From pretty early on I knew that I was going to college. I also knew that I would be going to get a degree that would help me get a job. By the time I was a sophomore in high school I was having conversations with the guidance counselor about degrees and programs. There were two key metrics in the decision-making process:
- How much did various occupations pay.
- What was a day in the life.
After graduating high school I loaded up my car and was off to MIT. For those of you who just choked on your Sweet Red Muscadine Wine, the MIT I went to was the Minnesota Institute of Technology; not the other one 😉
I can distinctly remember sitting at my make shift desk under the lofted bed my dad and I built back home. As if it were yesterday! I remember sitting there pouring over notes and books and struggling through a 4 page calculus problem; probLEM, not probLEMS. I finally finished and the answer was wrong. I had the distinct pleasure of doing it all over again.
While that memory exists and I smile at it now, it’s the next memory that I remember more. The one where I break my trusty Ticonderoga #2 lead pencil and throw it against the wall and scream, “Why am I doing this?”
See, my roommate was a CLA student. Those of us in the Institute of Technology laughed at CLA students. We laughed at them for a lot of reasons but most of all we laughed them because, well, just because they weren’t IT students. They attended what the UofM calls the College of Liberal Arts. Anyway, my roommate took soft courses. Played guitar, smoked a ton of weed and just hung out all the time. He was the guy that got mad because the professor made him wear shoes to class. And I was working on a 4 page problem; twice.
Now, in full disclosure, I didn’t graduate from Minnesota’s MIT. Rather, I transferred to a small state school and took my degree in Mathematics. But the mindset didn’t change. The answer to the question of that raging 18-year-old kid sitting in the dark of his dorm room struggling with math remained the same, “I am doing this for my wife and unborn children.”
I sacrificed then and do so now so that my family has. Just has. Has stuff. A home, a safe car, heat and food. They have an education and a life experience. I studied and then worked and now still work so that they have. And when I’m dead and gone it’s my desire that they get. Just get. Get the stuff that I didn’t get around to giving ’em when I was alive.
And tonight I’m watching O’Reilley and he has this guest on his show, a progressive think tank lady, and she is discussing wealth and Romney and taxes. And Bill asks her what she thinks he should pay in taxes? He cedes that he’s not only in the top bracket but he’s in the 1%. What should his tax rate be? Her answer?
I don’t know, mid 40’s maybe? But your kids should have to work.
Can you imagine that? She has the nerve to sit there, a champion of the poor and downtrodden, and have the gall to insist that the rich not only pay “their fair share”, but insist that their children work.
You won’t find a liberal alive that would insist that a welfare recipient work for that handout. You won’t find any liberal alive that would insist an unemployed individual show up to an office and work to find work. You won’t find a liberal anywhere that would require work in order to qualify for food stamps.
But the rich’s kids? They by God, THEY have to work!