I Am an Unimportant Person —

one of many others in the world. Why does that matter?

Because me beginning a writing app would not make much of a wave in literary waters, why in the world would I do it? There are the usual suspects: ego, vanity, puffery, etc.; but that would not be what drives me to describe my very ordinary life. There is a more compelling reason, and it has sometimes been known as the literary character “Everyman.” While there might be many reasons why I would open my ordinary experience to other eyes; what that reason might be and how might it be useful are not so clear. Reasons are not obvious, so here are my thoughts on the matter, and they might be useful to others. I was born in 1945, about six months prior to the “Baby Boomer” explosion generated by the end of World War II. It actually places me in the cohort known as “The Silent Generation.” These people were born or raised just before and up to the end of that war.

Historians view history as eras dominated by powerful changes in the way that people govern themselves. That usually means whatever it might be that drives the mores and values of a society. It could be anything from the discovery of fire, to the invention of recorded knowledge, a great or terrible ruler, the loss or discovery of knowledge that changes how people see their world. It makes for great plots, emotional highs and lows; and occasional religious awakenings. Most importantly, it changes how we perceive our “world” to function in reality — things both seen and un-seen — real, hoped for, or imagined. That is why the character “Everyman” shows up time and again in stories and as a metaphor. This person is un-named. His whole life narrates any age — almost unexpectedly. You can find him expressed in medieval mystery plays, in John Bunyon’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” as well as in many other western literary interpretations.

Oddly enough, that is where I find myself in America, in 2025; and as an old woman who has watched the definition of “Female” treated like a whirly-gig in the wind. I am not going to prove my opinion with citations as if I were in a court of law. I am going to echo my experiences along with others and hope that those experiences will sound familiar to some readers. I am a road sign on the highway, that is all, and that is really quite enough.

Character and place develop each other with no exception. In the past, we were guilty of “stereotyping” people by race, class, ethnicity, etc. By the late 1950s, for good reason, this had become intolerable. An attempt to balance our treatment of American citizens, two things happened. first, the voting Rights Act was passed and the right to vote became available to people of color. This “right” was bought with blood in the streets, but it was really just another battle in the Civil War that had raged not long before, and in some cases, continues to this day. Of course, it is important to remember that women had not had the right to vote until 1924, and gained that right only after men were persuaded that husbands would control their wive’s votes.

This tiny bit of history tends to point to the fact that voting rights have to do with power more than anything else, and that power is most frequently punched with money. Wealth and Power have been the source of societal change throughout human history; and in 2025, my 80th year, we find a reprisal of the questions who can vote and who should not. Who should gain wealth and who should remain the “worker bee”. That phrase has been also explained by the term “mud sill” in the South, “trad wife” everywhere. So, what should our values be based on: knowledge or prejudice — the power of the ballot or the power of privilege. This premise has been written about much more thoroughly (and with citations) by those who study the problem. So, I will fall back only on personal experience to cite my opinion.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the 1970s, I happened to attend a School Board meeting. The topic was busing — one of the most decisive political levers of that American period. I was attending in a southwestern state — one with a varied and diverse constituency. Hispanics, Anglo, Indigenous, blacks were in attendance. One Hispanic man spoke up and said: “I’m not white, I’m Hispanic, and I don’t want my children bused for miles to some other school”. The reply of the School Board President was this: “The United States Government considers you White, therefore your children will be bused.” I was shocked. Being young at the time, I remember thinking that’s not what I thought America was about, and being very upset. It was my first encounter with raw use of power and privilege — a sort of “blinded by whiteness” event.

Almost 15 years later, in another state, I found myself facing a divorce by abandonment. When I approached a local Texas bank to have the title of my car changed to my name only, the banker said he couldn’t do it. He asked: “don’t you have a brother or a father to co-sign for you?” In 1984, I was 39 years old. I had made the down payment and every monthly payment on time. Fortunately, the Credit Union supported by my employer was happy to buy the loan from the bank and I finished paying the loan there. This might seem to be a minor relic from the past, but this month, in my 79th year, I had to have my step-son’s permission to open an independent bank account. Since we had already transferred our SS and pensions into his joint account to pay essentially 1/2 of the cost of Assisted Living, he seemed surprised when I was unable to answer “how much do you want to open the account with?” He finally answered for me that he would put $100 in Checking and Savings for me.

Please understand, I do not blame him. Our house was turned into a trust that he will administer. I agreed because he had been helping us financially since I quit working in about 2014, so there is no blame, but this is the root of my re-telling of these events. I have been incredibly blessed after years of struggle. But to watch all of this with the current policy proposals espoused by Project 2025, after my personal struggles in the halls of power and privilege, I fear for the poor going forward.

Finally, so many people that I know love the works of Jane Austin. She expresses quite well the social pressures and pitfalls at the end of 18th century England. Primogeniture, property ownership, social stigma, etc. It is hard for me to see these antiquated ideas finding fresh followers in 21st-Century America. This one tiny slot of my life is not special, but there are echoes in so many lives now and what is the future are we building?

Haven’t we tried this before for a good 6,000 years?