SOS

It was going to be a bleak summer as Mom and Dad informed me that I was going to have to spend my vacation at camp.  Grandma’s employer had sold her home in Palm Beach and she was going there to preside over packing up all the furnishings and was taking her cook, my grandmother with her.

I had looked forward to spending another summer with Grandma in the Catskills.  I loved the little bungalow that we had rented for several years and had gotten to know quite a few of the local kids.  And when I found out that many of the attendees at camp, owned by the athletic director of my grammar school, were going to be school chums, I thought that I deserved a little break from them – and them from me.  Nevertheless, I had no choice so I tried to console myself by helping Mom sew the little labels on the clothes that I would be taking with me.

Well, my worst fears were realized.  I did enjoy the archery lessons, swimming, and the horseback riding and the weekly trip into town to watch a movie at the local theater, but the food – well it was nothing short of atrocious.  Gone were the wonderful home cooked meals – although I made the remarkable discovery that green beans could not only come from the little fresh produce stand but might miraculously appear from the innards of a tin can.  The fact that they little resembled the fresh version was an educational experience.

It was my second or third day at camp that several of my cabin-mates and I went down to the “Mess Hall” for breakfast.  As we waited our turn in line with our trays, I noticed something on the steam tables that I had never seen before.  I asked my counselor who was standing behind me what it was.  I was informed that it was “Creamed Chip Beef which you eat on toast.”

As there were no other options for breakfast, always the pragmatist, I decided to give it a try.  That experience was sufficient to sour me on Creamed Chip Beef, served on toast or in any other format, for decades afterward.  The good news was that since this apparently was a staple of the camp’s weekly menu, it contributed in part, to my losing fifteen pounds during my eight week venue there.  Since I was a little chubby, that was a good thing – although I think my parents thought I was emaciated when I returned home and decided that one year at camp was enough.

As most of us know, Creamed Chip Beef was one of the staples that the military served – frequently – earning it the endearing name “Sh*t On A Shingle.”  Our boys in the military knew what they were talking about.  And, for some reason, the raging debate over Obamacare reminded me of this gastronomic horror.

The other night I heard an interview conducted by Megyn Kelly with Democrat New Jersey Representative Frank Pallone.  As you will not be surprised to learn, the representative is a defender of Obamacare.  I presume his wife Sarah also is a proponent of the virtues of the law.  She is a Deputy Associate Administrator of Intergovernmental Relations at the EPA.

If any of my readers can edify me as to the responsibilities to be found in the job description of a person with that title, I would appreciate it.  I can’t help wonder how many trees Mrs. Pallone has destroyed in her career of paper shuffling at that agency.

But to return to her hubby, the representative was asked the question about why, despite Obama’s almost monotonously repetitive repeat of the promise that, “If you like your insurance, you will be able to keep you insurance.  Period.,” as many as fourteen million people are likely to have their policies cancelled.  He responded, “Those policies that the insurance companies are cancelling are crappy policies.”  This, of course, is the “government knows better than you what you should have and will make you happy” argument.

Perhaps the quality of the insurance that those insured under these policies is not the most comprehensive that might have been available to them.  Perhaps there are some who purchased these policies not fully understanding the benefits that they offered and which they would not cover.  But then again, perhaps many of these people felt that these policies exactly fit their needs and their budgets.  That is, to the congressman and those of his ilk, irrelevant to the process.

I have heard other Obamacare supporters minimize the impact of those whose policies are being cancelled as “a mere five percent of the country.”  This somehow is employed to show that the greater good shouldn’t be sacrificed at the expense of such a small group – a group that is estimated at fourteen million people.

Most people would probably agree that California is a “progressive” state.  It’s citizens (and an unknown number of non-citizens)  overwhelmingly voted for Obama in his elections to the presidency.  And if you think back about a month, you’ll remember a law which was passed by that state’s Democrat controlled legislatures and signed by Democrat Jerry Brown into law.

The so-called “transgender law” says schools must allow transgender students to use the bathrooms and locker rooms and play on sports teams that match their gender identification.  It currently faces a Proposition 8 challenge if opponents are able to gather enough signatures to get it on the ballot next year.  So what is the connection between this law and those whose policies are being cancelled because they do not meet the mandated requirements of Obamacare?

Well, the estimates are that less than ten percent of the population identifies either as gay or lesbian.  And those who consider themselves as transgendered is less than five percent of those.  That would make our transgendered population approximately one half of one percent of the populace.  So my question is, why does the liberal left feel it is important to protect this segment of our population and consider a number that is ten times as great to be disposable and irrelevant if their health insurance policies are being terminated because of Obamacare?

It almost makes me want to go down to the kitchen and whip up a batch of SOS.  It would be more palatable than the buffet that Obama has laid out for us to eat – with or without a Kool Aid chaser.