by Crystal Sands
It was the end of August when I read that the Powerball lottery had reached a billion dollars. I thought to myself that a billion dollars warranted buying a few tickets. I have only played the lottery a couple of times in my life, but a billion dollars at the end of the world would surely be handy.
Later that afternoon, I was out for a walk on our rural road when a dear friend and neighbor drove up and stopped to talk. We talked about children and how tired we both were, and then we talked about the Powerball lottery.
“It’s a billion dollars,” she said. “We bought tickets.”
We then talked about what we would do if we won a billion dollars. I told her I was going to buy some tickets as well. We made a deal what if she won, she would share some with me, and if I won, I would share some with her.
That evening before dinner, my teen son and I drove up the road to a small country convenience store on the rural highway that leads from our house right to Canada. I didn’t even know how to play the Powerball, but the kind woman behind the counter helped me. We ended up with five tickets.
During dinner, our son asked if we could dream a little and talk about what the three of us would do with the money if we won the lottery. My heart was sad about this. We had all been struggling with some depression about the state of the world and our inability to do anything about it. It’s a scary time for grown ups. It must be terrifying for teens. I just try to remind my son that he will live to see the other side of this, a better world, I am sure of it. But in the meantime, dreaming about what you would if you won the lottery seems a little bit necessary.
So we dreamed.
My husband said he would give a bunch of money to people we know and then buy land and properties in cities and use that land to start an organization that helps people in cities grow their own organic food. I said I would also share with a bunch of people we know, go to a wood working school here in Maine, and start some animal rescue organizations–one for birds, one for Great Pyrenees, one for woodland creatures, and so on until I ran out of of money. Then, what my son said, really struck me.
“I would be a super hero,” he said.
We look puzzled, so he added, “like Batman–rich but really, really kind.” He continued, “Can you imagine how good it would feel to really be able to help people, to really be able to make a difference in their lives?”
We all sat with that one a long time.
Later that night, I watched the lottery numbers come in. We won $12. I didn’t want to tell my son because he had so much fun dreaming, but I knew I had to. “Oh man,” he said. I noticed his posture shifted, and he sank a little lower into his chair.
A few days later, he wanted to watch the new Superman movie. We are not much for watching super hero movies around here. When my son was little, we used to try to take him to the movies to see the Avengers films and such, but none of us ever liked them. I fell asleep in the movies so many times, but our son said he heard this Superman movie was different and that it was really good.
So we all agreed to give it a try and watch Superman as a family.
There is a moment in the movie where Lois Lane and Superman are talking about being punk rock.
Lois tells Superman that she is punk rock but he isn’t. She says, “You trust everyone and think everyone you ever met is, like, beautiful.”
And he says, “Maybe that’s the real punk rock.”
It’s a powerful scene. The hope in humanity that comes through is profound. My son stopped the movie and turned to me with tears in his eyes. “You’re the most punk rock person I have ever met,” he said.
I started to cry, and I thought about how I wasn’t nearly as punk rock as he is. As we continued to watch the move, my mind went to a few days earlier that week.
We were driving home from a grocery store pick up, and we had ice cream. We came over a big hill and saw a woman pushing a giant cart of her belongings up the hill. She looked exhausted. She was going the opposite direction we were going, but my son said, “Can we turn around and help her?”
The traffic was bad, and it was going to take a bit to turn around, as we were near the river and there were no easy spots to change directions.
‘We have ice cream, and I’m so tired,” I said with eyes asking for his forgiveness.
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s late. It’s okay,” he said.
But I knew I wasn’t right. I turned around in the hospital parking lot, and we drove back to the woman.
“Be careful of the traffic, and just offer her the help. She may not want it,” I said to him.
“Thank you, mom,” he said and hopped out and ran up to talk with her.
Honestly, she was mostly up the hill, but my son helped her and talked to her a few minutes. When he came back to the car he said she was homeless and was trying to get her stuff to a friend’s house for a few nights. He said she was so kind and so thankful to him. I looked in my wallet for any money to help, but I only had $13. We drove up closer to her, and my son hopped out again to give her the money. He explained that he wished we had more.
But I could see tears in her eyes. “You’ve raised a good one,” she said and put her hand over her chest.
I thought for a minute and then paused the movie again. I told him that he was far more punk rock than I but that I am still punk rock. I told him that, right now, in addition to kindness, people need skills. They need skills to grow and preserve food and live more self sufficiently. I told him that my great grand parents told me stories about the Great Depression when I was little. I told him they were good people who made it because they knew how to grow and put by food. I told him the stories from my mom and my aunts that I had heard growing up. I learned about people passing through and stopping at my great grandmother’s door because she would give them a can of beans or fruit or soup.
“Today,” I told him. “I picked pears from our tree and then turned them into 11 jars of food that we will eat and share with friends and family this winter.” I added, “That’s pretty punk rock.”
He agreed that it was, and he held my hand for a while as we watched the rest of the movie.
When the movie was over, my son took off to play video games with his friends. I sat and cried for a little bit.
“Why are you crying?” my husband asked.
“Because that boy is Superman,” I said. “He wants to help people, to fix things.”
“Why does that make you sad? You should be proud,” he replied.
“I’m sad because he’s Superman in world where the Lex Luthors are winning.”
My husband paused for a second and then said, “Just give him time.”
While I try to remember to be patient with the world, yesterday, I took the grapes our neighbor shared with us from her vines. I made 10 jars of my son’s favorite grape jelly.
Because I’m a punk rocker, yes I am.
photo credit: Crystal Sands
Crystal Sands is writing professor and freelance writer, who has published with The Bangor Metro, The Independent and Modern Farmer. She is the founder and editor of Farmer-ish and lives in rural Maine on a homestead with her husband. She has two children, a teen son and adult daughter, and lives with two Great Pyrenees, two cats, two mice, 41 chickens, five ducks, and eight turkeys. She is the author of the Farmer-ish blog.