your throat.  Maybe that burning sensation is actually the dust though, it’s hard to tell. If anyone else had two bury two of their own children, I’m sure their fun and hopeful outlook on life would dissipate as well.

Visits to the local Soup Kitchen aren’t quite as embarrassing as they used to be.  Deciding to look on the brighter side of things, my family and I are quite grateful for the free food.  We certainly aren’t getting food from anywhere else.  After almost a year of these near-daily visits, it wouldn’t be an absurd notion to give up hope for things to return back to a sense of normality. We refuse to give in because we know that President Franklin Roosevelt has our backs.  It feels like he’s actually one of us, struggling alongside us and believing in a solution.  On the radio, we can listen to him update us on how he’s working on helping each and everyone one of us.  He takes our letters and personally takes his time and responds to us, an action that does not go unnoticed and lets us know that our government hasn’t given up on us.  People say that certain qualities and characteristics like intelligence and resolve make a President worthy of his position, but I feel the key is simply to be connected to the American people themselves.  President Roosevelt is more than willing to listen to each and everyone of our plights, and that’s just what this county needs right now.