A Taxing Story

Dapo is a CNN fiend. He is a self-proclaimed Independent, so I have no idea why he is watching the most liberal news network available. I digress. He watched every minute of the DNC last week and now is giving equal attention to the RNC this week.

During the convention last night, the Republicans did a tribute to Ronald Reagan. I didn't see it, because I was studying, and I'm quite sick of the pomp and circumstance of it all. As an aside, I will be watching tonight when Palin makes her VP acceptance speech.

The Reagan tribute reminded me of a story. I was born during Carter's presidency, and this story occurred sometime in Reagan's first term. That'd put me between 5-9. My brother and I used to walk to the store by our house to buy nickel candy. It used to be penny candy, then nickel candy. One day we went to the store and I had a quarter, so I could buy a couple. (This story makes me feel old!) My brother and I went in and when I got to the counter GASP! the total was .30. The nickel candies were no longer nickel candies. They were now six cents, and I couldn't by five, I could only buy four. I was SO mad, I thought it was the guy at the counter trying to rip me off (see Carrie Dodge for an example of how far I used to be willing to go over the principle of a matter). I was also embarrassed, because I had to put one candy back.

He explained that the reason I wasn't able to buy as many candies this week is because there used to not be tax on candy, and now there is. I was fuming mad all the way home, and told my mom about what happened. She gave no pity, stating that her taxes had been raised, too! I asked who would do such a thing, and she said, the President. I asked her if I could ask him to change it back because I couldn't buy as many candies for a quarter. She said why don't I write him a letter and ask him.

So, I did. I gave full lamentations about my quarter not stretching as far, and how it wasn't fair. I actually thought the President of the United States would either cut taxes just for me, or give the store by my house permission not to charge the extra penny. Well, he did actually write me back (well, someone made a form letter, with a rubber stamp signature) and enclosed a picture of him on his horse at his ranch in California. I guess he thought, "this little girl needs to stop crying about taxes, and start asking her parents for a pony!" The letter that he sent explained to me why taxes were good for roads and social systems and etc. I hated the letter, but loved the picture.

I never did ask for a pony, and I still cry about taxes.