Some people call it a soul patch. I call it a cat’s squirrel. I’m wearing one right now.
It’s a little tuft of facial hair above the chin.
The old jazz horn players used to grow them because they needed to be clean shaven to perform in the white man’s clubs but didn’t want to risk cutting their lip.
I affect a horn player without actually blowing, but to me it represents that little something I get to keep in order to compete in the workplace; like my Dell desktop and my Taylor guitar.
As a low-income dude, I lack the prosperity it takes to adequately help out — as much as I would want to — my fellow countrymen in these times of economic struggle.
I would love to inflate my chest and proudly state that I gave more than my fair share, but due to my circumstances, I cannot. Maybe next year.
Of course, fairness is a concept that many don’t agree upon, but a word everyone uses, from the child to the politician, as if it were a dragon-slaying sword with which to defend the princess in the castle at all costs.
In fact, fairness is neither a weapon nor a number, but something to which we aspire, a nirvana that doesn’t really exist.
Some people claim that it is unfair that many don’t pay taxes. They see a guy on the corner drinking beer from a paper bag and think that’s why our economy is hurting, almost as if they would gladly trade places with that guy.
In fact, most of the people who pay neither federal income tax nor payroll taxes are low-income people who are elderly, unable to work due to a serious disability, or students, most of whom subsequently become taxpayers. The rest of us work hard to survive, keeping only a cat’s squirrel in order to continue to do so.