Your Tax Dollars Hard at Work or Hardly Working

I went to lunch today with my mom and dad—we got a couple hoagies and took a stroll down the sun-scorched and pigeon-pooped pier. It was lovely. On our way back, we suddenly heard, distinct from the pigeon grumbles and seagull cries the shrill trill of sirens. What could it be? First a fire engine, then an ambulance, and a police SUV pulled up onto the beach. Curiosity drew a crowd, and I stood at the railing looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finally, my gaze rested on a young woman sitting dejectedly in the surf. She was also under the gaze of a few cops and an EMT standing on the beach. She must not have been in any real danger or, conversely, about to be a real danger to anyone (or anything else) because they just stood there taking in the tan rays. Some kids next to me were speculating that she might have been injured somehow (a great white shark was spotted a few beaches up from here), but she appeared to be in full possession of her limbs and mental faculties. A big siren-screaming hootenanny all for nothing. So we walked on, passing other emergency vehicles on the way to our car. My mom remarked that the young woman was likely to get a tongue lashing once she got her mopey self out of the surf. From our perspective, she needlessly brought out the fuzz, fire, and physicians, wasting our tax dollars. I’m sure many similar judgments were rendered by other observers. But, really, are the tax dollars not being wasted if they aren’t being spent on emergencies? It’s not as if Pismo Beach is going to receive any kind of monetary recompense because fewer people burn their houses down, or if there are fewer instances of murder, domestic violence, or car wrecks at crowded intersections. These public departments are awarded budgets in anticipation of having to do their jobs, which, unfortunately, includes responding to every boy and girl that cries “Wolf!”

On the other hand…What if the public was able to recollect our tax dollars in proportion to decreasing our self-destructive outbursts? I’d be very interested to see a campaign wherein someone running for Police Commissioner, or even governor, made this kind of promise. “Taxpayers paid the California Highway Patrol alone 1.4 billion dollars during 2005-2006. That’s a lot of money. Wouldn’t you like to get some of it back? Tell you what—start driving more carefully, don’t call the cops if you don’t need help, and don’t call the fire department if all that’s burned is your mother-in-law’s chicken casserole. We’ll give you back the money we don’t use trying to minimize the consequences of your irresponsible behavior.”

I’d vote for him. Or her.

Sad

Recently, Brittany Spears’ role as a mother has been dealt another blow and seems as though it may descend to being merely a biological fact. Custody of her two kids has been awarded to her ex-husband, Mr. Federline who, while not necessarily an exemplar of virtue or healthy paternal instincts, probably won the suit due to some judgment along the lines of ” he’s less likely to take children to a bar on a school-night, get them drunk, and make them sing karaoke versions of his songs.”

Now, this is somewhat laughable, and I’m sure SNL and MadTv will have a grand time satirizing the turn of events, but (to surprise myself) I am rather sad for her. A prelude of her many failings cannot mitigate that legally losing her children and having the event broadcast to all the world is a humiliating and shameful tragedy. It may be the kind of deprivation that eventually leads her to clean up her act and it may even (to the joy of the music business) inspire some really heart-rending ballads. It is easy to be callous. She has more money than I’ve ever dreamed of wasting, and has lived the “American dream” that many dream of, so why should we be compassionate, right? It is, admittedly, much easier to feel tenderness and generosity rising up when Bono and crew sing about the starving nations of Africa—showing us pictures of their lean faces and distended bellies. All this we can change with the purchase of, for example, a red T-shirt from the GAP or wearing a white wrist-band. We can “care” and be cool. We can praise the memory of Mother Theresa who worked in the slums of Calcutta, and send money to the nuns still working among the untouchables. Their work is important! Humanitarian! Feeding the hungry, healing the sick. Bono just won some new award and well he deserves it. But no amount of red t-shirts or wristbands or buying her new album will make Brittany a better mother, or undo the past ignominious year of her life—the pain of which will perpetuate her cycle of self-destruction or finally ring out a clarion call for some real change for the better in her life, and I for one hope she hears it, even if there aren’t any awesome ballads involved. No one deserves compassion, or second chances, and it’s so easy to feel good about spending my extra money on something that has near immediate results. Put bread in a baby in watch flesh cover their bones. Do it a million times over, direct the wealth of nations, and win yourself the Nobel prize. But who has the patience or skill to heal the wounded heart behind the momentary hunger?