Posts until now have been a casual cast-off of ideas and informal criticisms, beliefs, observations and the like. In this post, and in others that will follow in the Welfare State category, I am going to graph my biology, describe my life as it pertains to this subject. It is through my experiences that you may see a pattern in my development, and how I came to this chair in my house, talking onto this page.

The United States of America, as a country, is a welfare state. It is a place where a person can get assistance acquiring the things they need that they can not get for themselves. Since the country and it's government are in actuality The People, it is the generosity of the people that dictate that those in need shall recieve assistance. It is a christian principle that should someone's needs be in your power to provide, you should do it as a 'good samaritan'. Churches and other places of worship continually provide food, shelter and comfort to those in need regardless of age, race, sex or even religious philosophy. Since our government was founded on these principles, it's easy to see why people aren't alarmed when relief supplies and emergency assistance come from government agencies. We are, after all, 'good samaritans', in God's image.

Welfare had a different meaning when I was a kid.

You might imagine a poor house in a large city. You'd likely see children, pets, working adults, a typical cross section of America in the 70's. Under the surface was an artistic streak that ran strong throughout the 5 of them: Tom, Marge, Laura, Ian and Barbara. Being in an actor family, we kids experienced many things that normal kids didn't experience, and my parents were lifelong democrats who found themselves embracing more and more conservative ideals. They had a family, they had to think of the future. But if there was one thing that would never happen, it was this family going on welfare. I remember wondering were we missing something because we weren't on walfare? I was an outgoing person from a young age, I never had problems meeting people and making friends. My sister, 11 month younger Barb wasn't like that. She definately took time meeting people, sometimes hanging alone by herself, too shy to make first contact. She and I were together many times, but she was critical of herself and her clothes. I think this was an early realization that we were far from rich, but I never thought of ourselves as poor. My dad would fight the power people, the water company, gas: they'd cut it off, he'd cut it on, they'd cut it off again and he'd pay the bill finally and it would stay on. Getting the trash out was a frightening experience when we missed the trash truck. It was the one friggin thing that was free.

Dad and Mom were pretty bad off. Both drank whiskey or bourbon and at times it was a hell hole- and looking back now, it was a hell hole and we got hand me downs and second hand clothes, but we had presents under the tree each year, and we all went to school.

To this day, I maintain the attitude that a person like me will never need the safety net of welfare. At forty, I've realized that my future is coming after all, and though I havent saved a dime until now, it's not too late. I've never been on welfare, even the way I say it is funny. "On-welfare". Well, to my Dad, it was disrespectable. He always knew he was better than that. Why he didn't excell I don't know, although if my life is any indication of why he wasn't more successful, we never learned how to balance the books and stick to a budget.

What money I've made in my life, I have spent as I have seen fit. When I was younger, I pissed it away freely. As I got older, I got wiser. I never got a big break, no lottery, no inheritance, no freebies. And as I said, I haven't saved anything. Yet. But I've never been so low as to say, I need help from welfare. Hell, I've lived with people I didn't like or get along with, been homeless for short periods, moved back in with Mom several times, but it never would have occurred to me to try to get government assistance. In the first place, I knew, it wasn't there for people like me. I was fit and could work, had some skills and could always find a job. When I was a kid, I had friends whos parents got food stamps, my own cousins got food stamps I think. We never did.

I never will. And now I've figured out the reason.

20 years ago, the mother of my son Christopher, decided not to marry me. Joan was pregnant, and had assured me that it was mine. We were talking on the phone because I was in North Carolina on active Army duty. She and I were mutual admirers until three weeks before that day on the phone. We met in high school, but I had dropped out, and enlisted in the military.

I remember being so painfully in love with her, I was twisting in the wind. But being stuck in a tiny apartment with my Mom and sister, working a fast food job, there was no outlook I could get exited about. I made the decision to enlist after visiting my older sister, Laura and her husband, Army 1st Sgt. Gib Bourdo. After returning from a visit there, I told Joan I was going to enlist and she decided not to see me anymore. This was my first slap in the face from her. I really wanted to be with her, but I had enlisted, I was going, and she thought I was leaving her. I tried to tell her she could come visit, but she had never left that place, and I knew she never thought about actually leaving.

I went into the military, and after 18 months of training and traveling, I was assigned to Ft. Bragg, NC and given leave for Christmas. That Christmas was hard for me because Joan was with another guy. My buddy Thomas told me she still liked me, but we hardly talked when I saw her then. The next time I came home on leave it was a different story. She had prior knowledge through my sister that I was coming, and she wrote to me. I was surprised to hear from her, we hadn't talked in recent memory, and I was more surprised about what she was saying, that she missed me, wanted me back, the whole nine yards. It was a memorable leave of absence for me. We got together and didn't part for two weeks. When I did leave, she was distant, wouldn't look me in the eye. I couldn't assume we were securely together. I remember saying she could come visit, and the dismissal as foolish to even think about. The night before I went back we went to Cardi's and saw King Kobra, hairspray band of drumming legend Carmine Appice. Joan hung out with this other guy the whole night. I didn't know why, I just felt shitty, and irritated and didn't know why. I remember so clearly, this guy, who she never told me who he was, just clicking his tounge, shaking his head and clapping me on the back, like, 'I feel for you bro'. I was really confused. I found out the next day. She told me as I was walking away-"I think I'm pregnant".

She called me a week later. From what I remember, I told her my commitment was what it was. I could not leave that place. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't go to her. She would have to come to me, but I just couldn't sell her on free housing, complete medical and Army lifestyle. It would be "too far from my mother".

My sister has told me recently while we were talking about this, that her mother had just walked out on them, choosing to live with her new boyfriend and-

"I don't know what ya'll are gonna do" for her own kids. Barb says they went to live with different people, and I think this was the beginning of a lifelong decline down the path of drugs, sex, manipulation and even pandering or prostitution. Before I went into the Army, I was a homeless teenager in the Montrose. It's not a pretty place or a pretty picture. There were a lot of desperate people there.

I didn't hear from her again until she told me of her decision to give the baby up for adoption after it was born. I would have to give up my parental rights, as she named me as the father. I fought her on this, but she was adamant, and it was her life and her body after all, wasn't it, she reminded me. At least she wasn't getting an abortion. I was sick inside after another girl I had slept with had gotten one without telling me. I wasn't against it per se, she and I weren't seeing each other anymore, but with Joan it was different. I wanted the child. I wanted her, she just didn't want me. She had turned me down on several occasions. She had other boyfriends, other commitments she wouldn't break for me. I had one commitment I couldn't break for her. I sent the paper work, cursing myself. I signed away all rights as a parent so the child could be adopted by parents wanting a baby through the Catholic Archdiocese. It was official.

Then I got the phone call. Joan telling me I was a father. That is not a joke, I'm not leaving anything out. I didn't hear anything again from her until just after Chris was born.

She named him Christopher Lee Pendleton. He didn't have my name. His middle name was that of many of the men in my fathers family, but I wasn't even listed on his birth certificate. When I asked her what happened, she said she just couldn't give him up. He was so beautiful when she saw him for the first and only time, she took him and wouldn't give him up. They had to nullify the adoption.

I must say I was not ready for this. I was about to exit the military, I had a job there in town waiting on me, I had a new girlfriend, we had already gotten a place of our own. There was just no way I was going to drop everything and run back to Houston.

I was not there for Chris' first birthday, but I was for his second, though now I had to endure viscious attitude from Joan and her family. I tried to make it work, but again, Joan said "No". I needed her to accept me for what I was and give me the respect of not dating other people. I could not witness her bar life. I wasn't half the partier she was. I played in a band and played in clubs as much as possible, but I wasn't half the barfly she was. She was young, fine, a bitch, and seemingly, could have any guy she wanted. It wasn't me though, I was " too nice". It was a long procession of junkies, drunks, criminals, abusers and worse. I was there as much as possible, I got respect from her mom and brother and sister but none from her. I was tired of her game. It was like Lucy holding the ball for Charlie Brown. I wanted to put it through the uprights, and get our relationship on the road to stability, but she yanked the ball back every time I tried to kick it.