But I Want to Keep up with the Joneses

The only Joneses I know are: the one who taught me French in high school, a youngish-looking old teacher named Mr. Alonzo Jones, and I have a cousin who plays football  for New Town named Earl Jones I taught at Washington Archibald High school, and as far as I know neither Al Jones nor Earle Jones are rich people. I certainly cannot keep up with Al as a runner, because although I am sure he is pushing hard for his mid- sixties, I still see him jogging the streets of Basseterre St. Kitts as though he is  still a teenager. I cannot keep up with him, and neither can I even think of keeping up with my young cousin and former student Earl Jones on the football field. So when I hear people with a sarcastic giggle and a  rye smirk on their faces scoff at their neighbours who are trying to keep up with the Joneses, I sort of ask, why not.
 I know they don't mean Al and Earle. What they mean is that the neighbours are looking at their financially better offs, and trying to buy like they buy, travel like they travel and dress like they dress, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with not trying to be worse off than the Joneses. In fact I would recommend not just keeping up with them but passing their tail part. Don't just keep up with them, no, do better than they are doing. Become a Jones yourself.
 One of the best ways to do this is to make sure your children are doing their homework, reading books, keeping the correct kind of company and not getting into trouble. That is what the Joneses  have done to become the Joneses for the most part. They work hard, they like nice things and nice people around them. They are not snobbish, they just can't stand ghetto behaviour, ghetto attitudes and the ghetto-ish lack of dream and ambition.
 One does not have to remain in the ghetto just because one was born there. The Joneses were planning for their son's university education from the time the doctor said "it's a boy". Since he was a kid they been asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up. They saved every one of his school reports since he was in kindergarten, and they made him share whatever it was he ate with his sister. These days there are sisters who dare not touch each others' shoes, never mind borrow them, and the boy won't be caught dead driving a second hand pick up truck that he can use to  make money on the side, not when he can buy a shiny car with loud, loud boom boxes in the trunk. So if you think I am trying to get my children to keep up with the Joneses. . . Hell, yes I am.