Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor
Volume V, Issue XII
The 'other' weekly news magazine is imploring us not to hate Cheryl Sanberg [click to read] because she's 'successful.' Well, if we shouldn't hate the corporate types we "Like" because they are associated with "cool" companies like Facebook (as opposed to nasty old Wall Street firms or oil companies) or espouse our preferred political persuasions, why not give up our animus toward successful people, period?
Successful people create jobs. Bill and Melinda Gates may be rich beyond imagination but other people have become rich working for Microsoft as well. We need businesses to provide essential goods and services for our lives. We all use Microsoft products (and I'll soon post a link to THYME on Facebook). I won't even think about Ms. Sanberg's ideology in the process.
So, please don't hate me as I divert from the usual parody. THYME has always been about things that interest me. Right now the things that interest me are those close to home.
Earl Hamner's pilot for The Waltons was a show called The Homecoming. There is a scene in The Homecoming where John Boy has to drive off into a snowstorm to pick up his Father, who is working away from home during the depression. His bus can't make the last bit of the trip, so John Boy drives the Model A to the town where he is stranded. As John Boy drives through the snowy night, you hear him repeat this lament over and over: "I try to be like you Dad, but I can't." John Boy, you see, has his manuscript hidden under the bed and aspires to write. He does not feel his farming Dad will understand.
Two days ago, my Son was riding the train from Chicago to Staunton, returning with his wife from a year of living in Gwangju, South Korea. My Daughter, her husband and my little Granddaughter were about to return from a trip to South Carolina. A large snow storm was bearing down on our region.
The train got as far as Huntington, West Virginia when they decided not to proceed any further. My Son and his wife were put on a bus to Clifton Forge. That was as far as they would take them.
In an odd twist on John Boy's story, I set out to drive to Clifton Forge. By the time I set out to get them, the roads were dry. Still, I had time to reflect on the story. I was the child with engineer parents who had piles of drawings hidden under my bed. I identified with John Boy.
My own children have flourished as the unique individuals that they are. Today as I sit surrounded by them. I feel blessed beyond measure.