February 17, 2015 · 21:52

Shattered

To Thine Own Self Be True

Part I of 3

It isn’t often that I delve into the personal on here, but the past year has taught me much about the overcommercialization of the heart, the true meaning of love, where to look for strength and courage, and the importance of doing the right thing over what the world may say the right thing looks like.

I’m a girly-girl. I like makeup and fancy curls and fairy tales. This isn’t to say I can’t handle firearms or a half-ton horse, but I’m more Belle than I am Brunhilde. Ergo, I’m a firm believer in love and romance.

Or at least I was. I admittedly was a bit of a late bloomer. My girlfriends still like to tell stories about how they had to bring me home and teach me how to walk with my hips and in high-heels and flirt a bit so I wouldn’t get so tongue-tied talking to the hottest guy in the eighth grade…which I still did. A true talent, as the conversations we had were limited to the scripts in our hands. A year later, I fell hard for one of my best friends. That was at the end of freshman year. We dated until midway through senior year and saw each other through a lot- thick and thin, good and bad. It was hard to let go. Harder for me, I think, and that made it worse for him, because despite how angry I was most of the time, he really is a good man, and I thank him for it. Five years of on-again, off-again is not the way to let one’s self heal and move on though.

Move on we both did, finally, and eventually when all the dust settled I met this guy I’ll call Lenny. We hit it off pretty much right away and even though we lived about an hour apart, saw each other nearly every weekend and quite a bit during the week. I got along well with his family, and he with mine. He proposed after we were together for only nine months, and I accepted. Things were chugging along great. Wedding plans were falling into place perfectly; my dress was ordered, the church was booked, the reception venue arranged, bridesmaids fitted for their gowns, our wedding bands were purchased…

…then he lost his job. And the people who rented property from him moved with almost no notice. His parents, who lived with him, started pressuring him and making him feel guilty that he’d be moving out with his wife and they’d be all alone. (His parents were perfectly capable of being on their own; his mother still worked full-time.) Things he promised me about our life together, important things – suddenly he’d change his mind 24 hours later and there’d be no further discussion on it. His siblings started sticking their oars in, and practically accusing me of breaking up the family and throwing their parents into the street (yet I noticed how none of the siblings offered to help with the parents’ bills, rent, etc.; it was all to be on us.)

Something in all this seemed Not Right to me. I felt like I was getting buried, not married, and this shouldn’t how a joyful bride feels. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping. As far back as February my own mother asked me, when I was ranting about such and such situation, “Is this something you’re willing to live with for the next 30 years?”. That was the first time I really caught myself and thought about it. As her words turned over in my mind, heavy as lead, I was forced to look at her and say, “I don’t know”. We were seven months from the wedding then.

It snowballed. Stupid things – refusal to come to my nephew’s birthday party. Blowing me off to drink and watch sports with his brothers at the bar instead. Shutting down completely when I tried to get him to see that the financial situation as it stood was not sustainable and we needed to do X, Y, and Z so that we wouldn’t go bankrupt right after we signed the marriage contract. He would agree to a plan and then again change his mind almost instantaneously.

The final straw was the argument over the budget. As it was, with both of us working picking up the tab for his parents and the property was not going to work and there was no way in hell I was going to move in with my in-laws. Not when they were capable of looking after themselves and we newlyweds. It would have been different had one or both of them been ill and incapacitated, but that was not the case. The day before we’d had a plan to sell property, help them find an apartment, get ourselves one with cheaper rent, etc. Then, again, I was accused of insulting them, throwing them out to die, oh, and we won’t think of selling for at least ten years or so. I don’t lose my temper often, but I did that night. A broken mirror, a broken pair of spectacles, and 125 miles added onto my car. A complaint that his parents were worried sick and frightened that I had driven out there in the middle of the night, but he’s my fiancée – shouldn’t I be able to see him whenever I want? I’m 30, not 13, thanks. (For what it’s worth, I’m five feet tall and  110lbs. A friend once described me as the “least threatening person he’d ever met”.)

That sealed it, I think. I am an adult. I needed to be treated like an adult, in an environment of adults. I was not going to live with my in-laws any more than I would expect Lenny to be happy about living with my parents. I wasn’t going to be lied to, or be expected to obey his parents or siblings because that’s what the women do. I’d lost nearly 10lbs and couldn’t remember that last good night’s sleep I’d had. On the drive home from his house I had my last good cry over him. I hadn’t broken the engagement, not yet, but it was pretty inevitable. That was a Thursday night, Palm Sunday weekend. Friday morning, the ring came off. I adopted a kitten, instead. Looking back, good trade.

Friday, a friend slept over and we cold-bloodedly analyzed my choices from every angle. I think it was most telling when she said that if I did go through with this, she couldn’t stand by my side and be my Maid of Honor. I appreciated this honesty. I went to work and spoke with a few of my coworkers whom I’d known for a long time and trusted almost as if they were family.

Sunday, I went to his house and told him that it was clear we had different expectations on what a marriage should look like, and I wanted out. The worse part, I think, is that he didn’t even fight for me. Not an, “I’m sorry, let’s try to work this out,” or “We can put the wedding on hold and get through this,” but just let me walk away. Five months before we were to be wed, I was instead putting his stuff into a box to be mailed back, including the three rings, single yet again.

End of Part I

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December 22, 2014 · 22:22

An Open Letter to President Obama

Dear Mr. President,

On July 19, 2013, after George Zimmerman was acquitted by a jury of his peers of the charges of second-degree murder and manslaughter relating to the death of Trayvon Martin, you said this:

You know, when Trayvon Martin was first shot I said that this could have been my son. Another way of saying that is Trayvon Martin could have been me 35 years ago. And when you think about why, in the African American community at least, there’s a lot of pain around what happened here, I think it’s important to recognize that the African American community is looking at this issue through a set of experiences and a history that doesn’t go away.

There are very few African American men in this country who haven’t had the experience of being followed when they were shopping in a department store. That includes me. There are very few African American men who haven’t had the experience of walking across the street and hearing the locks click on the doors of cars. That happens to me — at least before I was a senator. There are very few African Americans who haven’t had the experience of getting on an elevator and a woman clutching her purse nervously and holding her breath until she had a chance to get off. That happens often.

Mr. President, with all due respect, the life Trayvon Martin led, like the life that Michael Brown led, are nothing like the super-privileged, star-studded, hyper-protected lives your daughters lead. Although you and your wife rightly keep your young girls from the public eye, it is no secret that the First Daughters attend a private school with a tuition to rival that of most universities, rub elbows with celebrities, and take luxurious vacations the likes of which the rest of us can only dream. No, Mr. President, if you had a son, that is the kind of life he would lead.

There are other parents out there, though. Parents who can point to the blood on the ground, Mr. President, look you in the eye, and say “This! This is my child, my son! Where is your outrage now, Mr. President? Where are your protests? Where is my son’s justice? Where is our peace?” These are the parents, the siblings, the husbands and the wives, the coworkers who, when you and your political hacks walk by will slowly but surely to a man, turn their backs on you.

On January 1, 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, freeing the slaves. Between 1860 and 1865, 596,670 soldiers were wounded, captured, went missing, or were killed to prove that all men have the right to be free, regardless of their skin color. Constitutional Amendments 13, 14, 15, 19, 24, and 26 all acted together to level the playing field when it came to citizenship and voting rights for all, regardless of race, skin color, or sex.  Jim Crow laws were abolished fully with the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

No, Mr. President, right now, in this country, the biggest problem you have is not a couple of teenage thugs who, most unfortunately, ended up on the wrong side of the law. It is not an extremely obese man who got caught selling loose cigarettes, resisted arrest, and died of the complications thereof. Were their deaths necessary? Of course not. As has been said so often in the last few days, life is precious, no matter whose it is. Mr. President, you have been complicit in inciting riot across these fruited plains, together with your soon-to-be-former attorney general, Eric Holder, and professional race-baiting lap dog, Al Sharpton, even in your silence:

Obama added that he “institutionally” could not say whether he thinks the grand juries should have indicted the police officers, because his comments may compromise ongoing federal investigations. (Huffington Post, 12/08/14)

“It is clear that I think that acts of violence threaten to drown out those who have legitimate voices, legitimate demonstrators, and those acts of violence, cannot and will not be condoned,” (Eric Holder, 11/25/14)

“What do we want? Dead cops! When do we want them? Now!” (Protesters at an Al Sharpton march, 12/13/14)

Well, Mr. Sharpton. You have gotten your wish. On Saturday, December 21, two members of the NYPD were assassinated while sitting in their squad car in Brooklyn. Their murderer took the coward’s way out and committed suicide before he could be arrested. Yesterday, a Florida officer responding to a noise complaint was shot and run over. In less than 72 hours, Mr. President, seven children are left fatherless. Three families will have to deal with an empty chair at their Christmas table. Where are the marches for their families? The protests? Those two policemen in New York were both of minority races – will you send Mr. Sharpton to eulogize and professionally mourn their deaths? The deaths that he called for?

Every day, those who walk that thin blue line go in knowing they might not come home. It is a thought they merely push to the back of their heads, as they will do what needs to be done, no matter what. Each of them chose to walk that line for a different reason. For some, yes, it’s a way to get back at the people who treated them like crap growing up. For others, it’s a true desire to protect and serve. For others, it’s a legacy, that thin blue line a family crest. Whatever the reason, they will step in front of a bullet, literally, for a stranger.

Mr. President, so often you speak of “hope” and “change”. You, sir, are the leader of this country. The change needs to start with you and your administration. Take them to task. No more words, sir. No backhanded support while communities burn themselves down. No more blanket condolences while allowing Dr. King’s dreams to come apart at the seams. No more silently condoning a return to “separate, but equal”. Start by looking at your Secret Service. They are your first line of defense. The local police are ours. They are MY family. MY brothers. MY friends.

Don’t let your ego or your legacy kill any more of them.

thin blue line

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November 15, 2014 · 23:18

Teacup Children and the Socially Impaired

Since the mid 1980s, a trend has been developing that has me severely worried for my generation. Lately, that trend is coming to a head and I’m afraid that we as Millennials are not going to be able to handle the inevitable.

I couldn’t put my finger on the cause. It could have been one thing, or several. It could have started way back in 1974 when Timothy O’Bryan’s father slipped a cyanide-laced Pixie Stix into his Halloween bag, killing the child and frightening parents into thinking there were child-hating maniacs handing out candy for decades. (How many of you weren’t allowed to eat your candy until your parents checked it first?) Maybe it was when Mary Kellerman, aged 12, became the first victim of the Chicago Tylenol murders. Perhaps it was the Satanic daycare sex-abuse hysteria of the 1980s and 90s. Whatever it was, it led to the rise of “helicopter” parenting, the practice in which parents hover over their children to ensure the child never fails, is never allowed to fall, never allowed to take risks or experience pain.

These are the parents who won’t let their child ride a bike without knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, and a helmet.

They are the parents who made sure the monkey bars and the swings were removed from the playgrounds to reduce fall and choke hazards, and there isn’t dirt or grass under what remains, but several inches of recycled shredded rubber or mulch.

If their school system still uses traditional grades, and Johnny gets a poor grade on a test, Mom and Dad will be in the next day to negotiate a better one, or finding out why the teacher didn’t teach better.  Often, Mom or Dad will just do Johnny’s work to make sure it’s done right.

Afraid to let them out of their sights, parents schedule as many after-school activities as possible. From t-ball to soccer to dance, everyone gets a trophy just for existing. There is no concept of “winning” or “losing” and thus no chance to fail in a fairly safe environment. Where there is no chance to fail, there is no room to grow. No internal motivation is developed. Children learn to depend solely on external motivators, a trait which will not serve them well in the “real” world. One would think it ludacris for a parent to accompany her grown child to a job interview or complain to the dean of students about a test grade, but it happens.

An argument between friends or classmates is immediately sorted out by teachers or parents. Children don’t learn crucial social skills, and often any conflict is immediately labeled “bullying”. What children DO learn is to quickly manipulate the system to their advantage, crying “wolf” (or “bully”) to gain attention from adults.

This lack of social skills leads me to my other big worry: the millennial generation today doesn’t have any. For that, I can go back to 1992 and IBM. Most 20-somethings today could barely remember their home phone number then and were too busy memorizing their colors, numbers, and ABCs, but that was the year IBM introduced the first smartphone, nicknamed “Simon”. Since then, we’ve all gone downhill, and it’s been well-observed that most people under the age of 35 are lacking the basic skill to carry on a conversation. It’s difficult to sit through a dinner with someone who is constantly checking their phone for email, texts, Facebook, etc. Eye contact is impossible – many can’t maintain it. When our eyes are glued to a screen all day, we forget what real interpersonal contact is like.

I firmly believe this is what has given rise to the #YesEveryWoman and #ThatsWhatHeSaid, as well as videos in which people with hidden cameras walk around for hours and record the reactions and statements of others. As human beings, we have lost the ability to interact properly with each other. We have become so used to hiding behind a screen that we have become incapable of just being.

The world of social media means never hearing emotion. You read what is written without hearing the reflection or intent. How many conversations have spiraled out of control because something was misinterpreted? Have we become completely desensitized to others’ emotions and feelings? Has that lack of seeing and hearing someone’s reaction allowed for the rise of disrespect, whether real or imagined, between the sexes?

Not too long ago, what is now considered “catcalling” was thought of as a man getting his act together, taking the plunge, and saying hello to a lady. Sadly, today’s society is severely lacking in ladies and gentlemen equally, but unless your friends had sisters, sometimes randomly addressing an attractive stranger was the only way to meet someone. Often one ended up saying something incredibly stupid as he stumbled over himself in his nervousness, hoping that in the approximate 12 second window that he had to make a good impression that she would either be willing to continue the conversation or let him down gently.

To the men out there, you kinda stink at this these days. Women, you’re pretty bad at it yourself.

Men: The way to get a lady’s attention is NOT to make any blatant sexual comment. Just, no. Don’t even go there. Do not touch or follow a woman without her permission – that’s illegal. Say hello, or something funny, or compliment her.

Women: If a man, stranger or acquaintance, says hello or compliments you, it is polite to respond “hello” or “thank you”. If you don’t wish to converse, that’s all you need to say. “F*** you” is not appropriate. If you think you’re in danger, or if you’ve been grabbed or touched in any way, scream and call the police.

Everyone should have a few fall-back subjects to talk about that don’t involve television shows and Buzzfeed lists. Read a book or two. Have informed opinions on national politics and stay current with current events. Find a hobby. Start challenging yourself to put the phone away one day a week (or if that’s too much, one day a month) and dedicate that day to one of those things.

It’s time to put on our big kid underpants and learn to be big kids, without holding Mom and Dad’s hand or the equivalent – the smart phone. Let’s learn to be people, not robots.

free range

I highly recommend the article The Overprotected Kid for more on helicopter parenting, bubble wrapped kids, and how one community is trying to give kids a new chance at childhood.

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October 24, 2014 · 23:31

Dear Reactionary

Earlier this week, I did something I never expected I would do. At least, not spontaneously.

I’d had a doctor’s appointment for something extremely routine after I got out of work. This particular provider is a specialist and I had to travel to nearby Big City to see him. Nearby to this office is the local Planned Parenthood. I knew this more as academic fact than anything, though I knew a few people who went and stood outside to simply pray or distribute literature once in a while.

On my way home, I had to drive past the building complex where PP is located. Outside, in the rain, was a middle-aged man carrying a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe and an elderly woman with a sign that said “Abortion Hurts” with a picture of a young woman and the name and number of a local pregnancy crisis center. I don’t know what possessed me, but I pulled into the parking lot, got out, walked over, and asked if I could join them.

They asked nothing of me beyond my name, if I was familiar with the 40 Days for Life campaign (I am) and if I was affiliated with any church. I stayed with them, and another woman eventually joined us, for about 45 minutes. It was rush hour, and there was a lot of traffic at the 3-way intersection where we stood. The reactions we got from people were interesting. Many people honked horns or waved. Many would not make eye contact. One woman leaned on her horn, flipped us the bird, and screamed at us. I can only guess what she was saying, because she didn’t roll down the window. So because letter-writing is so popular these days…

Dear Woman,

I will not pretend to know your story, or why you chose to make the remarks to us that you did. I could presume to know, considering that you were pulling out of the Planned Parenthood patients’ parking lot, just as you may have presumed to know our stories as we stood in front of the sidewalk of that same building. The thing is, neither of us knows the other, so both my silence and your actions are moot points.

What we cannot deny is what goes on in the building behind us. We cannot be okay with what is done to women and their children within those brick walls. We can no longer allow “reproductive health” or “choice” to be euphemisms for pain and murder.

What I can no longer do is stand aside and let these things slide. Please look beyond the politics to what you are supporting. Those people on the street are waiting for you with open arms and open minds and open hearts.

From,

Another Woman

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October 13, 2014 · 20:06

You Ought To Be Ashamed of Yourselves

There is a very, very disturbing trend overtaking the nation right now. It is rearing its ugly head in social media, print, “performance art”, news media – pretty much everywhere one looks. It’s something that has been building slowly for the last thirty years or so, and I am afraid it will only get worse before it gets better.

It goes back to language. Some groups of people have, over the years, been determined to take a word “back” and make it theirs in order to take the harshness or sting out of it. Black people are perhaps the most famous for doing it with the “n” word. Women, more recently, have done it, if somewhat more quietly, with “bitch” and “slut”, especially after Rush Limbaugh called out Sandra Fluke for being, well, a slut.

Definition of SLUT (courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

1 chiefly British : a slovenly woman
2 a : a promiscuous woman; especially : prostitute; b : a saucy girl : minx

If you have to get on national television to beg for someone else to pay for your contraception because you’re having that many sexual relations with that many partners, then yes, let us call a spade a spade. Your partners aren’t blameless, either. Unfortunately, the English language is devoid of a colloquialism of equal bite.

So which word is it this time, and why?

Shame.

1 shame (noun)
: a feeling of guilt, regret, or sadness that you have because you know you have done something wrong

: ability to feel guilt, regret, or embarrassment

: dishonor or disgrace

For whatever reason, the hysteria du jour of the Feminazis is to remove the “shame” and “stigma” from having an abortion. Women are writing letters to their unborn children and telling those babies, “sorry, not sorry, but I’m killing you next week”, writing near-romantic poems about their baby girls whom they paid a “doctor” to rend limb from limb. They are putting these out there and begging society for our seal of approval so that they won’t feel ashamed any longer.

They want us to be okay with the fact that they killed their children.

In a way, this is how I know there is still hope. If we were a society completely and 100% devoid of any moral fabric, we would not be seeing, or hearing, these stories. There would be no need, as there would be no shame. Going to murder your child would be like any other routine office procedure, like getting a flu shot. There would be no sorrow, no regret. The fact that there is gives me hope. The fact that there people like Wendy Davis sawing off the branch she’s standing on shows me how desperate these progressives are, those who hold up abortion to be a holy sacrament.

Ladies, there is a reason you feel shame.

There is a reason you feel sorrow.

There is a reason you feel regret.

To those ladies, I say this:

Dear friends:
You were given a precious, irreplaceable gift, and you chose to destroy it and throw it away. I am sorry you made that choice. For many of you, I’m sure it was a difficult and painful choice to make, and that, more than anything, is the validation you are seeking. Not that it was okay that you killed your child, but that you hurt, too. I am not judging what you did, for judging indicated forming an opinion. I am simply observing a tragic fact. The shame of what you did may never go away completely, for grief for a loved one never goes away completely. It is, however, possible to heal. There are many, many places and people who are waiting for you with open ears, open arms, and open hearts.

Much of what you have been told by those in the pro-abortion movement regarding pro-lifers is wrong. We do not and will not hate you for what has happened in the past. We want to help you to move past your past. To help you to heal. To show you that there is a better way than anger, pain, and grief. To introduce you to the beauty of life instead of the darkness of death. We are everywhere. Rachel’s Vineyard is a good place to start, as are any local churches or synagogue, crisis pregnancy centers, or simply Google “pro-life” and your zip code.

 

There is a reason for feelings. There is a reason shame has always been associated with having an abortion. One would have to have some sort of psychosis not to. Enough is enough. It is time to embrace what has happened and do what we can to stop any more from occurring.

Can you love people into truth? Absolutely. I think the better question is: are you willing to? Are you willing to look past their sin and see the creation that God made? Are you willing to reach out with mercy and love instead of anger and condemnation? Are you willing to just meet people where they are and care for them no matter how far they are from where you want them to be? Can we attempt to love like God loves? -Abby Johnson

 

 

 

 

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September 30, 2014 · 20:56

Komen We Look to Someone Else for a Cure?

Tomorrow is October 1, and tomorrow all the little pink ribbons come out. We will see them everywhere from purses to NFL helmets. They are the primary symbol of the Susan G. Komen for the Cure Foundation, the biggest breast cancer awareness/research campaign in the US. Or, as their mission states, “to save lives and end breast cancer forever by empowering others, ensuring quality care for all and investing in science to find the cures”.

A very laudable goal.

Breast cancer is bad. Cancer in general really sucks, whether that be breast, brain, or bone. Pick a body part. If its cells can go haywire, repairing and curing them is going to be a torturous process and the faster mankind finds a way to do that, the better. By now, I don’t think there’s a one of us who has not been touched by cancer in some way, shape, or form. Therefore, I cannot bring myself to disagree with Komen’s mission statement.

I can and do disagree with its methods, and as such, cannot and will not support anything Komen does. I will not purchase products with a pink ribbon, I will not donate to groups collecting for Komen, and I will not participate in any relays, 5ks, walks, or really anything having to do with the color pink for the next 31 days.

Two years ago, it came out that Komen was one of Planned Parenthood’s biggest donators. There was some initial outrage, and Komen withdrew their pledge of support from the abortion giant but soon caved to political and social media pressure  and reinstated the funds.

I cannot be the only person to find it ironic that a group that has dedicated itself to the elimination of breast cancer supports an organization whose primary offering actually causes breast cancer. That a group that is out to supposedly protect women from the ravages of a most horrid disease gives money to an organization that procures a procedure to kill nearly 333,400 children in the womb. In doing so, Planned Parenthood puts mothers at risk not only for breast cancer, but damage to the uterus and cervix (causing, in some cases, sterility), infection and sepsis, damage to other organs, and death. There is emotional trauma to consider as well – regret, anger, depression, guilt, shame, insomnia, relationship issues, nightmares, eating disorders, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts or feelings.

Susan G. Komen, by funding Planned Parenthood, what is it, exactly, you are trying to accomplish?

Not only is this the biggest abortion provider in the nation, but this is a group that supports sex-selection abortion. Which sex you might ask? Females. Girls are being aborted at a far higher rate than boys are.

Planned Parenthood is in our children’s schools. In the name of “safer sex”, Planned Parenthood receives $500 million in taxpayer dollars (read: what comes out of your paycheck every week) to teach kids about:

  • BDSM, anal sex, toys, porn sites, and role-play practices (Indianapolis, IN)
  • asphyxiation, bondage, whips, gags, sex shops (it is against local law for a minor to enter a sex shop; the girl in the video is 15), porn, “safe words” (Littleton, CO; receiving extra money through Obamacare for teen sex ed)
  • fetishes, “educational” porn, porn sites, kink (Willamette, OR)
  • whips, nipple clamps, ropes, “anything sexual is normal as long as it’s consensual”, role-play, 50 Shades of Grey, birth control, (St. Paul, MN)

These are just examples from four locations; clinicians speaking to a fifteen-year-old female patient posing as someone whose boyfriend had suggested “trying something new” in the bedroom. Negating the fact that fifteen is a little young to be having sex, how many of you would like a stranger “educating” your son or daughter, niece or nephew, brother or sister, grandchild, or cousin on erotic asphyxiation, bondage, whips, gags, safe words, and pornography without your knowledge or approval?

Planned Parenthood doesn’t need or want your approval, and when their “prevention” methods inevitably fail, they’ll be the ones accepting your money for her abortion.

So I will not be supporting Komen. I will not sport a pink ribbon this month, nor any other month until Komen re-directs those funds toward a charity or research that helps women instead of harming them. The American Life League suggests instead the Mary Kay Foundation (research for cancers that affect women: breast, cervical, ovarian, uterine) and does not award grants for research using embryonic stem cells or aborted baby’s tissue.

Komen wants to save women. Why support the foundation that murders them?

 

I keep dreaming of a future, a future with a long and healthy life, not lived in the shadow of cancer but in the light.      -Patrick Swayze

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September 30, 2014 · 17:22

Not Cool, Southwest Air, Not Cool

Well, I can add Southwest to my list of “airlines I won’t fly”.

Folks, I’d like you to meet Daniel:

daniel

Daniel is three years old and suffers from a very rare neuromuscular disease. Unfortunately, his condition is terminal. His family has compiled a small bucket list in order to cram as much happiness into Daniel’s regrettably short life as they can. In order to help, the ever-wonderful Big Fluffy Dog Rescue, who apparently rescues sad humans as well as sad dogs (Daniel’s family adopted a dog from BFDR some time ago) has organized a trip to Talladega next month along with local PD, fans, and random people everywhere. According to Jeanne at BFDR:

“One of the things we thought we had covered were airline tickets from Baltimore to Birmingham. People offered to donate miles to help get them there.  Then Southwest Airlines decided to suck.” 

Southwest’s lame-o excuse? They only donate tickets to Make-a-Wish families, and Daniel has already been granted his wish. If people want to donate their miles, they’ll be charged. (Keep in mind that these aren’t miles that will cost Southwest anything; these are miles that others have already accrued and people want to donate and be kind. Just like donating gently used clothes. These are gently used miles. Sorta.) Why who uses these free miles should even matter to Southwest is beyond me, but charging for what should be free is unacceptable.

More from BFDR:

So, we’ll buy their tickets. We need to fundraise $3500 to buy this family of four tickets to get to Talladega. This is likely the last trip this family will take as Daniel is fading. We wanted him to have the trip all little boys want where he gets to see an honest to God NASCAR race up close and in person. We will make sure he gets it, even if Southwest Airlines sucks epicly. Our fans have already made this a trip of a lifetime, and this is the last piece of the puzzle.

Please spread the word and donate if you can. Feel free to spread the word that Southwest wanted to charge for donating miles to help a dying boy. If you would like to donate, please do so here: http://bigfluffydogs.com/pay-online.php. Make sure you email jean@bigfluffydogs.com after you donate and put the word “Daniel” in the subject line. I will post and let you know when we have what we need. Thanks for being the best fans in the world and helping a dying boy even when Southwest Airlines wants to profit from the well wishes of people.

 

So Delta had lost my business for their horrid customer service, and now Southwest has lost it for their complete and total Scrooge-itude. When a multi-million dollar company cannot stand the thought of its frequent fliers participating in charity, we have a major problem.

 

 

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September 24, 2014 · 17:59

Missed it by *that* much…

I work in the public school system. (I know, I know…). In the People’s Republic of New England, as well as across the United States, there is apparently a new thing this year that requires schools to collect racial and ethnic data on every student in the building. This is not optional. Don’t worry, assures the paper, all information will be kept confidential.

Given the current flux of people moving around in this country, legal or not, I suppose I can see why, from a statistical standpoint, why that data might be wanted now rather than waiting until the next census is taken. Here’s my problem, though. In post-racial America*, the only racial/ethnic data that the government is interested in is whether or not a student is or is not Hispanic. If the student is not Hispanic, they would like to know if he is of Asian, African-American, American-Indian or Alaskan Native, or Pacific Islander descent. For all others, please just check “white”, because, well, screw you, Europe. As I’m going through these sheets, some parents have checked off multiple ethnicities and races because, well, again, post-racial America, y’all. The problem is that the computer only accepts one answer for each student. So when I’m staring at a kid’s sheet that looks like a multiple choice test, it’s been suggested that I look at the kid’s picture, decide what race/ethnicity he best represents, and go with that. (Though being the federal government, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it turns out the schools get more money for having more minority students.)

Here’s the kicker. Go back to the “about” page and take a good look at that photograph. Blonde hair, hazel eyes… gotta be some brand of European, right? I certainly couldn’t check off any of those boxes indicating I was a racial minority. Well, except, I could. Enter Exhibits A and B:

emma and molly

These are my cousins, and for privacy’s sake, even though they gave me permission to use this photo and I blocked their faces, we’ll call them Sandy and Olivia. Sandy and Olivia are sisters, and they are the closest thing to blood sisters that I have. Our fathers are brothers, and our mothers are sisters. Yes, brothers married sisters. It’s not nearly as confusing as it sounds. We’re talking pretty much same exact gene pool. Anyway, Sandy looks like me, with the blonde hair and dark eyes. Just like our mothers’ side of the family. Olivia on the other hand… well, face it. Anyone could, and understandably would, look at her and think she’s Latina. Nope. Half-Polish, quarter Slovak, and a quarter Scots and Irish. Ever hear of the black Irish? Yup. Bunch of Spanish traders come up the western European coast, decide Ireland is as nice a place as any to settle down (or at least find a warm bed on land for a night or two), and voila! The black Irish are born. You can find us in Scotland, too. Olivia is living proof of that.

Technically, then, I could just as easily mark “Hispanic” on my own theoretical ethnic/racial sheet as I can “white”. Not even “Caucasian”. Just “white”. I have Spanish ancestry, after all. We melanin-challenged individuals are so discriminated against.

 

*If we’re in a “post-racial America” as was much hailed with the election of the first half-black president, why are we even wasting trees on all this? And trust me, it’s a lot of trees, judging by the stacks of paper on my desk.

 

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September 19, 2014 · 01:19

Fighting Microaggression

…also known as, cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it.

The following video is from Andrew Klavan on “The Revolting Truth” over at YouTube. Special thanks to The Matt Walsh Blog for posting the video to his site first. (Seriously. Go read Matt’s blog if you don’t already. He’s awesome.)

 

First world problems, y’all.

Of the major news networks, current headlines are generally tuned into the Scottish independence vote, but the more national ones:

CNN: “Where is this missing UVA student?”
NBC: “Bachelorette party mom feels ‘lucky’ to be home”
ABC: “Lawmakers propose overhaul to federal black lung program”
FOX: Fox News seems to be the only MSM to buck the trend by having its front page banner focused on ISIS rather than our kilted friends and makers of fine whisky. FOX’s home page reads “Congress OKs key plank of Obama’s ISIS strategy [Editor’s note: glad to hear his staff figured one out] in bipartisan vote.” and their US news page follows up with “Mystery man reportedly seen walking with missing UVA student night of disappearance”
BBC: Obviously, they’re a bit busy tonight (nearly dawn, now, and it looks like Scotland is staying. Sorry, Prince Tearlach. You’re still bonny, even if, by history, you were a sot and really quite a failure, the ’45 notwithstanding. Slainte mhath.) so most of their coverage is devoted to what the north is up to, but their US and Canada page is headlined: “Eight dead in Florida house shooting”.

Thankfully, NBC seems to be the only washout tonight, and really, what can you expect with MSNBC dragging at their heels? No wonder Rush calls that crew PMSNBC.

Sorry, that must have been a bit aggressive, there.

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September 18, 2014 · 13:35

A New Era of Revolution

Seeing my own country’s flag: the Stars and Stripes, Old Glory, the Star Spangled Banner – the American flag- always fills me with a sort of quiet pride, knowing the history of our nation. Knowing, academically in many cases, the many men and women that fought the world over to keep that flag flying. The more famous photographs and paintings – the original Old Glory, waving o’er Ft. McHenry, black-and-flag draped coffin of Abraham Lincoln, the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima, on the moon, at the rubble of the World Trade Center. Heck, even on the cover of Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” album.

Fighting for independence, one country breaking ties from another, is oft seen as an American venture. Far from it. Today, that notion of sovereignty is as important as it was in 1776.

Today, Scotland is voting on a referendum that will tie or sever its 307-year union with Great Britain.

2014 less 307 is 1707.

Those who have watched “Braveheart” know the the part William Wallace, the Highland laird who first led resistance to English rule in the 1300s after the original Royal Scottish line died out. After some success, he was captured, hanged, drawn, and quartered. In 1306, after Wallace’s death, the throne was taken by the eighth Robert the Bruce (Generally just known as “Robert the Bruce”). England met Bruce with no mercy and the two countries fought a series of battles which culminated in 1314 when the troops of Edward II were crushed.

In 1320, a letter, written in Latin and addressed to the Pope, was sent to declare Scotland’s independence as a sovereign state and confirm its right to defend itself when unjustly attacked.

…as long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.

Sound a bit familiar? The American Declaration of Independence wasn’t written, of course, until 1776. This, the Declaration of Arbroath, was written in 1325. In 1328, England renounced overlordship Scotland and confirmed Robert the Bruce as King.

Things were tentatively okay with Scotland’s southern neighbors until the death of James IV at the Battle of Flodden. His granddaughter, Mary, Queen of Scots, was sent to be reared in France with her mother’s family (Mary was twice-royal; her mother was Marie de Guise.) Problems arose when she became of age and returned to Scotland – a 15 year old Catholic girl suddenly had the Protestant Reformation on her hands. That very schism of religions, Catholic Mary in the north and Protestant Elizabeth I in the south had the British Islands in an uproar. Elizabeth, seeing her cousin Mary as her rival, had her imprisoned in the Tower and as plots swirled on both sides, Mary was executed in 1586.

Elizabeth died in 1607, and the crown went by default to Mary’s son, King James VI of Scotland, who was now also James I of England, thus uniting the two crowns after centuries of just-barely contained hostilities. A century later in 1707, Acts of Union formally joined Scotland to Great Britain. This came after a brief period of upheaval between the parliaments of Scotland and England. Following this, James II of Scotland was exiled, and the nations were linked. This did not stop periodic revolutions such as the one in 1715, an ill-gained attempted at regaining Scottish independence, nor the famed ’45, with James II son, Charles, (“Bonnie Prince Charlie”), which although saw initial strong success, ended in slaughter on Culloden Field. So angered were the English troops that for years they ravaged the Highlands, killing and imprisoning. Famine struck the land, and many chose to leave their homes for new lives in France or the colonies.

Despite atrocities against Scottish culture in the years that followed including the Diskilting Act of 1746 which made ownership of arms and the wearing of Highland dress illegal, the Scots have never given up on hopes of one day regaining national sovereignty. In 1934, the Scottish National Party (SNP) was formed and made an Independent Scotland its primary goal. 1997 saw a referendum that kept Scotland part of the United Kingdom, but gave it control over its own education, health care, and finally, a Parliament.

Seven years ago, the SNP won a brilliant upset against the incumbant Labour Party. This exchange in party power led to the vote we are seeing today.

It is this writer’s opinion that despite the official documentation, Scotland’s independence died with the Stuart cause on Drumossie moor that cold, raining, awful April morning in 1746. The spirit of Scotland never did.

scotpols.net_

Alba gu bràth.

 

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