Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A Possibility

Every day, twenty-five thousand children under the age of five die because they lack access to the things we hardly even think of as necessities. What if every middle-class family sponsored one child? Could that statistic disappear? By spending twenty or thirty dollars a month, an amount that barely takes a chunk out of most salaries, we could change a struggling world. There are roughly six to seven million families in Canada. That amounts to millions of children accounted for, and cared about. However, that is just Canada. If we include all other wealthy countries, the United States, England, France, Australia, Italy, China, and Japan, we could account for millions more. Not only would it help children overseas, but it would help children and families in our own country. Giving a small amount of money every month not only buys families necessities, but it can change a persons life and circumstances. Sponsorship money goes towards education, healthcare, and the mothers that risk everything to take care of their children. Educating adolescents in developing countries could be the beginning of a new generation, and new life overseas.


If reaching out to struggling children and families in impoverished countries seems so easy, why hasn’t this idea ever been taken seriously? Should the government impose a tax that requires every family making a certain salary to sponsor a child? If it was mandatory, could it help change the world? I believe it could, but no one sees the potential in this idea. To the government, there are more pressing issues to be addressed. Why isn’t bettering the world a priority? I realize this is only one side of the argument. However, I feel it is an incredibly valid point.

An Innocent Prisoner

After the pile is sifted through with little attention paid, I am mistakenly hurdled through the air. The landing is soft, a blanket of mismatched colors. Blues, greens, periwinkles, some rough, and some luxuriously plush. This place is foreign, and certainly not the place where I am supposed to be. I am a prisoner. I should be neatly folded into place, next to replicas of myself, separated by borders of restraint. Nonetheless, I am here. The stench is quite unlike the fresh scent I have grown to know. Instead, it is replaced by a musty odor that closes in around me like a bully. More softness plunges from the sky, covering me in a sheet of miscellaneous material. Suddenly claustrophobic, I long for the structured, breathable air where under normal circumstances, I would be placed. Not today. Today I am a prisoner, captured and misplaced in unknown territory.

An earthquake erupts. Along with the other fugitives, I am placed within a new vessel. A transportation vessel, one that is carrying me towards two white boxes. The doors are opened, and accompanied by everything else, I am pushed towards the back. A bitter substance is placed upon us, except this time, it is a scent I have grown accustomed to. Suddenly, the door closes, and I find myself rotating in circles. Fast circles, and the addition of water plunges me into it’s depths. I am not ready for such an endeavor. Today I am a prisoner, unknowingly placed in a chamber of unpleasantness.

I hear a click, and the door opens. I recognize my dampness, and frown at the prospect of someone using me like this. Then, I am thrown into the second box. An abrupt wave of heat covers me as once again, I am launched into rotation. Several minutes later, after roasting in a bed of humidity, relief washes over me. I am positioned in a place of familiarity. No longer feeling foreign, I bask in the natural space. Today I was a prisoner, mistakenly propelled into an unknown situation. A dirty hamper is no place for a clean sock.