Who Am I To Complain
By John R.Greenwood
Who am I to complain about taxes, burnt toast or a flat tire? Life is different for all of us. Blind to the man who’s shoes I’ve never worn I silence myself and fold my hands in prayer. I thank my stars, the lucky ones and others for the minor inconveniences I must endure. A cup of coffee gone cold or an achy knee meet no criteria for complaint. I worked hard all my life and I’ve enjoyed the rewards of showing up on time for forty years, but I’ve also been fortunate in love and in health. Not everyone can say the same. Hard times and heavy baggage sometime catch up with people. Addictions and short straws take their toll. I cringe when friends and neighbors moan about traffic or rain in the forecast. Be grateful I say, for the road can be cut short for some. I’m present and accounted for. I’m able to sit here in my warm home with all my worldly goods sandwiched between an attic and cellar. My refrigerator is bulging along with my midsection. I am a happy American. Trump can kiss my cholesterol, American is as great as it ever was, it’s the occupants that need sprucing up. We need to shut up and straighten up. Let’s stop the bickering and pomposity. Most importantly let’s stop blanketing our children with ways to skirt responsibility. Let’s look in the mirror instead and see if we can’t adjust what we see looking back. Take that index finger you all love to point at others and aim it toward the heavens and thank whoever it is you see up there.
When the couple in the photo walked past me I stopped and took a deep breath. I tilted my head back and looked in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t hear what the person looking back at me said but I did read his lips. He grasped his forehead with his right hand and mouthed the words clearly, “Who am I to complain.”