I dreamed my Mom, Greg and I were having a family discussion about the virtues of charity. The way family discussions usually went was that I was in trouble for something or other, and they were endeavoring to straighten me out by means of punishment of some kind.
"We want you to give your allowance to charity," Greg said, in his usual "I'm asking, but I'm not asking" tone of voice.
"And what if I don't?" was my reply, which roughly translated as "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" in teenage speak.
Greg gave me a smoldering glare, his patience growing thin. "In that case we're just going to have to start charging you rent, let's say $1000 a month, starting now."
"I think if you really want to help people, you should help them directly," I said philosophically. "Let's say you buy a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly. Make them a sandwich and give them the loaf and the jars. You've fed them and given them food for a week. Done." I was pretty happy with myself for coming up with such a practical solution on the cheap.
"No, that's not going to cut it," said Greg adamantly. "We want this to come out of your savings. You need to feel this."
"The only thing I'm going to feel is resentment," I shot back. "If this is about charity, doesn't that have to come from the heart? All you're going to do by taking my money is cement in my mind how much I don't like this."
That last retort may have been me arguing with myself as I woke up from the dream. I was still mad, as the dream had been going on for some time with a lot of back and forth on the subject, and I was getting nowhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.