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Census concensus Last weekend was spent in Indianapolis where we met at our niece’s (Michelle Preston) house to celebrate our annual family reunion. Our family reunion only includes the offspring of Orion and Olga Wheeler, who bore three children, Peggy, Buzzy, and Barbara; the latter being the only remaining member of this union. It should be noted that there were only seven grandchildren derived (or should I say delivered) from these three offspring; Peggy begat Ann and John; Buzzy begat Melinda, Sara, Jennifer, and Amanda; and Barbara begat Jan; a total of six girls and one boy. And, boy, has that boy had to bear the brunt of a lot of kidding over the years from a bunch of silly females who spray-painted his hair silver, made him ride girl bikes, and told him big tales about how TV’s in Kentucky were different from those in Tennessee because you could actually open the sets up and remove whatever was showing on a commercial. (He was really young when we got him on that one.) Our only boy cousin, John Christopher, as we refer to him (because that’s his name), used to spend his summer vacations visiting Paintsville. From the time he was born until he turned 15, he spent his summers swimming at the Paintsville pool, riding bicycles, going to the SIPP, and circling Chick’s Drive-In just like the rest of us. So I guess you could say, he’s the entire family’s favorite boy cousin and that would be the absolute truth. Somehow, amid all the billing and cooing over Jake, John’s 2 year-old grandson, the subject of the census came up, and John Christopher let us know that because of his response to the census bureau’s questionnaire, he might have to go into his own devised witness protection program to protect himself from the government. “Let me tell you something,” John declared. “When I first received it in the mail, it seemed innocuous enough, but after I got through the first two questions, I got sort of perturbed, so I answered those two and sent it back.” We all just laughed because we thought he was joking, but he continued. “Well, I don’t want to imply that I think the government is invading my privacy, but it made me feel weird,” he said. “Particularly, when a few weeks later, my neighbor informed me that a government vehicle had been in my driveway earlier in the day, and the man in the car had been asking questions about me.” “You’re kidding, right?” “Nope,” he replied. “The next day he came back and when I answered the door, he began asking me why I refused to fill out the entire form. When I told him I thought they had all the pertinent information from what I had supplied, he told me that they could put a lien on my property.” “Oh, he didn’t say that,” his wife Shirley remarked. “Well, not in so many words,” John countered, “but he told me that, by law, I’d have to complete the form.” “He told you if you’d answered Question 4, which is your telephone number, he would have called and avoided all that,” Shirley assured him. “Question 10 asked if Person number 1 lived or stayed someplace else,” John scoffed. “Now, I ask you, why would they need to know that? What difference does it make where I stay if I live here? And question 9 asked my national origin. I started to write in Pekingese!” “What happened then?” “He came back and gave me some things to fill out, but I haven’t looked at them yet,” John sighed. “As far as I know, they’re deportation papers!” “I can’t believe the government would do anything to you for not filling out your census questionnaire!” “Me either,” he winced, “particularly when it cordially says on the back of the envelope, ‘Thank you for participating in the 2010 Census.’ I didn’t know it was mandatory.” “Did you get the long form or the short form?” I asked. “From what I recall, it was about as long as the SAT test I took before I went to UT 30 years ago,” he stammered. “What two forms are you talking about?,” my brother-in-law Ed inquired. “Oh, I got two of them,” I said. “One had about 28 questions on it. I thought that might be too personal, so I forgot about it. Then they sent me another one.” “Well, I only got one that consisted of 10 questions,” Ed intoned. “I didn’t think it was intrusive at all.” We discussed the subject until Jake decided he wanted some adult attention and the topic was dropped. But when I got home I was curious about the number of questions that had been asked on the survey so I searched for my unopened second request and scanned over it. Sure enough, there were 10 questions on the first page, and 7 questions on the second page, which were only to be filled out if a second person lived in the home. What I had failed to ascertain is that the remaining 28 questions were for persons, 3, 4, 5, 6, and/or 7, who might also be living in our household. If a government vehicle pulls into our driveway, I’m going to ask that they come in and assist me in completing the form. And I won’t tell them I’m related to John Christopher who’s living in our guest bedroom, so I’ll have to lie on Question 2. ©2010 Johnson County Newspapers, Inc. |
