MEDICARE...Dave & Sharyn Madison

I do not know the Madison’s personally, but painfully, their story hits home for many (TOO MANY) Americans:

"Medicare’s Sinkhole"
Senior citizens stuck in drug program's coverage gap
At first, health insurance with the new Medicare prescription drug plan seemed like a good deal to Dave and Sharyn Madison.
Then Dave Madison got cancer.
That was when the Madisons found out about the "hole" in their drug plan.
This month, their co-pay was $1,307 for the oral chemotherapy Dave Madison needs to fight his pancreatic cancer.
That seemed like a lot, until they learned that in July, they'll have to pay the entire cost of that drug: $2,587.
"We've hit that doughnut hole," Sharyn Madison said.
The "doughnut hole" is a designed coverage gap in the new Medicare program, which began in January.
Almost 7 million senior citizens with Medicare drug coverage are expected to fall into the doughnut hole this year, according to a Kaiser Family Foundation study.
The Medicare drug benefit's basic coverage, known as Part D, pays nothing until drug costs reach $250.
The plan then covers 75 percent of costs - until the annual bill reaches $2,250 - with the individual paying the remaining 25 percent.
"From $2,250 to $5,100, the plan pays zero," said Mike Fierberg, a regional spokesman for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services.
"The beneficiary pays 100 percent," Fierberg said. "That's what's called the doughnut hole."
The expenditures are calculated annually, so anyone who needs a lot of drugs faces the gap year after year.
Some plans also cover fewer drugs or pay less for particular drugs.
Dave Madison, 66, will be one of those people. Doctors have told him he'll have to stay on his grueling chemotherapy regimen - an intravenous treatment once a week for three weeks, then one week off, plus the oral drug Tarceva - for the rest of his life.
Congress intentionally created the coverage gap, said Vicki Gottlich, a senior policy attorney with the Center for Medicare Advocacy.
"Congress wanted to fund catastrophic needs and make sure everybody got something," Gottlich said.
"The only way they could do that for the amount of money they intended to allocate was to create the doughnut hole," she said.
Even with the coverage gap, the 10-year price tag for Medicare drug coverage is currently estimated to be $724 billion, far more than the $395 billion originally projected, according to federal figures.
Congressional reasoning isn't much solace to the Madisons, whose fixed income, including Dave's pension from 40 years as a bricklayer, amounts to about $34,000 a year.
"There's something wrong with the way they wrote Medicare Part D because people who earn as little as we live on and have worked hard all our lives, it drops us out of the picture," Sharyn Madison said.
Before Medicare Part D, many drug companies offered special assistance for people who couldn't afford lifesaving medication.
But there is confusion over whether such assistance is legal under Part D, leading many companies to cut back or cut off that assistance to seniors.
Medicare's Fierberg said drug companies can still legally provide drugs.
But Debra Charlesworth, a spokeswoman for the pharmaceutical company Genentech, said many drug companies are awaiting official clarification on what assistance they can and can't provide.
Genentech makes Tarceva, the drug Dave Madison needs.
Since January, pharmaceutical assistance has dried up, according to Thomas Stephansky, a social worker with Rocky Mountain Cancer Center's Aurora clinic.
"With Medicare Part D, we're told patients can no longer get assistance through the manufacturer directly," he said.
In Colorado, 436,900 seniors, about 83 percent of those eligible, have signed up, Fierberg said.
They've enrolled in one of 43 private-insurance plans offered in the state.
The monthly premiums vary from no charge for some HMOs to about $73.
It is possible to buy coverage that includes a much smaller doughnut hole, Fierberg said.
"A number of plans in Colorado do offer coverage in the doughnut hole, particularly for generic drugs," he said, adding that those plans cost more.
Nationwide, the Center for Medicare Advocacy is starting to hear stories of people with expensive drug regimens - especially cancer patients, and people with HIV/AIDS or multiple chronic conditions - who are struggling, Gottlich said.
Advocates and health-care providers are seeing those people in Colorado as well.
"I've had patients who have gone into debt, who are getting second mortgages, putting expenses on credit cards, even filing for bankruptcy," Stephansky said.
Sharyn Madison fears that sort of financial catastrophe. "We've always had really, really good credit," she said. "Now it's becoming questionable because we're struggling to pay our bills every month. We used to be able go to the movies or out to dinner. Now we just put all the money into medicine and hope it saves his life."
There are already 10 bills in Congress that would reduce or eliminate the doughnut hole, including one co-sponsored by Colorado Sen. Ken Salazar.
Gottlich said there is little hope that any of the measures will become law. "I think Congress is reluctant to open up anything about Part D," she said.
Andrew Nannis, Salazar's spokesman, said making a change in an election year "would be tough."
"However, as more and more people either butt up against the doughnut hole or realize the benefit isn't ... giving them more coverage than they had with private insurers, it's going to be hard for members of Congress to ignore," Nannis said.
Meantime, Sharyn and Dave Madison are scraping together money for his July chemotherapy and have applied for aid through the drug company.
"We have some of it, but we're starting to panic," Sharyn Madison said.
She said they will probably have to sell Dave's truck to get the entire amount.
After July, they will be through the doughnut hole - at least for this year.
"Then on January 1st, we have to start it all over again," Sharyn Madison said.



Yep, the V.I. has done it again by telling folks to bend over and take it up the tail. Nope, you don’t get a reach-around, grease or even a kiss, just bend over and take it.

Medicare will not be fixed until one thing happens and the solution is simple. Make ALL politicians eligible for Medicare and Social Security. Take away their lifetime benefits and make them vulnerable and poverty-stricken just like the people and then and only then will the problems of Medicare and Social Security go away.

The average annual salary for most politicians is over $150.000.

I don’t know why anyone would stand by those who refuse to show any interest in the people, but easily squander away money. Politicians should only receive raises when the minimum wage is adjusted. Why pay politicians over $150,000 a year when all they do is lie about where the money is spent - all while the people suffer on minimum wage. Most politicians claim they are looking out for the people so one can assume they are risking their lives while doing the work for the people; as if they are performing a job that they love. They are public servants and should behave in such a manner. In short, cut their pay and give some of that surplus back to the people who blindly stand by them.

When our politicians get the same treatment as the people, only then will they realize the sinister acts of government.

Only after working 40 plus years and coming down with illnesses such as cancer and other debilitating -and possibly deadly diseases, will our politicians change their minds about fixing the problem.

Sadly, the people have worked hard all of their lives not seeking a handout but merely expecting to provide for their families, but in the end, get trampled by this polluted government. Consider Mr. Roy E. Johnson who has served in Vietnam only now to be a steady worker on downtown Denver streets as a beggar. How does our government repay him for his tour of duty? Yep, come up with a new article that says panhandling should be outlawed. Furthermore, they want to fine those who give to the panhandlers. Yikes, they are at it again!

It is not surprising, but what is most baffling is the menials who continue to endorse them; contributing to the pain on the people. Is it any wonder that people commit suicide? Okay, that to me is very drastic, but is it any wonder that crime is on the rise? Yes there are more people, but the government should have done something better to control that problem. Humph! You see a huge increase in fraudulent activity while at the same time, more homes in foreclosure. Yes, our money, MY money could be spent more wisely. Luckily our government has made the choice to spend YOUR money on wood investigations all that is costing the people only a small amount of $6 million dollars per year.

No big deal.

I read a study that claims if you were conceived at a young age, then there is a possibility that you’ll live longer. I suppose that study could coincide with the same report that claims people are living longer today then they did 10 years ago. Okay, that’s cool, but my question remains why? Why is it that the Fuzzy Math guy thinks this is so great under this administration? Is it because they have more people to take advantage of? Is it because those so-called lucky folk who live so long that they can now endure more pain? How lucky can one be? Yes Mr. V.I. I can certainly see why that is something to cheer about.

How is that there are so many homeless people are living in a park only yards away from the State Capital?

I pray that the following will do more then just waste the people’s money, but make a stand and do right by and for the people:
Mr. Bill Owens, Ms. Diana DeGette, Mr. Wayne Allard, Mr. Ken Salazar, Mr. Mark Udall, Mr. John Salazar, Ms. Marilyn Musgrave, Mr. Joel Hefley, Mr. Thomas Tancredo, Mr. Bob Beauprez, Mr. John Hickenlooper, Colorado’s Health Care Task Force, the lobbyists, council representatives; ALL elected officials.

And for all the Madisons, I want you to know that you’re not alone, but that there are people out there who care and are praying for you and yours.




©Keeba Smith

Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Ode to the Old Clothes

Old Clothes

She said her husband’s underwear was so ragged that the crotch would wave in the wind as he walked. She said he refused to let go of the underwear although she had purchased several new pairs just for him. The wife just could not understand as to why he loved those old pants.

Over the years, I have listened to women complain that their spouses refuse to say goodbye to old clothing and each of these women seemed clueless as to why. Some men who love these old raggedy clothes deem them a necessity in their lives seemingly as a comforter. I presume it is similar to a child with a pacifier - a must have to sedate.

As a woman who thought it elegant to wear matching dress, shoes and purse, I thought these classy tattered men just failed to look good for the women in their lives; forgetting mom’s adage, Make sure you have on clean underwear just in case you get into an accident.

Now I know these men knew what mom meant and that they were very obedient to their mothers. Yes, they were men who actually listened to what mom said. She said that the underwear had to be clean NOT store bought. There is a huge difference.

While growing up, my parents had 7 crumb-snatchers to feed and clothe as well as themselves. Now count the number of people on your fingers and you will see that amounts to 9 people to purchase the necessities for. Often time, we would receive hand-me-downs from family friends and/or shop at our nearest Kmart. We could not always afford brand new clothing, but my mother said that as long as the clothes were clean, then we were in good shape.

"If you just have one dress, make sure that one dress is clean; no missing buttons or holes."
Okay mom, we heard ya.




I got my first job when I was 15 and found that I was able to purchase the necessities of an overabundance of clothes. Yes, each pair of shoes matched my purses, which matched my new dresses. I thought I looked good. Every chance I got, I would drive to the mall and pickup a dress or two along with the matching necessary accessories of more shoes, purses, earrings, fingernail polish, bracelets and other items to fill my over crowded bedroom. (M.S. and the other homemaker-decorating-queens would be proud that I was able to store over 200 pairs of shoes in such a small closet space.)

Often I would receive opposition from those who did not understand that just because you have a brown pair of shoes does not necessarily mean that you have taupe, tan, or even auburn. In addition, the color black comes in more than one shade of black and any intelligent person is aware of the different styles and shades of gold, gray, silver, blue, light blue, baby blue, sky blue, green, winter green and hunter green. Please even white has different, noticeable shades; bone, bone-white, off white, pearly white, egg shell white, golden pearl, etc.


While I was purchasing all of these nonsense items, it never occurred to me that I was spending my college money, a down payment for a home, additional life insurance, payment for a car and other important things, but I was looking and feeling good for the moment. It wasn’t until my dad said, "Keeba, give me some of that money to put away for you," did I realize that there was such a thing called saving for a rainy day.

Humph, who did he think he was? It was MY money and I should be able to spend it any way I wanted. Uh huh, at least so I thought. My dad drove me to Colorado National Bank and purchased a few savings bonds. Please! What the heck was I suppose to do with those pieces of paper? They didn’t have any value; for the moment. I wasn’t happy, but I suppose that just how it was going to have to be; at least until I was able to afford to live under my own roof.

While I was able to increase my waistline at McDonalds, and purchase more cheap shoes, I bought food for the house and paid both the electricity and water bill. (I had to do my little part.)

****
I am thankful I was able to learn from my mother after she endured much pain while continuously wearing cheap shoes.

Thanks to my dad saving my little funds, I was able to purchase a reliable vehicle. Of course, I wasn’t too bright when I allowed my car insurance to lapse at the same time as this marijuana-head man smashed into the back of my car. Yes, I suffered in more ways then one when I walked away with severe whiplash and an uninsured vehicle that now looked like a badly smashed-inflexible boot on I-70.

Thanks to my dad in helping me pay some of my creditors who sought me out in the daylight with a flashlight seeking their money when I lost my job.

Thanks to the education system and commonsense that the word, "temporary" is just that, temporary; short-lived and passing. Yes, my job title read, "Temporary Supplemental" and was only gainful and attainable while I was in High School. (I was awfully bright as you can tell.)

Thanks to the excess McDonalds-weight program I learned that additional money would have to be made to cover my body expansion. And that I learned I would no longer eat fast-foods until I gained some type of employment.

Thanks to God, commonsense and experience, that I learned that beauty is temporary and brains are forever, well…

****
There came a time when I did not mind wearing the same alternated clothes in my closet. And the shoes, well they became hard and discolored while sitting in the uncovered shoeboxes. There came a time when I either grew up or didn’t have much concern as to what I wore, but just that the clothes were clean and neatly pressed. Only age, wisdom and experience would allow me to consider owning a dry cleaning business as well as buying stock in "No-Nonsense Pantyhose." But I was young and the future was never a factor in my temporary mind.

I wished I had gained some knowledge regarding healthy and nutritious eating or lack thereof while dinning at all of those fast food restaurants.

Today, I am a few pounds lighter, but certainly much more aware (not necessarily smarter) of my expenditures. So much so, that I remember my mother telling me that I could own one dress just as long as it is clean and pressed. When I go shopping for clothes, I seek the cheap outlets and for shoes, JC Penny, Sears and shoe outlets.

I’m not proud of the experiences, but am thankful I learned from them, as I certainly would not wish them to define me. In addition, I do not wish to be characterized as a cheap person, but know a good bargain when I see one. Howeverrrrrrrr, my mother thought I was tacky when I went to the thrift store and purchased several blouses to wear throughout the summer months.

"Keeba, aren’t you ashamed?" she asked.
"No," I said. "When we were young, we received hand-me-downs and there wasn’t any problem, so I certainly don’t see a problem with wearing used (recycled) clothes now."
"But that was then and this is now. You can afford to buy clothes from the mall and not some cheap place like the thrift store."
"But mom, you wouldn’t have known if I didn’t tell you now, would you?"
"No, but since I do, well lets just say that you’re just so cheap that you won’t even buy descent clothes."
"Mom, you and daddy told me about saving money." (See I actually did listen.) I continued to state my case. "When you see Bill Gates, he doesn’t look as though he stepped off the run-way, but as if he purchased those wrinkled khaki pants from the second hand store."

My mother let out a shameful and pitiful "ummmmmm," and shook her head.

I hoped she was not so ashamed of me, but I did look good or presentable anyway. I mean, the blouse was neatly ironed and it was certainly clean. Besides, I had a few extra bucks saved in the BANK!

Some years ago, I embarked on an endeavor that greatly took me by surprise. While at home, I didn’t see any reason to continue to play dress-up, but instead took on more of Mr. Gates tactics and dressed down. With my flexible weight, I took on elastic pants from Wal-Mart. Ah! I felt good. Well, maybe not so much, but at least my stomach was not eating the waist-line of my pants. I purchased 8 or 9 pairs of those comfortable fat pants and wore them 7 days a week. Wash and wear was great; no more dry cleaning bills! Yes!

Does anyone know that you can not wash those cheap pants repeatedly and expect them to last more than 1,095 days? Well, I didn’t. Well, not until one of the many black pairs began to produce openings in various places in the material. At first, the material receeded and produced a small hole in the leg, and then in the other and then the knee and shortly after, near the ankle area. It was not until later that a small rip in the seam of the crotch that I noticed I might run into problems. I continued to wash and wear the pants until one day I discovered a large, oversized cavity in the knee and crotch and that I would have to do the unthinkable and pull out the old needle and thread. I sewed the pants without considering wasting gas, time or money to purchase new ones. It cost me no more than 15 to 20 minutes for me to repair my oldies but goodies and to top it off, I looked and felt good; at least for the moment.



One day while visiting my mom, I suppose I was not sitting in the fashionable lady-like stance; I really don’t recall. Anyway, my mothered looked at me and made some reply regarding the unsaved pants. She laughed. I laughed. She continued to laugh and point while I sat with a disfigured look.

After a few bouts with self, I decided to put the stretch pants to rest and try a size 10 Rider jeans. I felt good knowing that my butt was not trying to swallow the back of my jeans.

Every now and then, I pull on a pair of the old goodies and I feel fine, although others seem to have a problem with the holes and permanent stains. I am not going to a fancy diner, and gone are my so-called modeling days. Furthermore, every time Mr. Good Wrench a.k.a. Home-Improvement-Tim Allen-wannabe asks if I want to take a drive, and I say I need to change clothes, he just simply responds, "Who are you dressing up for? Its just you and me… you like fine…lets go."



So, if Mr. Bad Wrench doesn’t have a problem with it, then neither do I. Again, I do not wish to be defined as to who I am or am not.

Proudly, I still own a few pairs of old trusties, but my jeans are wearing fine - for now.

With much compunction, I finally have the courage to say goodbye to one pair of thee most trustworthy clothes I have ever had the great opportunity in owning. I have been good to them and them me as I have certainly got my monies worth. And to all those men who enjoy the waving crotch, keep it up, or down, just as long as you’re comfortable. I won’t judge, but will simply say, I understand.



©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Juneteenth

Juneteenth means something different for my family; it was my mother’s birthday. As a young child, my mother had thought that the big commotion was a celebration of her birthday, and when she learned it was not, she said she felt overlooked on a day that was special to her. When she told us this, we decided to make the day special - just for her. She said that was then and this is now, however we wouldn’t hear anything of it. We would bake a cake or have one specially made, either or, a larger assemblage of friends and family would come together to celebrate the life of a much appreciated woman. We had barbecue ribs, chicken, hamburger, hotdogs - the works.

Now that my mother is at peace, we are in memorial of a special day of a woman who meant so much to us. We do not celebrate the dead but give thanks to the life she gave and shared with so many.

Here in the Mile High City, Juneteenth is not widely celebrated in the community as the former site has been taken over by big businesses that do not have any desire to view a bunch of Urban folk celebrating a day that commemorates their freedom. There are two small (brief) crowds of people who come together to celebrate, but it is not the same. …. I will not elaborate, but have accepted the day as my mother’s birthday.

Happy Juneteenth to all who celebrated and to the rest….



©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Nothing Is What It Seems

Nothing Is What It Seems

Nothing is what it seems
I can't imagine nothing could cause the beams
To go down on 9/11
I thank God in heaven
It wasn't me or my loved ones there
To face such trauma
To watch a plane fly so freely in the air
Into a building
Causing such damage and turmoil
I can only imagine what was the cause
So many blamed the Muslims
Who believe in Allah
He who does not understand history
Is bound to repeat it self
Was this contempt, greed or wealth
Nothing is what it seems
Oh what a terrible dream
But I am awake watching in fear
Awaking late
Thinking of my dying mother I held dear
This day she went to sleep
Dear Lord, her soul He will keep
From that day forward
It would be remembered
2001, the 11th of September
Sometimes through my own greed
Often times praying to God to heed
And keep my mother here
Sometimes glad she did not awake
To know my heart ached
For this world I did not know
From what will allow me to continue to grow
All of my dreams was just that,
Dreams I would combat
This day forward only God knows I enjoy to remember
The 23rd of December
However I would not enjoy to remember
The 11th of September
2001

Nothing is what it seems
Was it Osama’s dream
(or our very own)
For us to spend millions
And kill over 1,000 American humans
Or our own government at work
Shoving their own dirt
On the American sheep
(can I use drones)
Who believe anything
Oh, America, please God keep
Us safe; watching us from being taken
For thinking as we should
On our own instead of being petrified old wood
I'd believe if I could
We are the god of the world
When it comes to our beliefs
Should I remain a sheep

Nothing is what it seems
I still hold on to my dreams

Osama from Afghanistan?
Will we ever find the man
Who if found, will be held responsible
For an insensible plan
But is it all that impossible
A man who went to congress for money
Now that is plausible
His term had just began
How inconceivable
But perhaps believable
He appears
Like a deer
Scared, caught in the lights
Stop this plight
And allow us to live our dreams
‘Cause nothing is what it seems
He peers like an idiot
Please quit
That's just it!
He peers
Stop and allow our fears
To cease
What about the peace?
Plausible it was our own to cause this terrible thing
Reminder: in America, freedom rings

Possibly it was an act
To know the seat was stolen is a fact
The faithful train need to be trained
The economy is in trouble
Mess around and hit a triple double
(watch out Korea, Iran and Iraq)
Things like this has happened before
How soon we forgot
Here again history is repeating itself
But put those dusty books away you don't need em'
Return them to the shelf
Who can gamble our fate
So boldly and go to Kuwait
We stand to see our own demise
It's no surprise
They call it liberty
The government has decided without evidence
That Iraq is guilty
Comply or take the ride
Have we forgotten the war in Afghanistan
Or have we just scrapped the plan
Aren't we spreading ourselves a bit just too thin
Picking fights
The size of a small country but will we win
The battle or loose the war
Remind me once again
Just what are we fighting for?
Peace and liberty
For you or me

I didn't ask for the fight
Don't I have a right
To say no
Woe!
is me
Asked where is my patriotism
My national loyalism
Nothing is what it seems
This is not my All-American dream
Osama, he just like most had a momma
Has taught him right from wrong
At least he sings his own or new song
And split
Are we even equipped

Looking for him or check ourselves
Sheep or just simple ol’ elves
Call it what you like or the way you see it
I don't want to be
The one to tell the children no food, medicine or a place to stay
Woe is to him that says
Pro anything
Eyes are wet
Writing letters to the president
Asking him not to bet
Or stake our lives on something that isn't a sure thing

Nothing is what it seems!

Medicine is not available to me or yours
But to those who come a shore
Medicine is readily available if you have the money
Isn't that funny
Work hard all your life
Never expecting anything more only to face such strife
But asking do I dare take treat
Or have a roof over my head for another week

Nothing is what it seems
They have shattered all my hopes and dreams

Working harder, voting too
Following all the rules
Told I’m lucky
Born in a system that is the best there is
Who’s to say there could have been a better one in the Africans
Of Africa my forefathers were born
To make a way of life
Until the slave snatchers did swarm/sworn
Ironing boards, light filaments, type writing machine, pens too
The advanced printing press and automatic gear shift to name a few
Invented by AA’s but hated by the KK
For the color of my skin
They don’t know unless they know where we've been
Or where we may have stayed
We could have built a better place
We could have stayed and you'd never see our face
History is repeating itself
Keep your own wealth
For the wealth of the wicked is stored up for the wise
It is not a surprise to see your own demise

Nothing is what it seems
Kill all of our dreams

Nothing is what it seems!

I’m not a radical,
Fundamentalist or thief;
I just have my own beliefs.
Nothing is what it seems.
I will keep quiet as I wait
To see America's fate.
I hope I’m not here
As I fear
Because of my beliefs;
As I say, "Nothing is what it seems."
I’ve tried so hard to fulfill my own dreams.
Though tired, I’m not lazy or onus,
Just need to figure out a way;
As I build my own safe haven; a place to stay.
This is not a message of hostility or hate,
Just when the horrible day comes; so soon when we face our fate.
I do not hold resentment, disrespect or contempt,
But I, the writer of this,
wishes to remain exempt…
...or
...just nameless
...anonymous


From the author/Writer’s comments:
My time is limited with my dear mother.
My television is always on. Fox News and CNN seem to be my news critic of choice. While I cleaned the kitchen, I watched Colin Powell’s speech regarding a potential war with Iraq and the U.S.’s involvement. While I listened, pain and anguish filled my heart, for my mother, my family and this Nation. Who am I, what can I do?
With little else to do, I wrote, "Nothing is What it Seems." September 12, 2001
©Keeba Smith

~Collection from Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity
From the book of anthology, "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity" © No. 71
© Keeba Smith



©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

HAPPY DAD'S DAY (To all the REAL Dad's)

Dad’s Day

I always say that no one needs to state who they are, but their actions should speak as to who they are and or are not.

As often stated, my dad was not a man who walked around proudly and claimed he was a dad as his actions spoke LOUD and clear.

My dad was not a man who just allowed a woman to have his children, but fathered the seeds. My dad had 3 and sometimes 4 jobs to supply our habits of eating, our strong desire to sleep inside a warm home with electricity, as well as the longing hope to have clothes on our backs and medication when needed. Often his brothers would call and asked, "And how is the family?" Now, I do not believe their inquiry was limited to my mother, the dog and the limited-lifetime fish, but my dad’s children as well.

I am very happy as well as pleased when I honestly say that my dad could easily answer the question, 'How is the family.'

Today, I ask, where are the dads? Can you proudly say I AM A DAD? Do you know the definition of "Dad?"

Microsoft Word provides the following definition of "dad" as: 1.) Father 2.) Male parent 3.) Progenitor 4.) Sire 5.) Parent.

The Super Thesaurus describes "Dad" as, 1.) Daddy 2.) Father 3.) Pop 4.) Papa 5.) Old man 6.) Parent 7.) Governor 8.) Protector.

The Holy Bible "heritage edition," states, FATHER, a word which means "protector" and has several meanings. It can mean an ancestor, (I Kings 15:11; II Kings, 14:3) a founder (Genesis 10:21; 17:4,5; 19:37) a benefactor (Job 29:16), a teacher (I Samuel 10:12), or an intimate relationship (Job 17:14). The position of the father as the head of the family finds its root in the patriarchal government (Genesis 3:16; I Corinthians 11:3). God is designated as Father of Jesus Christ (Ephesians 1:17; I Corinthians 8:6), "the Father of light" (James 1:17), "the Father of spirits" (Hebrews 12:9), and the Father of man (Acts 17:26; Luke 3:8).

When referring to the Bible, the 5th commandment clearly states the duty of the children, however, the duties of the parents to the children are also strongly emphasized in the Scriptures. The job of the parent is to train the child to fear and respect the Lord and must refrain from provoking the child to unnecessary anger in order that the child will not be discouraged (Deuteronomy 6:7; Ephesians 6:1-4.)

If children are to be gifts from God, then why don’t we as parents do more to show appreciation and cherish the gifts by being parents to the child?

Let us not boldly proclaim our own self-given titles, but actually live up to the name we proudly wish to be acknowledged by; allowing our actions to show and speak for themselves.

For all of you REAL Dad’s, I can onlyyyyy simply say, THANK YOU!

Thank You for getting up all hours of the day and night to tread to work so that your children can enjoy the necessities of food, electricity, clothes, and a roof over their heads. Thank You for chastising your children when needed and thereby keeping them from harming others, but worse yet, themselves. And though tired, Thank You for staying up late to tell them bed time stories even when they feel they are too old to be read to and tucked in. Thank You for staying up late at night, securing the home, and making them feel safe. In lieu of blaming the lack of concern in our education system, Thank You for taking the extra time to help them study and finding the answers to not only the questions in their study books, but in life as well. Thank You for taking the time in not only saying you love them, but showing it as well. Thank You for being dads and not just a donor of life but donating to an enriched life for your children. Thank You for showing – being a role model for your male children and teaching your female children how to get along in this life. Thank You for being there when the mom’s could or would not. Thank You for teaching them that they must be aware of their own actions/accountability, thereby teaching them respect and responsibility. Thank You for teaching them how to save money as well as to spend wisely. Thank You for being a reflection of what a REAL MAN is and that his/her heritage is something to be held to the highest esteem and hence should be carried on with the same integrity.

I Thank You, MEN [REAL MEN] for putting all of your selfishness aside and sacrificing your own needs by putting your children first. To all of the MEN, who are and are not biological dad’s, Thank You for being a parent for the children.

The children Thank You for teaching them how they too can be prosperous and active dads in years to come. In addition, they Thank You for teaching them right from wrong and how to care for you in your old age.

For that reason, I simply wish to say, Thank you!

I find the following article most interesting and most of all, sad but true:

Taki S. Raton, wrote, "Fathers Day" For The Black Man Has Yet To Be Earned. Quoting from a speech delivered by The Rev. Dr. Patrick T. O'Neill of the First Parish Unitarian Universalistic Church in Framingham, Massachusetts, Dr. Joy Degruy Leary in the opening prologue to her book "Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome" shares a traditional greeting in the Masai culture.
"Among the most accomplished and fabled tribes in Africa," quoting O'Neill, "no tribe was considered to have warriors more fearsome or more intelligent than the mighty Masai.
"It is perhaps surprising, then, to learn that the traditional greeting that passed between Masai warriors was 'Kasserian ingera' as one would always say to another, 'And how are the children?'"
This greeting, notes the excerpt, underscored the high value that the Masai places not only on the well being of the children but also on the security and well being of the family and community. So to the question, "And how are the children," the response being, "The children are well," the unsaid inference is that the families and the community are safe and secure both from within and from without.
If the men of any group are not doing well; if at any time in the historical corridor the men become defeated and consumed by another, then eventually the family and the community will evolve into a self-destruct mode. A group, a culture must always ensure that their men are strong, able bodied, mentally cultivated and culturally spirited. Then and only then will the families and community remain secure.
Presently 141 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, the Black man today is at his weakest point here in 2006 then we have ever been. Our children are not doing well. Our families and our communities are not safe and secure. Our future remains in serious question.
What happened to the role, duty, responsibility, obligation, expectation, and charge of the Black man to ensure that his family and community are secure and protected both from within and from without? All other men protect their families and communities. Why Can't we?
What happened to our role as provider and protector of our African/African American "beingness"? Just where is our Kingdom, Black man. And by the way - how are the children on this Fathers Day? Where one to read the April 4, 2006 edition of the Chicago "Courier" newspaper, you would find that Chicago based Black Star Project founder and executive director Phillip Jackson responds by noting that our children are fighting a war amongst themselves and against their communities:
"Many Black children are out of control. They swear, fight, vandalize, challenge authority and exhibit overly aggressive behaviors. They have a reckless disregard for virtually any social norm, rules, or grace," he says.
Quoting a study by the Advancement Project entitled "Education on Lockdown: The Schoolhouse to Jailhouse Track," the article notes that in the Chicago public school system of 434,419 students, 29,700 students were suspended in the 2002-2003 school year and possibly up to 3,000 students were expelled in the 2003-2004 school year.
According to the Public Education and Black Male Students: A State Report Card study released in 2004, only 41% of Black males in the United States graduated from high school in 2001-2002. That would be only 4 out of every 10 Black men.
This report surfaces the lowest graduation rates for Black males in 20 districts with Black male enrollments of 10,000 or more during the stated period. Cincinnati for example had a Black male enrollment of 15,340 with only 19% graduating; Cleveland records a 25,973 Black male enrollment with only 19% Black males graduating. The Black male enrollment for Milwaukee during this period was 29,893 with only 24% graduating. In Chicago, the numbers are 112,040 with 30% graduating and in Charlotte-Mecklenburg, North Carolina, the Black male enrollment was 23,947 with only 34% graduating.
The Black male homicide rate is seven times the white male rate and a young Black male in America is more likely to die from gunfire," according to these statistical quotes, "than was any soldier in Vietnam." One in every 21 Black men can expect to be murdered, a death rate doubled that of U.S. soldiers in World War II as noted by Black Star.
Leary writes that throughout recorded history, people have been subjected, enslaved, and at times come very close to extermination and that these "crimes against humanity" are perpetrated, even today, in a seemingly "never-ending cycle."
She adds, however, that upon the conclusion of any horrific holocaustic encounter, each group must first "see to their own healing. No other group can mend the scars of another."
Her book, as above stated, is entitled "Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome" which she defines simply as "the residual impact of multi-generational trauma unhealed."
The author says that the slave experience "was one of continued, violent attacks on the slave's body, mind and spirit. Slave men, women and children were traumatized throughout their lives and the violent attacks during slavery persisted long after emancipation. In the face of these injuries, those traumatized adapted their attitudes and behaviors to simply survive, and these adaptations continue to manifest today."
We have not healed from slavery. We have been carrying, perpetuating and even cultivating this psychological trauma now for 141 years. Leary says that there is no way that a group can undergo 246 years of trauma under the North American enslavement era and not be scared as a result. Within this historical corridor, the Black man, his woman and his child became defeated and consumed by another man.
We have not reversed this process. We have not reclaimed a lost African humanity that was taken from us. Therefore, unlike the Masai, we eventually, as men, have nothing to past down to our children. And integration, obviously, was/is not the answer. Given the current status of Black men in America, the plight of the Black family, the fact that today there are 1.2 million more Black women then Black men in the available mating and marriage arena, the continuing and regenerative socially denormed behavior of our children and the apparent ongoing demise of our urban communities across the country.
Taki S. Raton is founder and principal of Blyden Delany Academy, a private African Centered school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin serving children in K4 through 8th grade. The writer can be contacted at (414) 933-1130.




©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

LEGEND ...Dad's Day

"Legend"



A legend too quick.

A legend too late.

A legend stands now;
A legend stands before the Masters gate.

A legend in my heart.

A legend who had a bumpy start
A legend who could not depart His ways, but...
A legend who was my tart-tiest
My legend from the beginning
My legend for my evening.

Our legend through thick and thin;
A sweet legend.

A legend of old
The only legend I knew
A legend for my life,
So I thought
Until his departure.

His head in his hand,
As he often would
Make plans for life;
Were a Black man stood.

Strict, mean loving and caring,
Vague, bleak, giving and sharing.

My legend is described as human
From the beginning to the end.

Good-bye my sweet love,
I shall see you again soon.

Once again, our sweet love,
When THE feet cross the moon.



(1999) © Keeba Smith From the book of anthology, "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in
Kaptivity" © No. 18 © Keeba Smith

Author's Comments on "Legend":
"This was written especially for my dad. It describes him to the tee. Although he was a stern, harsh man, he was well loved and is still truly missed. Riding in the car and instead of breaking down with pain of his departure, I elaborated on the goodness of his life and what he stood for. I never bragged about anything in my life, but I will do so now and say that he was my "Legend." I learned so much. I’m thankful I’m able to decipher the good from the bad and decorate on what he tried so hard to instill in me. (Thanks Lisa for your comments.)" ****** ***********





©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Dad, "That's just how it is"

That's Just How it is

My dad was either born in 1920 or 1921. Not sure which as it was never so important to me until I had to compile memoirs for his obituary.

When I was faced with the uncertainty of my own illness years prior, I began to reminisce about my childhood while writing my own autobiography. As I looked back, I recalled something my dad always said - either directly to me, or while I was in his presence. Over the years - especially when I was just a young child - I would never understand as to what he meant by, "That's just how it is."

Those few little words are not profound. In fact, just so easily to be said. Easy to utter such words when you are not going to do more to change the circumstances you're dealing with.When I was young and I heard those simple words, I thought he was giving up; that he had accepted things (pangs of life) so easily without the strength and/or desire to do more.

Humph! I say this about a man whom, as long as I've ever known him, had more than two jobs at one time. I say this about a man who owned and operated two very successful businesses. I say this about a man who gave each of his 7 children the opportunity to go to college while he worked day and night-night and day to pay for it. I say this about a man who slept less than 4 hours a day just to keep food in our stomachs, clothes on our backs, a roof over our heads, electricity, medicine, telephone and a television or two. I say this about a man who didn't spare the rod while putting his own selfishness aside while supplying above and beyond the necessities. Yep, he gave in too easily when he said, "That's just how it is."

Blacks weren't voting, "That's just how it is."
Denver Water has increased their fees - no longer the basic $60 every two months, "That's just how it is."
Nixon is impeached, "That's just how it is."
Rising gas prices, "That's just how it is."
The Iran Contra Arms, "That's just how it is."
My mother crying like a baby when my brother left for basic training in the Air Force, "That's just how it is."
Didn't receive the job because you're born in the wrong color of skin, "That's just how it is."
The president has raised taxes, "That's just how it is."
Need additional money for this and/or that, "That's just how it is."
...And the list goes on with, "That's just how it is."

Saying, That's just how it is, seems as if one has just accepted the situation so easily-as if you're not or can not do any more.

As I muse "That's just how it is," I must consider why those insignificant words were spoken and when. I mean, one has to accept and/or encounter the certainties as well as the uncertainties of daily living such as arguments and disagreements, unplanned births, lack of money, war and corrupt government deals, death and taxes, injustices, liars and thieves. Moreover for those who are Black, racism.

My dad, a Black man born in either 1920 or 21, in Alabama… I suppose it wasn't so easy to say, "That's just how it is" and actually be at ease with, "That's just how it is" when there are so many troubling circumstances to contend with.

As the years go by, I grow more certain that somewhere somehow, I am missing the clues to these riddled unsettling questions about what true principles are and their meaning. Every single time I think I actually know, or even have a hint and am getting closer, I get hit upside my head with yet another losing blow; forcing me to face reality. The reality is, I DON’T KNOW! [To my own self I must be true] I concede and have concluded that I never ever will know. Today, I am 39. No, it's not my birthday, but today, I am announcing, coming clean, verifying, stating, and being honest, that I am at ease with all of the unknown answers that plague so many. I am at ease with not knowing the solution to all of this that surrounds me and I am ok that I never will. I am peacefully at ease.

Daily, my surroundings consist of the following:
A silent disease that controls my body even while I'm sleeping. A spouse who worries about things that he will never be able to change or at least come up with the solution at that single solitary moment. Ok, be at ease, as I know that this is or may be trivial and too close. However we can consider tax dollars used for unmarried women living in section 8 housing with men who own two luxury vehicles while too many US citizens strive for the menial things in life, like um food on their tables and "extra" money to pay for medicine to live a common life. We can consider the United States government spending 6 million a year of our tax dollars on wood investigations.

I am surrounded with a plethora of emails regarding the malady of the person who attempts to run this country. In addition, I ache for the founder of Gold Star Families for Peace Cindy Sheehan who's son, just after five days arriving in Iraq, was killed in Sadr City. Ms. Sheehan left the comforts of her California home only to stand outside the president's ranch to receive unanswered questions regarding the Iraqi invasion! I am surrounded with obvious racism within our government, in my local grocery stores and shopping centers etc. More closely, the in-depth test given by the Denver Fire Department. I'm troubled not to mention deeply concerned that the Village Idiot who thinks that "fuzzy math" is acceptable to the American people and worse, the Sheep who blindly welcome it. My concerns draw adversity regarding police brutality, religious ignorance, government officials receiving a life pension, disabled people, 9/11 and the United States, the Iraqi invasion, U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan and other injustices.

Yes, the events vary, but I have had enough! There aren't ANY solutions to the things I face. Yes, some of these are forced upon me, others I suppose I have explored and implored upon myself. Nonetheless, only NOW, do I KNOW why my dad stated those superficial yet very profound words.

As one who has attempted to find the meaning to ALL things, I know what my dad meant by, that’s just how it is, and it is no longer a secret. That’s just how it is, simply means, who cares; I don’t.

As stated by my former favorite poet, "Yall wondered when it's going to get better…. It aint gonna get better."

As my dear dad use to say, "That's just how it is."




©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

A Dream

A Dream

I Had A Dream
...
I had a dream...
In my dream I could see a man...
A man I had known for sometime...
He made sense to my term and being...

I miss his smile and laughter.
I hate his departure and am now mad.
Why did he leave us alone?
Not knowing of our love;
His departure has made us sad.

I am ashamed

© Keeba Smith

From the book of anthology "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity" © No. 15 © Keeba Smith - other works by this author - - view author's biography -
Author's Comments on "A Dream...":
"One morning after dreaming about my dad." (12/04/01)

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Superstitions, Dreams = GENIUS

Superstitious, dreams and a genius
I never considered myself superstitious as nothing really draws my attention ‘cept for plum stupidity and inside influences-at which time, I am entertained. While growing up, I was told never to walk under a ladder as it would bring me bad luck, but my question was when? When will it bring me bad luck? Is this bad luck immediately, like within seconds of the under the ladder walk, within an hour or tomorrow morning? Does it even mean I would not wakeup tomorrow? Would my legal yet criminal-like act cause bad luck to my immediate family, or better yet, my nemesis? I go for the later because if that is the case I will make it habitual; seeking ladders in the daylight with a flashlight 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Yes, I like that idea!

When I was younger, my sister said that I should be leery of crossing a black cat. Humph! Now that doesn’t make any sense. How could one ever "cross a black cat" when most cats are pretentious and will not allow humans to come close enough to cross it. Back then, she said it would bring bad luck to cross a cat, but again, I must ask, when and to whom? Will this bad luck occur the next time I’m crossing the street after crossing a black cat? And, who has to be the victim while crossing the street, me or the black cat who I just crossed? Just seems odd... I suppose the cat could cross many humans and be fine, but it should watch for one of its 9 lives while crossing the street, so yes, I bet it is safer for the black cat to cross humans more so then crossing the street.

As a youngster, we were very fortunate to have great neighbors who took a liking to the fresh vegetables in our over-sized garden. (They had a cat, but luckily, Judy wasn’t black.) This elderly couple loved our family as we did them and visited one another often. We mowed their lawn and enjoyed the rotten apples yielded from their over-sized tree. Thinking about that tree, I wonder why we never climbed it. Was it because it wasn’t ours?

Mrs. Monroe was a pretty woman with lovely long hair that she kept tucked in a nicely designed bun, and as she got older, she took it upon herself to share and hand over some of her treasured possessions. One thing she bestowed me, was a light green matching, mirror and brush set. I hardly used the brush, but because I believed I was some thing or someone to view, I admired and amused myself in that small mirror quite often. While the soft bristly-brush hardly received much use, the set laid neatly on my seasoned dresser and from time to time when I needed a good laugh I’d pickup that treasured mirror and find free entertainment. One day, while making note of the cluttered dresser top, the mirror walked over to the edge of the dresser and jumped off, cracking the glass! I was saddened that a once cherished piece had been damaged. When my dad noticed the mirror, he mentioned the bad luck thing, and again, I have to ask when and where and to whom this misfortunate would befall?

I was warned to never go on the wrong side of a pole as it would bring on the bad luck thing, but walking in the street, or playing with fire would not necessarily bring on the bad luck, but could certainly cause death. Which is worse, being alive suffering the insanity of this world, or being dead? Of course, I have never met anyone who has returned from the dead and then reported the pros and cons of the other side. All of this and my elders had to warn me of all the superstitious "bad luck" as if it were the monster-boogie man. Nevertheless today, I have made a continuos decision. Yes, I have decided to file a suit against all of those who warned me of the bad luck monster. But for them, I would not have an ulcer and if I can medically attribute my worries due to the ulcer to my other health problems, I will solicit the commercial attorney’s to file and seek restitution for all of the years I was a victim. Let’s see, that should amount to millions of gazillions of dollars.

I have never found a four-leaf clover, but a butterfly or two has landed in my bed. However, after having a certain dream, my parents would place a bet on a certain number and win. Yes, they warned me of that also, along with an itchy hand. Now, I am not superstitious, but I must say that those very, very, few slim times my hands would itch, money would grace my pockets from time to time. The money that magically appeared was never in large amounts, but just enough to say I was content for a limited amount of time. Today, I could use a few bucks, so I have decided to either stop washing my hands for a few days or continuously wash them with bleach in hopes that they dry out in a matter of days.

Last night I had two memorable dreams that I was so sure was real. In the first dream, I dreamt that I had decided to do something to my hair…re-perm it or something. While washing it, instead of using the shampoo provided in the box, I used my usual Jhirmack. All of a sudden, I was horrified to see my long hair coming out and laying loosely in my hands. When my hair stopped subsiding, I was left with a short curly Afro, and later worried if I would be able to wear enough hair-gel to slick my hair back and daunt a fancy fake ponytail. I was livid!

My second dream was more pleasant as I dreamt that I was at work. Well, working isn’t what most would deem as most pleasant, but it was what occurred while I was at work that I find necessary.

There I was talking to my human resource manager while she had an 8½ x 11’ paper in front of her that seem to report some well thought out figures. As she talked, she informed me that the monthly income I was receiving from the Company was incorrect and that I would receive more money. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am as about as honest as any politician, but with more common sense. See, I told her the exact amount I was already receiving only because I didn’t want them to retract their generously gifted funds and honesty after they realized months or years later that they made a mistake. Trust me, I have had this happen to me before when I was overpaid, and I must say, it wasn’t easy while robbing Peter to pay Paul to repay for their mistake. However, this time was different. She said, "Even with the money you’re already getting, we still owe you the money, so instead of the $150 we give you per month, you will now receive this (pointing with her pen) and this amount."

When I looked at the numbers, - the $200 and $483 - I calculated a sum of $833. Wow! I was ecstatic, as I would be able to move from the ghetto to the slums. No longer would I have to pit the bills against one another when placing them in a hat and drawing out the lucky creditors. No longer would I have the necessary worries of paying the mortgage, electricity or food, but living the good life because I now was able to afford medication too! Yes, I tell ya, that was one of the best dreams I’ve had in a long time; at least one that I can remember anyway.

The other day, about a week or a month ago, my hand was itching, and so now I wonder if that was what the last dream was all about. Hmmm, I suppose I have received all of the additional funds I superstitiously deemed necessary.

Last night, I noticed that my head was hurting due to the tight stocking cap I had on my head. I thought if I had a touchup perm-kit, I would be able to smooth out my rough edges and cease strangling my poor brain under the cap. But I suppose after dreaming of the great hair loss, I will just keep my nappy hair in tact under the cap.

Now you can view me as your specious psychic and/or one who can detect dreams. Feel free to give me a call as I do all the reading under this tight brain-strangling, stocking cap – all without air to my brain. Also when you call, don’t mind the person who answers the phone, and be patient while answering to all 15 of psychiatrists, but just be sure to ask the operator to speak to "The Genius." The nonsuperstitious dreamer.

Signed,

The Credulous Intellect

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com