Social Security

Tonight was a good night. I had a late afternoon soiree (the kind of gumshoe work that my profession occasionally lends itself to quite nicely). I got done and the path home was much quicker and less congested traffic-wise than the way back to work. So Daddy got home with plenty of daylight, even on a dead winter’s day. I arrived in time to watch the little one and her Mother as they were swinging on the new “big girl” swing. Daddy of course soon took over swinging duty and the little astronaut was quickly thereafter catapulting into the cosmos. Later, she fell onto her back in the damp, brown dormant grass and stared up into the sky; an airplane was leaving contrails in the sharp blue above.

“That Daddy up there,” she said. You have to communicate with a two year old to understand sometimes what they are trying to express.

I said, “Yep, that’s just like Daddy flying way up high in an airplane.” The jet left a cold white streak in the air behind it. I couldn’t tell her that usually flying in an airplane meant I was leaving her, even for a night, and it was no fun to me. But, if she was cool with knowing her Daddy flew way up high and was willing to trade a night away, who was I to wonder?

So we played and played, until it was time to go in, giving the buggies their due. Even now, in the coldest winter we can manage, there are mosquitoes and midges. We retreated to the house and set off for the fresh breeze over the water. We walked down, along the bay’s edge and toward the boat ramp. Mullet jumped with impunity, like silver ballerinas, along the shoreline. The late afternoon sun’s rays turned the bay metallic orange, then purple. My daughter rode on my shoulders and we watched the crazy man fly a parachute with a lawn mower attached to his butt, all along the bay’s edge. He turned later and climbed up into the evening sky, toward the little private airstrip on the other side of the peninsula.

Now it’s later. The booglet has gone to bed and her Mother is close behind. I break out my letter from the government—specifically, from the Social Security Administration. It’s even signed by Jo Anne B. Barnhart, “Commissioner.” It’s my annual greeting from the government “Prepared especially for jemison.” So I read it… In fact, let’s read it together, won’t you...come along with me…just to see…what the Social Security Administration has to say? Sure, I knew you would…

The first page is full of propaganda, advising:

· Social Security is for people of all ages,
· Work to build a secure future, and (most chilling),
· About Social Security’s future.

Here are the sentences I clued in on:

“But now, the Social Security system is facing serious future financial problems, and action is needed soon to make sure that the system is sound when today’s younger workers are ready for retirement.” (Read, me).

Oh my God! No, sorry, I’m not surprised. I’ve heard this all my adult life. Sad thing is, back twenty years ago it would have been easier to craft a solution. But the problem was for another day. Only so many “other days” until you’re there.

Next sentence, (don’t worry, I underlined them so I wouldn’t forget):

“Unless action is taken soon to strengthen Social Security, in just 12 years we will begin paying more benefits than we collect in taxes. Without changes, by 2041* the Social Security Trust Fund will be exhausted.”

*Even here the dates (which I calculated as the dates I would get some honey) are “produced by the actuaries at the Social Security Administration based on the intermediate assumptions from the Social Security Trustee’s Annual Report to Congress.”

Way too many variables there. Anyway, I calculate I get to drain the system by receiving my benefits for eleven years…maybe a few more…maybe a few less.

Finally:

“We will need to resolve these issues soon to make sure Social Security continues to provide a foundation of protection [their metaphor—I like it] for future generations as it has done in the past.”

We? We? I’m paying my taxes. I have a job, thank you. Your job is to make the system work ‘like it has in the past.’ How come it becomes ‘we’ when there’s a problem? There was no ‘we’ when the government was spending my taxes. There was no ‘we’ when the government set my ‘potential benefits.’ Now it’s all ‘we.’ How ‘bout you made this problem, you fix it…

But, like any good Birthday card, the best was inside. There, in dollars and cents, was my reward: if I die, get disabled, or live long enough to get free prescriptions and medical care. Oh the money, the money! Still, here, in bold lettering no less, was this warning:

“Your estimated benefits are based on current law. Congress has made changes to the law in the past and can do so at any time. The law governing benefit amounts may change because, by 2041, the payroll taxes collected will be enough to pay only 74 percent of scheduled benefits.”

And here’s the joke. Congress, not this one or the next, but some Congress soon, fully funded in its generous pension plan outside of Social Security, may one day say, “jemison, sorry, we know we sent you that great Birthday card, but we didn’t mean it. You will have to make do with what you got. Your money? Well, like George Bailey said, you’re money’s not here, it’s in Mr. Frist’s HMO and Mr. Santorum’s faith-based kindergarten. You understand don’t you?”

So I’ll be contributing to my Roth IRA before year’s end…

And to my little one, I ask:

“Will you still need me?
Will you still feed me?
When I’m sixty four.”