Enough already with this Occupy Wall Street nonsense.
Don’t get me wrong, every month I write that check for my underwater mortgage, pay the car insurance and deal with other necessities, I dream up a million other ways on how to spend that money. While I might not like writing those checks, I sure do enjoy the fact that my family has a roof over their head, food on the table, and some hot water for that shower.
I grew up in an immigrant household. For my parents, their migration to the United States was about opportunity and building a better life for themselves and their eventual family. They were two immigrants with less than a grade school education, traveling to a foreign country, where they did not speak the language or know the customs or traditions.
Forty-two years ago, when my parents ventured into this new country, the only thing they had was each other and a work ethic that is as strong and old as this country’s history. They didn’t whine or complain, they just worked hard and took the necessary steps to make their own situation better.
Over the past twenty years, my parents have opened their home to nearly fifty-two kids. In a foster home you quickly realize that life is rarely easy and nothing comes for free. Many of these kids are just looking for a safe and secure place, away from an abuser. Others spent weeks hoarding food, wondering if the next day the food was going to disappear, and for most, they spent days, weeks, months, years and for some a lifetime wondering why their parents had abandoned them. Life wasn’t and isn’t easy for those kids, and fairness was something they had to fight for at the most basic level.
