Little Red Hen Syndrome

Being the sole working adult in a household of two middle-schoolers, I have identified, over the years, what I call the Little Red Hen Syndrome.

You may know the story: Little Red Hen asks all the other animals if they want to help plant the wheat. Not I, the horse, goat, cat, dog, etc. all reply in turn. Will you help me water the wheat?.... Cut it, mill it, make it into bread? No, no, no. But of course when it's time to EAT the bread they're all right there. Too bad, says the little red hen.

It plays out a little differently for me. As I stoop to pick up a sock, bring a dirty dish to the sink, return something to a shelf, the though will rise, unbidden: Am I the only one that knows how to do this? It's a bad thought to have; unchecked, it only inspires carping (why don't you ever...!) and self pity. I've finally developed a much healthier attitude about it, one that looks as much at my own reaction as the event that promoted it...and one that's a lot more strategic about, say, incorporating desired behavior into allowance payment plans.

Lately as I watch our economy implode and Obama's stimulus package wind its way through Congress I find another version of the Little Red Hen syndrome playing out in my head.

I've worked since I was 14 years old. I thankfully have a pretty good credit rating and live in a house I own. I've worked in human services for many years because I believe structural inequalities in our society need to be fixed. I know many of those now losing their homes were lied to about their mortgage terms, work at jobs with wages depressed by unfettered global capitalism and years of institutionalized crippling of labor's power.

And yet...there's a tiny, tiny Little Red Hen in my head when I see my puny 401K swirling in the middle stage of the toilet flush, when I watch my home value plummet and hear about mortgage assistance programs and government bailouts. My relative lack of debt and good credit rating come from not taking nice vacations, from living in a house filled with mismatched hand-me-downs, and until very recently driving a car with rust holes you could lob a golf ball through. Where's my reward? this voice asks. I've been working so hard. What do I get?

I'm not proud of this voice when it talks about mortgage assistance programs. I give it free reign and add extra outrage when it comes up around the financial services bailout.

Other parents nod their heads and smile knowingly when I tell them my Little Red Hen theory. Problem is, she lived and worked in a system that was ultimately fair, that rewarded work and had ample resources.

Don't think we do anymore.