Saturday, March 13, 2010

Why I reject the government's 'help' ~ By Patrice Lewis

You know that Patrice is right on the money when you see that she quotes Ronald Reagan's quip about the nine most terrifying words in the English language: "I'm from the government and I'm here to help."

And I know that Patrice is right on the money, because I've had the "pleasure" to have to endure that wonderful, thoughtful, caring, loving government assistance back when my wife was sick.  One great example was one time when my wife had passed out, fell, and hit her head.  I called 911.  Police, fire, and ambulance arrived.  Wow, you wouldn't have believed the kind of questions and concern they had about "how" she fell. Fortunately, I had a witness there that could explain that my wife was in constant medical care, and passed out often. But the questions, the suspicions about me, and of course the fact that the emergency services involved all had to see our living room which was probably in need of cleaning at that time... So, I can easily relate exactly to what Patrice is discussing in this brilliant piece this morning. 

Yep, if you hear those words, "We're here to help," lock the doors or run!
We are decent, law-abiding, hard-working people. Our only crime is an intense mistrust of government (well-earned, I think) and a fierce desire to be left the hell alone. If we need help – and we sometimes do – we'll turn to those who are truly experts – family, friends, clergy and professionals. Not the government. Never the government.

I will never voluntarily allow a federal representative into my home to "help" me. But Obamacare can do the next best thing: seize control of my health care … and use it as a skeleton key to my front door.

Reagan perhaps said it best: The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, "I'm from the government and I'm here to help."

By Patrice Lewis

Posted: March 13, 2010 ~ 1:00 am Eastern

© 2010

Fourteen years ago, within a day or two of bringing our newborn first daughter home from the hospital, I received a scary phone call.

As with any new mother, having a baby took adjustment. I had a lot to learn. Fortunately my own mother was available to guide me through the maze of details. I also had the obligatory plethora of baby books, the advice of more experienced friends and a wonderfully supportive husband. All in all, I did fine.

Until the phone call.

At the time, we were a penniless, uninsured young couple struggling to start a home business. Our house was old (1875), our clothing and furnishing were second-hand, and our fiercely self-sufficient attitude raised a few eyebrows. But we were living the life we wanted – independent, rural and frugal.

In short, we were just the type of people the government finds suspicious.

The phone call that rocked my secure, happy little world was from a social worker inquiring how I was doing with our new baby. Upon hearing that I was fine, she asked if she could come over to show me proper parenting techniques and supply some helpful literature.

In a calm voice that disguised my pounding heart, I told her about the numerous baby-care books we owned, the helpful guidance I had from friends and family, and the breast-feeding support group I attended. When the social worker again offered to come over, this time to discuss post-partum depression and discipline techniques, I thanked her for her concern but politely declined.

I hung up and looked around our house, trying to see it from a stranger's viewpoint. We were apologetic enough with friends about the shabby condition of our home. What would a social worker think? Would she object to the lack of carpeting and the leaking roof? Would she dislike our wood stove (our only heat source) and complain about our single-pane windows? Would she question our decision to sleep with the baby? Would she approve of our plans to homeschool? Would she report to the authorities that we owned firearms?

I later learned it was standard practice for the hospital to ask social workers to check up on all new moms. Academically I appreciated the thought; but realistically I knew my husband and I had red flags all over us for being, well, different.

I don't like the idea of letting strangers into our home to "teach" me what they think I should know about raising kids. I didn't like it when we had our first baby, and I like it even less now. Our home life is our business, no one else's. Our children are healthy, happy, respectful and loving. We don't ask anyone to raise, educate or discipline them, just as we don't ask anyone to supply us with money, food or health care. All we ask is to be left alone.

But that's not what the government wants. The government wants to help. Purely from the goodness of its heart, don't you know.

We dodged the home-invasion bullet 14 years ago. But now we learn that helpful "home visitations" are part of the Obamacare package. This time the social workers won't be through our local hospital; they'll be federal bureaucrats who will judge whether we're living up to their requirements in raising our children and maintaining our health.

In other words, a bevy of perfect strangers will ask you to "voluntarily" allow them into the sanctity of your home to counsel you on how to live up to their standards rather than yours. Isn't that nice?


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