Loving On Americans

ALTHOUGH, BY THE GRACE OF GOD, I have plenty to eat, in fact too much to eat (note to self: stay away from buffets) I recently decided to sign up for all the local food banks, which in my area number three. I get the food, which is always handed to me in a convenient strong cardboard box full of delicious, nutritious edibles by warmhearted, kind folks. Then I take it home, and promptly redistribute it to my neighbors, some of whom, it seems to me, could use a little extra help. Sometimes folks who need a little help are a tad too proud or gun shy to go out and grab it. I may be wrong, but that nice lady across the street about my age with the three big strong husky sons living with her who are all in their twenties probably run up a pretty good food bill. I take joy in seeing families living together. The dad died, and they decided to suffer their grief together, as a family, rather then split up and make it each on his own, independent American style. I admire that, it warms my cockles, whatever cockles might be. One of the boys is a helluva cook, so I give them a variety of canned veggies, frozen meat, pasta, and spices, hoping he will scrounge up some good well rounded super delicious meals, and slide across the street and knock on my door, plate in hand. The ploy works every time. Thus, my motives are not all, shall we say, of the highest nobility. The very existence of such food banks is a clear indication of America's benevolence, of the kindhearted compassion of we the American people. There are many other such indicators. Notice that whenever a hurricane, fire, or tornado devastates a community, hundreds of thousands of dollars, Americans, and tons of food stuffs, including toilet paper and bottled water, descend on the unlucky town, bringing love and healing. In fact, we are becoming more compassionate with the passing decades. In 1906, when San Francisco was leveled by an earthquake then further devastated by consequently burning to the ground, a true double whammy, there was indeed a national response; free train rides out of the dead city, food and tents brought in by the military, and so forth, but also the army starting shooting looters on site, including those digging through the rubble of their own homes, and imposed martial law, without the consent of the governed, or the local government, or President Teddy Roosevelt. Attempting to create fire walls, the army destroyed entire neighborhoods with artillery fire, under the command of General "fearless" Freddie Funston, of Spanish War fame and glory. Freddie got a bit "over enthusiastic". He turned San Fran into a war zone, creating more fires than he put out. It was quite a scandal. However, there is no record of tens of thousand of benevolent Americans coming from all corners of the country to help rebuild and supply basic necessities. Maybe communication limitations of the day and primitive early twentieth century transportation slowed people down, plus, potential do gooders were probably scared off by the thought of aftershocks, and raging blazes. When my middle west American hometown was felled by a category five tornado in 2011, I spent three weeks digging through rubble, uncovered a couple of bodies, got depressed, and got a good does of PTSD, while about a hundred thousands angels of the Lord came from all across our fruited plain, bringing love and much needed help. My townies and I started gaining weight, so I had to start turning down cheeseburgers, which I still hope offended no one. You'll never catch me denigrating the compassionate nature of the American people. Their judgment, maybe, but not their capacity for love.