Oink, Oink, Here Piggy Piggy
It has been a couple of days since I posted. I got off schedule, and now I am going to get off track. I had hoped to set more of a background for my stories before I started telling them. But in light of the recent stiumlus bill I feel the need to vent NOW.
Last night on the Bill O'Reilly show, a trailor at the bottom of the screen listed some of the pork projects receiving funds from the stimulus bill. How appropriate was it that one of the important needs was to study "pig odor". The entire package stinks. What I would like to see is names and addresses of the people getting these grants, so the unemployed can apply for jobs! I can tell them a lot about the smell of pigs.
My father, a retired Air Force Master Sargent, supported his family of six doing odd jobs after his discharge. During my high school years, he was a pig baby-sitter. Our landlord owned some of the biggest chicken and pig farms in the state, not to mention owning a feed store franchise that bears his name. When it became harder and harder for mom and dad to meet the rent, this was the only job offered the former military man.
Pigs have a tendency to birth their oinkers at night, and then roll over on them, crushing to death the young. Our landlord was losing his profit margin and he needed a night watchman to guard his inventory. And since pigs don't have weekends or vacations, neither did dad. He faithfully kissed mom each and every night and went off to work.
At first the odor was only on him as he came home each morning. But it wasn't long before it started to permeate everything. His car, his bed, his clothes, and finally the entire house. Mom tried every detergent and disinfectant she could to make the place livable. I remember her washing and re-washing his clothes in an old fashioned wringer washing machine. So if someone is needed for the afore mentioned study, I hereby volunteer.
However there was a perk to dad's job. A litters of pigs usually produced a runt of the bunch. This pig was then sacrificed for the betterment of the siblings. Many times dad brought the runt home rather than see it slaughtered. Given all his good intentions and persistant bottle feeding, the piglet generally died within a few days. But one day there was that one miracle pig that survived. He grew to adulthood and followed dad in his daily activities. When the time came for the pig to serve his intended purpose, dad was not able to consume even an ounce of the bacon, ham and sausage that came to be.
Even though mom and dad stuggled daily, and took blows to their dignity, they installed in their children a strong work ethic and power to achieve. Four of the six joined the military during the Vietnam era. My older brother tried, but was 4F for medical reasons stemming from high blood pressure. Education was a priority, and as salutorians, valadictorians, and veterans, college became a possiblity.
We became professionals. We physically built our own houses and made them homes. We raised children that have gone on to become doctors, law professionals, engineers, teachers and professors. They are also second generation computer buffs in a world where most of their peers are the pioneers of their families in that field.
And now we are being asked, nay forced, though our taxes, to support the pig farm in Washington. I can no longer remain silent as I am force fed this slop. Please join me in posting your own stories and joining a cause such as Glenn Beck's "we surround them." I'll get off my platform now.
As a side, my two older brothers supplimented their college scholarship by working at a factory run by someone named either Mr. Hogg or Mr. Pigg, I forget. Really, that was his name. At Christmas each one brought home a box of real pork for the table. And this was a meal that dad enjoyed.
