KD Rouse: Reflections of Wealth
I have experienced wealth, dining under chandeliers on fine china, sipping from goblets of cut glass, being served by maids who magically appear when my grandmother rings her little crystal bell.
I have ridden in the new cars, vacationed at the seaside, and placed gentlemenly bets at the posh Virginia Hunt Races from the VIP section as my Uncle, the Master of the Hunt, waves atop his horse, tipping his high hat slightly to the crowd. He is a champion, and a God to the ultra-snobby "Horsey Set" of Virginia.
Jamestown, Virginia was closed to the public the day a different Uncle said so, leaving all us cousins to roam free on the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria.
Smithfield embraces us with open arms because we are family from way, way back, and Newport News bows and scrapes, giving us the best of everything because we are with my Uncle.
Luckily, my particular branch of Virginia blue-bloods are poets and dreamers, some say the black sheep, so while I stepped into the world of wealth when visiting relatives, I escaped its confines at home.
We had acres to roam, horses to ride, craw-daddies to catch, willow branches to swing upon, a jillion books to read, and we could scamper across rafters and disappear through trapdoors in our huge, old barn, winning games of kick the can with our friends every time.
Pieces of 18th century gravestone led to the door of our 200 year old house, where floors were tilted like a tossed ship, and doors required secret handshakes to open.
Sometimes we were scared to death, but mostly we were free, and I don't remember thinking about money except when we visited our relatives.
Even as a child, I did not like the crystal bell. I thought it strange to be waited upon and would squirm out of my velvet chair and go help Miss Sally in the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Miss Sally showed me her varicose veins, and the secret to her butter biscuits. She let me see her roll her eyes when we heard the tinkle of the crystal bell coming from the dining room, and we laughed.
I found it curious as a child, and curiouser still now, how wealth attracts people like moths to a flame, people who suck up and are often disingenous.
Wealth is Power, and with Power comes Wealth.
Power can corrupt and Wealth has its underbelly.
Besides not knowing who to trust, the wealthy must secure what they have, for they are a target for thieves and con men, always being sized up as potential prey.
The more valuable the possession, the more security is needed.
It is a closed segment of society, where they prefer to marry within their bank account.
The men are chauvenists and the trophy wives love it.
The men always pay.
The wealthy often have trouble with their children, spending some of their fortune for rehabs in fabulous places and bail money.
Relationships can be shallow, boredom and restlessness can ensue.
It is a loyal group until one loses one's wealth.
Wealth can create fear of losing wealth, and then obsession with more wealth.
There is a danger that nothing is ever enough, or will ever be enough, and before you know it, the wealthy are in nothing but a well decorated hamster wheel.
KD Rouse: What I Learned in my Dance with Poverty
It is expensive to be poor.
You are penalized, fined, and tyrannized at every turn.
You have to pay security deposits and extra fees for payment plans.
You can't buy in bulk.
Society leeches off the poor, and sneers, kicking you when you're down, not realizing the precarious balance that separates any one of them from the same fate.
You wait forever, 5, 6 hours, and even in nice Christian volunteer crisis centers, the helpers feel free to look right through you, and smirk if you waited all day for nothing.
The helpers look at you with undisguised anger or boredom as you speak your humiliations out loud.
Yeah, yeah. They've heard it all before.
"Just a bunch of free-loading bums, can't keep a man, trying to get something for nothing just because they couldn't shut their legs, poppin 'em out like jelly beans, while I work for a living," she says.
I can hear it from the time she demands my name.
There are no pretty walls, books or toys for the children. The beaten down parents slump in their chairs, waiting and waiting. The children wait too. No one scurries for the poor.
The poor fall short and are hauled into court, where they are fined for being homeless or penniless. Vagrancy, drinking malt beverages in public, possesion of marijuana, and relationship troubles far outnumber any criminal charges, and everyone is poor.
