Wednesday, August 19, 2026
A few months ago, Mom was scared. She feared rising taxes in her district. She and Dad are on a fixed income. She heard of a way out, however! Seniors could apply for a tax exemption. Good news! A savior was born: “The Exemption.”
Haul out the holly and light the tree. An exemption was born! A savior, born in the city of Houston, and the angels cried, “Glory to God in the highest!”
Then, the exemption grew up. What once was a savior turned into an anathema. It was a mountain of paperwork—applications, an essay, full financial disclosure, and so on. The red tape, the devil himself, appeared, or should I say herself?
Poor mother! Her minister became sinister. She called the tax office. Maybe she could supplicate and they would exempt her for free. If she begged, maybe they would save her from the paperwork. No one would exempt her from the “exemption paperwork.” Her savior condemned her.
Yesterday, however, she was in good spirits. She asked, “Have you kept up with the stock market? Our portfolio is doing really well.” A savior was born, once again!
Carols were sung and stockings hung by the chimney with care. Hallelujah! Investments were born. A savior, wrapped in swaddling clothes, born on Wall Street.
That’s nice, Mom. “Sweet, little Charles Schwab, born in a portfolio! Didn’t know who you was,” as the spiritual goes. When the market crashes, I wonder what she’ll supplicate.
Maybe a savior is much ado about sweet, little nothin’. If you need saving, you’ll put your trust in what won’t do a damn thing for you. It will only seem to scare and frustrate you when it fails to deliver you from your distress.
You could save yourself a lot of grief by simply paying your taxes without needing an exemption. Or just living your life as a sovereign without guilt, resistance, or the need for a savior.