I met him
at college and admired his directness.
Today as we discussed Obamacare, I told him I hated it—I’m a rugged
individualist like him and don’t need health insurance.
“Road
apples! Why, that’s dumber than a bob-wire
saddle! You want to end up a charity
case? Or a E-room dependent? You want to count on the kindness o’
strangers? They’s a thin line between
individualist and indigent, podner.
Think for yourself, damnit! Be
responsible! You shouldn’t need the
gumment to tell you to buy insurance.”
His handlebar moustache quivered.
At nearly eighty years of age, Hoss was still direct and clear about
what he believed.
“But they
CAN’T tell me what to buy! It’s wrong,”
I protested.
“You got to
rein in your stupid, podner. If the
gumment told you to clean the shit off your boots, would you bawl like
that? Hell no! You were gonna anyway. Why, you’d just grin and think, ‘where ya
been?’ Hoss took a long gulp of coffee.
“Yeah,
Hoss, but it’s going to cost me a diaper-load of money. I can’t afford it!”
“Don’t be
one o’ them wanna-be adults that don’t have enough brains to heat their
hat. Health insurance is part of the
cost of growin’ up. Ain’t you rugged
enough for that? Or maybe you’re sellin’
your work to some cheap chiseler that don’t pay enough. Your choice.
Thanks for the coffee.”
Hoss left,
and I kept thinking, we don’t all have a choice. Maybe Obamacare isn’t so bad.
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