You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.  When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that my dear friend, is the beginning of the end of any nation.  You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it.

-  Adrian Rogers, 1931 

I am struggling with the melancholy feeling I get when my kids decide to sell off what I thought were their prized possessions. Stuff they “had to have!” Stuff they and others bought at full retail (only for a child do I or anyone I know still pay full retail).

Their willingness to let go is both inspiring and disquieting. Inspiring because it is their little business minds at work. Selling what they no longer desire or use to acquire the cash to get what they will use, or at least desire today. I bite my tongue and do not tell them that what they desire today will be their Ebay fodder of tomorrow.

Disquieting because to them, letting go of their stuff is the only way they know how to trade up. To me, it is letting go of a part of their youth that I will never be able to recapture. The part of them that was satisfied with Sponge Bob and actual wire cables that connect them to their friends’ machines. Everything moves and changes so fast. From wires to wireless, from friendly penguins to army missions and guns, their childhood, their interests, their world is changing so quickly. And these game machines, along with my ability to hold their hands in public, have gone by the way of, “Mom, I’m waaaay too old for that.”

Still, my need to see them as they were will never vanish, even as I relish who they are becoming. And those fleeting moments when they slip back into the little boys I dearly cherish in my heart and (gasp!) grab my hand to hold it for a brief moment, will never, ever, be able to be traded up, traded in, or sold for any amount of money on Ebay.

Kathleen Melton is on vacation. This is one of her favorite essays.

As if the economic recession has not dried up enough green (money) in Los Angeles, we are now being hit with more cutbacks that will dry up the entire city due to our wastefulness – this month it’s water that’s being cut back. Last month it was our public school teachers and essential school programs. The water recession, err drought, has caused mandatory water conservation (cut backs) to go into effect, as of today, June 1st. We have been sprinkled and drenched with information on this subject by the city, but the subject of our school crisis has been left out to dry.

Water is (and always has been) a finite resource. Not just in Los Angeles, but Los Angeles is now taking action against the waste. It’s too bad this city can’t seem to put the same energy and resources (finite or not) into the budget cuts and waste that are decimating our public schools. Raising awareness and calling all citizens to action by circulating a packet of door hangers through local newspaper circulation is how the LADWP is announcing their new ordinances – and spouting off that all violations are subject to fines. Maybe the next round of advertising for this campaign can also address the waste that has caused the education crisis. And maybe the fines from water waste can go to pay for the teachers and basic programs that have been cut from our kids’ schools. I know an army of parents that would get behind that campaign – Save the Water, Save a Teacher!

According to the city’s new water conservation ordinance, it is illegal to:
“•Use water on any hard surfaces such as sidewalks, walkways, driveways or parking areas;
•Water landscaping – including lawns – between the hours of 9a.m. and 4p.m.;
•Water using sprinklers for more that 15 minutes per watering station, 10 minutes for other irrigation systems;
•Allow runoff onto streets and gutter from excessive watering;
•Allow leaks from any pipe or fixture to go un-repaired;
•Wash vehicles without using a hose with a shut-off nozzle;
•Serve water to customers in restaurants unless requested.”

Water is the new luxury.  Along with good, inspiring public school teachers, which used to be a taxpayers right. My landscaping is already brown from the heat we had at the beginning of May. As of now, I just shrug, trying not to let it bother me, knowing it will only get worse. I can live with sparse, dried-up landscaping, but my kids can’t flourish without good teachers and public school programs. Discussing dirt management and maintenance may become the newest water cooler conversation. Imagine if the waste awareness of one could inspire a flood of awareness onto the other.

Interestingly, I just read an article that stated we all don’t need to drink as much water as we thought. That’s timely. Coincidence? Hmmm. But I have yet to read anything that dares to state that we don’t need good teachers, vice principals, art, music, or physical education for our kids.

Save the Water, Save a Teacher! It’s a good anthem. Hopefully the effort to save our public schools from demise will pick up some of the flow that the water issue has…for both are vital to sustain our children, and ultimately, our society.

Thirsty, surrounded by dirt, but with wonderful teachers and school programs for my kids – I can live with that. For more information on the water conservation program, visit LADWP.com For information on our public education crisis, visit thelemonadeinitative.com.

Kathleen Melton is on vacation. This is one of her favorite essays.

I am not sure how it started. It must have had something to do with how cute those white baseball uniforms are. Or the serious look on his face as he approached home plate, or the sly glance into the stands to make sure I am there. To make sure that I am watching and cheering him on. Whatever it was that inspired me, I hollered very loudly from the stands, “I love the Batter!” I could see a smile cross my son’s face. He heard me! From that moment on, a ritual was born. Every time one of my kids goes up to bat, I am there, shouting out to them, “I love the Batter!”

The initial looks that I got from some of the parents in the stands ranged from disbelief to envy. “I can’t believe that he lets you do that!” I heard this several times at the start of several seasons from both moms and dads. To me this was normal – it’s just little league, after all. To them it was unbelievable. “My kids would never let me yell that out to them!” “Really?” I wanted to ask them. Hmmm. I did not, however, let their reticence deter me or influence me. My kids liked it. That was enough for me.

Flash forward a couple of years and a few divisions upward to when my oldest started on a major league team – a team with a whole new set of parents that I did not know. During his very first at bat of the season, he walked out of the dugout toward the plate and without thinking I yelled it: “I love the Batter!”

Whiplash! Two dads quickly turned to look at me and asked simultaneously, “Seriously?” I do believe my face flushed. I had not thought about it. It did not occur to me that he might be too old for that now, too mature. That he might face the ugliness of teasing or (gasp!) being embarrassed by your mom. There was no one around for me to turn to that was familiar. I was surrounded by these new parents who had a different set of “parental bleacher rules and regulations.” An anxiety attack started to grow in my stomach. And tears started to sting my eyes. I felt like I was at a 5th grade girls slumber party and I was the one who didn’t belong.

Defensively, I repeated it to myself, over and over, “Seriously? Seriously?” Argh! Finally, I’d had enough of it in my head. This is my kid. He still loves it and I will hold onto it for as long as I can. And by doing so, I allow him to hold onto it as well. Jeez. Just because they are nearly as tall as us and are smacking the ball over 200 feet and are texting girls and wearing deodorant doesn’t mean that they aren’t still kids. Our kids. Who want and need the same thing that all kids do. Someone to cheer for them. Someone to support them. Someone who will always be in the stands calling out their name. Loving them no matter what – homerun or strike out or somewhere in between. No matter what.

When it came time for him to bat again, my stomach churned and I felt a wave of self-consciousness. But I could not let him down. I could not let our ritual down. “I love the Batter!” I screamed! And I saw the edge of a smile under his helmet. And the turning heads and gaping mouths of the parents in the bleachers. I sat a little taller. Clapped my hands a little louder and cheered! For it is in this instance where I felt cheering mattered most. Where I was going to define what worked for me and my son – regardless of what others thought.

Now, surprisingly, at the end of the season, all (or most of) the parents do it. It has become something that the whole team has become a part of. When my son gets up they holler, “Your mama loves the Batter!” And to their own kids they holler, “I love the batter”, “It’s your day,” and on and on. We holler it to the coach, to each other’s kids, and to others in the stands.

Cheer for your kid, out loud. Cheer for yourself, out loud. Cheer for others, out loud. Just find your voice and cheer. We all need it, everyday. And when you hear someone yelling at drop off, “I love the fourth grader!” or at a play, “I love Darth Vader!” or anywhere at anytime, that will be me, the mom that feels no pang of anxiety for cheering for her boys. Now. Or in the future. For when they are in high school and college and even in their professional lives, they will continue to inspire me and I will continue to burst out “I love the _____________!”Whatever it is they want to be.

Often times I feel like the soaring bird in this photo, looking for a place to land.  It is by the grace of God that I do have a solid place to return to each and every time I fly away.  This is Morrow Rock and to me it exemplifies what we all need – a solid rock to nest upon.  Where (or who) is your rock?

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