It's time to sand the rust off the belt, and replace spent pieces, my beloved Midwest!

I am a proud child of the Great Lakes region of the Midwest — a collection of states that made this country a manufacturing powerhouse, while also feeding the nation and serving as its transportation hub — but my parent needs to straighten up its act or I may have to flee the nest.

Traveling the states that touch the Great Lakes and watching national news, I've come to realize that we really are part of the nation's Rust Belt. It's not just because heavy manufacturing has faded into our past; it's also because we've let a whole lot fall apart. Drive I-65 through Indiana lately? You probably need dental work. Lose your car in a sink hole after a sewer tunnel collapsed? No, it's not the stuff of science fiction; it's our new reality. Sit out four hours of a work day because the power at the office in the city was down? In this day and age, really?!? And don't even get me started on the state of public education ...

Pulling up roots does not appeal to me, especially now that I have a grandchild. However, I am growing increasingly frustrated by what I will call our eroding sense of public good.

We should be proud!

The Midwest most certainly deserves to be proud of its history. My home state of Michigan gave birth to the assembly line (Ford Motor Co.) and mass production, which enabled average Americans to buy cars — and myriad other durable goods, including houses. The Big Three automakers (Ford, General Motors and Chrysler) put America on wheels and helped establish the middle class, together with union labor, which raised the country's standard of living. Raw materials, including timber, iron and copper, flowed out of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on ships sailing the Great Lakes; the Great Lakes themselves became an invaluable trade route that fed — literally and figuratively — the nation. All the while, farmers produced diverse foods, from apples and potatoes to milk and beef.

My adopted state of Wisconsin helps keep the nation in milk, cheese and bratwurst to this day. Milwaukee was one of few cities in the U.S. to try socialism on for size while building community pride, spawning fabulous public parks, buildings and education. And, of course, we can't forget the beer, motorcycles, and mining and agricultural equipment (Allis-Chalmers) produced here.

Illinois became the nation's transportation hub — the Port of Chicago connected the state to  Great Lakes shipping; Chicago became the center of the railroad business, leading the nation in rail connections; and O'Hare International Airport was once the world's busiest airport. Illinois is also part of the nation's Corn Belt, is home to the world's largest commodities exchange, and was claimed as home by four of the country's presidents.

Indiana, which sits in the Corn and Grain belts of the U.S., gave us organized high school basketball, Hoosiers (in this case, I mean college athletes), and more NBA players than any other state, plus one of motorsports' most-beloved race tracks. She also helped product the steel that built America.

The two states with which I am least familiar, Minnesota and Ohio, both boast Great Lakes ports and miles of access to major rivers (the Mighty Mississippi and the Ohio, respectively). The Wright brothers of Ohio modernized flight, with the first powered airplanes. Minnesota voters set the standard for active political participation.

Combined, our states also founded impressive public research universities, including most of the Big 10 schools.

But we can't rest on our laurels

We did well, we Midwestern Great Lakes states, during the agricultural economy and then the manufacturing economy, for myriad reasons. We can credit our vast natural resources — not just iron, copper and timber, but also healthy soil and fresh water; our proximity to the Great Lakes and the development of the St. Lawrence River into a seaway; an abundance of paved roads, water canals, railroads and airports; and our bust-ass work ethic and kick-ass education, both formal (apprenticeships, internships and universities) and informal (Grandpa showed you how).

Now, however, we're in a knowledge economy. We cannot all rely on the soil or the strength of our backs to earn us sustainable incomes. I say "all" because some of us still do work in agriculture, with family farmers fighting like the Irish for their livelihoods, and in manufacturing, which is returning stateside in high-tech formats. But most of us find ourselves pretty far removed from our (great-) grandparents' farms and our (grand) parents' factories. We're being forced to evaluate our worth, and it's scary.

The result has been belt-tightening. We fight tax increases, even as our roads literally crumble. Instead of fixing our broken public school systems, we divert money and resources via voucher programs to private schools, which aren't doing much better by students because they use the same out-dated educational models as public schools. The Great Lakes are polluted and stricken by invasive species; O'Hare has become the second worst airport in the nation in terms of delayed and canceled flights. We in Wisconsin refuse to join the Midwest High-Speed Rail project or to accept federal stimulus money to invest in broadband Internet expansion. We've defunded our public university system, to the point where tax revenue accounts for only 18 percent of the University of Wisconsin budget, forcing tuition up at unprecedented rates; students whose parents cannot pay for college are taking on unprecedented student-loan debt loads.

Did I mention that we're now in a knowledge economy? That means workers are valued based on what they know. Robots can build cars; workers control robots, a job that requires knowledge. Once upon a time, unions might have provided on-the-job training at minimal cost to workers, but ... that's a thing of the past. Now, workers have to pay to acquire knowledge considered valuable, even the basic knowledge needed to get in the door at a starting level. Or face working in low-skill, low-pay industries like retail (Wal-Mart) or service (restaurants). Further, workers in today's knowledge economy must learn to collaborate, troubleshooting in teams, as today's workplace problems are far too complex for individuals to solve. That requires, ummm, teamwork.

Teamwork. Does a state that refuses to pay for vital public services seem like a place employers would look for team players? Let's check the Fortune 500 company count. Michigan, a burned-out skeleton of its once proud self, has 19; Minnesota has 18. Wisconsin has 10. Granted, Michigan has twice the population (and the Big Three), but Minnesota has fewer people than Wisconsin. Why the disparity?

That is one of many questions we in the Midwest need to ponder. Heavily. Seriously. Publicly. Privately. What is working? Ask Detroit (believe it or not). And what isn't? Ask many other Midwest communities.

I'm fairly confident, having weighed the situation myself and collaboratively with others, it's going to become painfully obvious that failing to tend to the public good is simply feeding the rust.

Parenting while poor is neither a crime nor a sin

Confession time: Members of my extended family once contemplated calling Child Protective Services on me.

I know what you're thinking: You're going to hate me by the end of this confession. Perhaps. But it won't be because I hurt my children.

See, I am not confessing my own parenting sin, which was simply being poor. I am confessing nursing hurt feelings for far too long.

The charges were ... 

I'll get right to the point. The following were the causes of concern:

• Our children wore hand-me-down and thrift-store clothing, plus well-worn shoes, while I wore professional clothes.
• Our children slept together on a full-size mattress on the floor, instead of in twin beds on frames.
• Our children were fed peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches for dinner on occasion. 

Later, the charges were amended to reflect the possibility that I was having an affair on my hard-working hubby.

At this stage, I would like to point out that my husband was not a target of these charges. The women who made these charges knew that I was the one making the day-to-day decisions about child rearing. They also didn't know me very well, as I had married into their family.

Further, I am well aware that these three women love me and, more importantly, love my children. They also decided against reporting me after my husband intervened.

But ... they did me — and my children (and the hubby) — a great disservice by jumping to conclusions.

My defense was ... 

I admit it: I could not afford better clothes, or lots of shoes, or three complete twin beds, or an apartment large enough to comfortably fit three twin beds. I was also adverse to cooking. What I did instead was this:

I mastered the art of thrift store shopping for the girls, and I kept a couple "good" outfits — what old-timers would have called the girls' "Sunday best" — tucked away for special occasions. Same with shoes; the girls always had a nice pair, for school, and a beat-up pair for everyday living, plus snowboots. (The requirement that children have a pair of gym shoes to be used only in the gym, only at school, nearly gave me a stroke!) My logic went beyond economics, by the way; I wanted my children to be young explorers, scientists and artists, which meant they needed clothing they could freely dirty up during daily living.

I also mastered the art of thrift store shopping for myself. All that professional clothing I wore? The labels all said Goodwill. And, when I wasn't at work, I wasn't wearing the good stuff. I pulled out tattered jeans and tanks and dirtied them up with abandon, alongside the girls. (Today it's sweats and tanks, much to my hubby's chagrin.)

Yes, my children slept on a full-size mattress on the floor. We had a two-bedroom apartment, which meant the three girls had to share a room. I made the executive decision to give them the master bedroom and to dedicate most of the space to play, not sleep. We considered getting them "real" beds. But the apartment was small, and they were stuck together regardless, so I applied some creativity to a solution. It helped cut down on bedding costs (fewer sheets required) and on injuries; falling off that bed was hardly dangerous. Win-win, I thought.

Interestingly, they had more fun together in that room than in any other living situation we had while they were young. They used the bed as a stage and put their imaginations to work.

And, regarding the butter-and-jelly sandwiches: Yup. I fed my children crap meals — processed foods, in other words — at least once a week. Two or three times a week, if my work week was especially crazy. I still feed my children crap, in fact; Monday is frozen pizza night in our house. I happen to hate cooking. And I knew my children ate well at school lunch, so I was lazy with some dinners. Other nights, however, I did whip out pots and pans and cook up a meal with real protein and random veggies.

This sinful shortcoming of mine has been righted by my husband since then; he is now chef, and I'm the kitchen help.

The ugly specter of an affair was brought up as a possible explanation for all these parenting sins ... and it seemed fitting, as I was often absent at critical times during the day. See, I worked more than 40 hours, often putting in hours at "unusual" times." I was a workaholic. I was also a journalist, which meant I worked when the news happened. That was often evenings, which was one of the reasons cooking dinner was such a struggle for me.

But, to our extended family members, who were used to factory and office jobs with regular schedules, I'm sure the "I have to work" excuses seemed thin.

Need vs. want 

Now, you're probably wondering how it is that we were "poor" when I've alluded to the fact that both my husband and I worked. Hard. And long.

Well, that is the reality of our economy. Two parents can work and still struggle to make ends meet. Especially when the goal is to ensure the children are safe and sound. Safe and sound, to us, meant an apartment in a complex with lots of other children, extended family nearby, and a good school district (or, at least, a school district with good individual schools).

We also started out in a very different position than most parents; we were pregnant straight out of high school, which meant we had lots of expenses at a very early age. While I had a college degree, I also had student loan debt and worked in a low-paying field. My hubby didn't have a degree but did have mad mechanical skill; he was subject to the ebb and flow of manufacturing, which was often unkind with layoffs. Frankly, he worked far too many years in jobs he hated — sometimes, more than one at a time — to ensure our needs were met.

And I argue our needs were indeed met.

Do children need brand new clothing? (Note: I have heard people complain, more than once, about how well-dressed the poor children in Milwaukee are. Clearly, the complainers observe, parents are spending WAY too much keeping up appearances. Well, I can assure you that the poor parents of Milwaukee, especially minority parents, know they will be judged unfit if their children wear anything less ... so I guess they're damned if they do, damned if they don't.)

Do children need their own beds (or bedrooms, for that matter)?

Do children need a whole-foods dinner every night?

Well, that last one, I do regret. My children deserved better food, no doubt. So did the hubby. So did I, for that matter!

But I don't believe my children suffered for our lack of money, anymore than I suffered from my mother's lack of money. Yes, I was raised in poverty; my divorced mother collected welfare for six years of my childhood. It was no picnic. But it wasn't all bad, either.

What you learn when you grow up poor:

• Value goods and property, owned by you and borrowed from others (because you can't afford to replace anything, frankly). 
• Value your own ability to get stuff done (because you cannot afford to hire someone else to do it, or waste the social capital needed for emergencies to ask the favor of others).
• Value sharing (because you need stuff you cannot afford, as does your neighbor, and because it often exponentially increases the enjoyment of said stuff).
• Value people. 

That last one is very important to me — an ethic, so to speak. When you are poor, your network (of other poor people, usually) is all you have. And that network is often the difference between life and death, literally. For example, growing up in rural Upper Michigan, we always stopped to help stranded motorists alongside the road, even if we didn't know them or didn't like them. We could not assume they had other ways of getting out of trouble, such as AAA; being stranded could mean freezing to death. And we knew we might need the favor returned.

This same principle has cost me, though. People matter to me, which is why I've never confronted the women who wanted to report me to Child Protective Services. I don't want to break ties; they are a part of my network.

Proof is in the pudding

Did my children also learn valuable lessons from being poor?

Well, my children share my values. They still shop for used clothing to save money, and they spend big on their work clothes. Makes perfect sense to me. They eat healthier food than my husband and I did at their ages, in part because my husband and I eat better now. And my children learned very early on how to be good roommates, sharing space and property (making them great members of society). In fact, when we deadbeat 'rents finally bought a house, it was four bedrooms and — gasp! — one bathroom. We lived together in relative harmony.

However, my children value people in a different way than I do. They have no desire to spend time with people who judged their parents and jumped to negative conclusions.

They realize there are alternatives. For example, ask the mom or dad about the logic behind seemingly poor decisions. Sometimes, it comes down to simple economics, and they're too proud or independent to admit it without prodding. Sometimes, a lesson in healthy eating or a cooking class is in order. (And, of course, there are cases of actual neglect and abuse ... but, without physical scars, you won't know until you investigate.)

Frankly, you could also quietly step up. If you see a child in worn shoes, consider a trip to the shoe store for a surprise birthday present. Offer up free babysitting to a parent who seems frazzled by crazy work hours. Give away some of your garden-grown veggies or show parents where to get inexpensive or free veggies. Have a conversation with the affected child or children; you might become a part of their network, reducing the likelihood that they will be forever poor.

Now, take everything I have said and apply it to a struggling single mom. I had my husband's shoulder to cry on the day I learned my family believed I was failing as a parent. (I also had his income, THANK GOD.) Had I been on my own, I would have been absolutely devastated.

To some degree, I was. I still don't trust my extended family the way I once did. But I think the family lost out on more than I did. Despite our shortcomings (and, yes, there were other, more-legit, shortcomings), our children grew into fabulous young women who are a constant source of joy and pride for me and my husband. They know the difference between need and want, and they want to spend time with us.

But not so much with the folks who doubted their parents.