I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I want to have lots of friends, close friends who care for me and love me. I want friends who call to check on me, give me unexpected gifts, show up at my door unannounced, and inspire me to live a better life. I want friends who I can call in the middle of the night when I am feeling blue and say, “Whatcha doin” even though I know they are sleeping…and they won’t care. I want friends who notice when I’m feeling sad and try to cheer me up. I want friends who will laugh with me. I want friends who will cry with me. I want friends who will let me show the same love and care for them, too.
However, I don’t have many friends like that. In my 50 years of life, I have had a few friends who meet the description above, emphasis on the word few. For those people, I am grateful. My life has been, and remains, blessed by these good friends.
When I graduated High School, I thought my friends would be there for me all of my life. Yet, over the years things change and the few become fewer still. Life has gotten faster, more disconnected. Job opportunities have drawn us away to distant locations. Children have grown up. We have gotten busier. The strange thing is communication technology in 2008 is far superior to the communication technology of 1977 (my graduation year). Still, somehow, we have become more disconnected than ever.
In the late 1960’s, I watched a movie on television titled My Side of the Mountain. It was about a boy that became angry with his parents and decided to runaway to live on his own. His adventures in the mountains sparked my imagination. He had animals for friends. He fished for his food. He even lived in a hollow tree. I loved the movie, and I thought I wanted to live that kind of life.
Those deeply embedded, childish feelings continued into my adult years, and I suppose even now there are times that living in the mountains on my own without any human contact seems like a great idea…except, I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Not long ago, I watched people coming into my store and sitting down for a meal together. Couples sat next to each other, and instead of talking to one another, they were on their cell phones talking with someone else. Parents brought their children in and sat silently eating their food while their children sent and received text messages. My own staff served their guests with a sense of separation, doing what they had to do in order to get back to their phones and text someone and still get a tip off the table. Across the street from my store is a city bus stop. It is amazing to watch people stand there waiting on a bus either too afraid or too unwilling to talk with one another. They stand yards apart reading a book, talking on their phones, watching a movie on their portable DVD player, listening to their iPod, or staring blankly into space or at the ground. All of this made me feel desperately alone.
Have we gotten too busy for friendships? Are really close friends a lost relic of past generations? Do we think friendships are for children? Do we have to be alone?
It is no wonder suicide rates are up. We have billions of people on earth. We have state-of-the-art communication technology. And, in the middle of our sea of humanity, we are still alone.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Pondering Elections
Elections are those "necessary evil" things that have helped to make our country great! However, I have been pondering a few questions about the election process that trouble me. These questions are not so much about "process" as they are about the "philosophy" behind the process. I am going to share my questions with you. If you feel like answering a question or two then have at it. If you feel like answering them all...I'm all ears.
Why is this a country in which the poorest among us can become President, but only rich people are elected?
Why do election campaigns start out discussing ideas and end up personal attacks about age, wealth, race, religion, etc...?
Why do we have to show our personal identification, register our name on a ballot number, and then claim the elections are by secret ballot?
How come the will of the people (popular vote) can be overturned by the will of the few (electorial vote)?
How can a process intented to bring about unity cause so much disharmony?
Why do people believe their "one" vote will not matter?
Why do people refuse to vote and then complain about the winner?
Why is it that ever single person elected, nationally or locally, is ridiculed?
Any answers to these questions are worth pondering, don't you think? I do.
Why is this a country in which the poorest among us can become President, but only rich people are elected?
Why do election campaigns start out discussing ideas and end up personal attacks about age, wealth, race, religion, etc...?
Why do we have to show our personal identification, register our name on a ballot number, and then claim the elections are by secret ballot?
How come the will of the people (popular vote) can be overturned by the will of the few (electorial vote)?
How can a process intented to bring about unity cause so much disharmony?
Why do people believe their "one" vote will not matter?
Why do people refuse to vote and then complain about the winner?
Why is it that ever single person elected, nationally or locally, is ridiculed?
Any answers to these questions are worth pondering, don't you think? I do.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Pondering Racism
Growing up in the small, southern-Indiana, river town of Madison, I was fortunate enough not to know anything about racism. Well, that isn’t exactly true. My parents watched the news everyday, and since we only had one television, that meant if I were going to watch TV, it had to be the news.
I don’t remember much about the news except two topics: Viet Nam and the Louisville Race Riots. Viet Nam interested me because of the pictures of brave soldiers fighting for our freedom, the helicopters, and the wounded being carried away on stretchers through the jungles and the rice patties. I remember the Louisville Race Riots because I could not understand why black people and white people could not get along in Louisville. After all, black people and white people were getting along in Madison.
Integrated schools? I cannot remember a time when I did not attend an integrated school. My first girlfriend was black. We were the perfect kindergarten couple. We refused to play with each other on the playground—she was with the girls, and I was with the boys—but after recess we would hold hands during story-time. I did not see her as a black-person, but as the girl of my kindergarten dreams.
I think I can honestly say I did not know what racism was until after I graduated high school and joined the military. In the Army, I met people from across the nation. Few of the people I encountered shared my small-town values. For me, people were just people. For them, it was painfully obvious, people were hyphenated: black-people, white-people, asian-people, hispanic-people, etc… For me, people shared similar hopes, dreams, and desires. For them, shared hopes, dreams, and desires meant nothing…it was all about accentuating the difference in skin color.
Suddenly, racism was everywhere. All black-people were the same. All white-people were the same. All asian-people were the same. All hispanic-people were the same. And, “same” was almost always deemed a bad thing. I found the military to be an intense mirror reflection of what seemed to be going on around the country and the world.
At first, I tried to fit in with the crowd. Who wants to be different? I certainly did not, nor did I wish to fight the overwhelming tide of popular thought. Then, I was assigned a black-people room-mate. My friends suggested I get moved to another room. I requested another room-mate and was denied. In fact, the company commander sent me to “sensitivity” training instead. Talk about contradiction! In my sensitivity training classes they taught what I came to the Army believing: people are just people. However, what they taught and what was practiced were polar opposites.
Over the years, I’ve developed my own ideas about racism. My philosophy is the sum total of my experiences and my academic achievements. It is simple. It is profound. It is true. Racism can only exist when people are not viewed as individuals.
Consider the present presidential campaign. Would you say Hilary Clinton is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a white-woman? Would you say Barack Obama is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a black-man? Would you say John McCain is most commonly viewed as an individual or as an old, white-man? The unfortunate truth is that this campaign may be the most prejudice-packed election of all. Americans are not looking at the individuals running for president. Americans are looking at race, gender, and age—all of which are peripheral to the individual.
How do you view people? Do you see each person as an individual? Do you react to people based on your experience with the person, or based on your experience with that person’s race? Here are a couple of tests. First, you are sitting in your car at a red light. It is late in the evening and there are no other cars around you. A couple of (you insert the qualifier)-people are walking across the intersection in the general direction of your car. Do you check to see if your doors are locked? Would you have checked if the two people were of your own race? Second, are you ill-at-ease when talking with people of another race? Do you watch carefully what you say and avoid using words that you might otherwise use? Do you take offense at the words used by other individuals that if used in another way could be racist?
So, what is the solution to racism? Some would have us believe the solution to racism is complicated and will take generations to solve. The truth is that solving racism is simple and only involves two steps. First, stop seeing people as anything but individuals. You would want others to see you for who YOU are, not your skin color. People are just people. We want success. We want happiness for ourselves and our children. We all have hopes, dreams, and desires. I am not my skin color. You are not your skin color. We are so much more than just color. Second, stop using skin color for personal gain or to inflict injury. In the presidential campaign, all colors have tried to use their skin as an advantage. Each candidate has tried to use the skin color of another candidate against him or her. These kinds of actions promote and propagate racism.
In the end, regardless of how you look at it, regardless of how you believe, regardless of how people act, regardless of what people say…people are just people. We are made and loved by the same God for the same purpose: to bring glory to Him.
I don’t remember much about the news except two topics: Viet Nam and the Louisville Race Riots. Viet Nam interested me because of the pictures of brave soldiers fighting for our freedom, the helicopters, and the wounded being carried away on stretchers through the jungles and the rice patties. I remember the Louisville Race Riots because I could not understand why black people and white people could not get along in Louisville. After all, black people and white people were getting along in Madison.
Integrated schools? I cannot remember a time when I did not attend an integrated school. My first girlfriend was black. We were the perfect kindergarten couple. We refused to play with each other on the playground—she was with the girls, and I was with the boys—but after recess we would hold hands during story-time. I did not see her as a black-person, but as the girl of my kindergarten dreams.
I think I can honestly say I did not know what racism was until after I graduated high school and joined the military. In the Army, I met people from across the nation. Few of the people I encountered shared my small-town values. For me, people were just people. For them, it was painfully obvious, people were hyphenated: black-people, white-people, asian-people, hispanic-people, etc… For me, people shared similar hopes, dreams, and desires. For them, shared hopes, dreams, and desires meant nothing…it was all about accentuating the difference in skin color.
Suddenly, racism was everywhere. All black-people were the same. All white-people were the same. All asian-people were the same. All hispanic-people were the same. And, “same” was almost always deemed a bad thing. I found the military to be an intense mirror reflection of what seemed to be going on around the country and the world.
At first, I tried to fit in with the crowd. Who wants to be different? I certainly did not, nor did I wish to fight the overwhelming tide of popular thought. Then, I was assigned a black-people room-mate. My friends suggested I get moved to another room. I requested another room-mate and was denied. In fact, the company commander sent me to “sensitivity” training instead. Talk about contradiction! In my sensitivity training classes they taught what I came to the Army believing: people are just people. However, what they taught and what was practiced were polar opposites.
Over the years, I’ve developed my own ideas about racism. My philosophy is the sum total of my experiences and my academic achievements. It is simple. It is profound. It is true. Racism can only exist when people are not viewed as individuals.
Consider the present presidential campaign. Would you say Hilary Clinton is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a white-woman? Would you say Barack Obama is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a black-man? Would you say John McCain is most commonly viewed as an individual or as an old, white-man? The unfortunate truth is that this campaign may be the most prejudice-packed election of all. Americans are not looking at the individuals running for president. Americans are looking at race, gender, and age—all of which are peripheral to the individual.
How do you view people? Do you see each person as an individual? Do you react to people based on your experience with the person, or based on your experience with that person’s race? Here are a couple of tests. First, you are sitting in your car at a red light. It is late in the evening and there are no other cars around you. A couple of (you insert the qualifier)-people are walking across the intersection in the general direction of your car. Do you check to see if your doors are locked? Would you have checked if the two people were of your own race? Second, are you ill-at-ease when talking with people of another race? Do you watch carefully what you say and avoid using words that you might otherwise use? Do you take offense at the words used by other individuals that if used in another way could be racist?
So, what is the solution to racism? Some would have us believe the solution to racism is complicated and will take generations to solve. The truth is that solving racism is simple and only involves two steps. First, stop seeing people as anything but individuals. You would want others to see you for who YOU are, not your skin color. People are just people. We want success. We want happiness for ourselves and our children. We all have hopes, dreams, and desires. I am not my skin color. You are not your skin color. We are so much more than just color. Second, stop using skin color for personal gain or to inflict injury. In the presidential campaign, all colors have tried to use their skin as an advantage. Each candidate has tried to use the skin color of another candidate against him or her. These kinds of actions promote and propagate racism.
In the end, regardless of how you look at it, regardless of how you believe, regardless of how people act, regardless of what people say…people are just people. We are made and loved by the same God for the same purpose: to bring glory to Him.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Pondering Success
I hate forwards to my e-mail. The reasons for my hatred are varied, but if I had to narrow them down to just one it would simply be this: a forward is the attempt by the sender to feel as if they are staying in contact with you although the contact requires little or no effort and is non-personal. For this cause, I seldom open forwards people send me. Keyword: seldom.
Recently, I was sent a forward that attracted my attention. I do not remember who sent the forward to me; I wish I could. In the subject line was the word “success.” Now I am interested in success and the questions that surround the concept. What is success? How is success defined? Is the word success a concrete term or a relative one? That is, can the definition of success be one thing for one person and something entirely different for another (relative), or is it the same for all human beings (concrete)? Is success a destination at which some people arrive and others fail to achieve, or is it a journey that humans embark upon that has no final stopping place? Is success tangible or intangible? How do I know if I am succeeding or if I am rationalizing? So, with all these questions in mind, I opened the dreaded forward.
What I found inside the e-mail delighted me. As usual, there was no personal greeting or expression of love. As usual, I had to scroll through dozens of e-mail addresses of people I did not know (and a few that I did). Finally, at the bottom, the following quote:
You may be wondering why the above quote excited me so much. Frankly, it does not answer any of the great mysteries encircling the analysis of success. It does hint at the notion that success is a journey, but it also, with equal certainty, calls success a destination. It has no scholarly value. It offers no evidence of fact. But what it does do is offer the reader the hope of success. The quote even recognizes some familiar obstacles and some tested solutions to those obstacles.
While I am not certain what success is or what defines it, I am certain that everyone yearns to have the hope of achieving it. Perhaps people see success like I view it: something to build toward. In the following picture (which I am not smart enought to get loaded on this blog...lol) the architect, unknown to me or I would certainly give him or her credit, illustrates my thoughts well. The picture shows two circular disks. On one of the disks are several pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. There are four people lined up in an old pass-the-bucket-fire-brigade fashion passing along pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in a team effort to build a bridge to the disk which contains the word “SUCCESS.”
Recently, I was sent a forward that attracted my attention. I do not remember who sent the forward to me; I wish I could. In the subject line was the word “success.” Now I am interested in success and the questions that surround the concept. What is success? How is success defined? Is the word success a concrete term or a relative one? That is, can the definition of success be one thing for one person and something entirely different for another (relative), or is it the same for all human beings (concrete)? Is success a destination at which some people arrive and others fail to achieve, or is it a journey that humans embark upon that has no final stopping place? Is success tangible or intangible? How do I know if I am succeeding or if I am rationalizing? So, with all these questions in mind, I opened the dreaded forward.
What I found inside the e-mail delighted me. As usual, there was no personal greeting or expression of love. As usual, I had to scroll through dozens of e-mail addresses of people I did not know (and a few that I did). Finally, at the bottom, the following quote:
“The road to success is not straight. There is a curve called Failure, a loop called Confusion, speed bumps called Friends, red lights called Enemies, caution lights called Family, and flats called Jobs. But, if you have a spare called Determination, an engine called Perseverance, insurance called Faith, and a driver called Jesus, you will make it to a place called Success.”
You may be wondering why the above quote excited me so much. Frankly, it does not answer any of the great mysteries encircling the analysis of success. It does hint at the notion that success is a journey, but it also, with equal certainty, calls success a destination. It has no scholarly value. It offers no evidence of fact. But what it does do is offer the reader the hope of success. The quote even recognizes some familiar obstacles and some tested solutions to those obstacles.
While I am not certain what success is or what defines it, I am certain that everyone yearns to have the hope of achieving it. Perhaps people see success like I view it: something to build toward. In the following picture (which I am not smart enought to get loaded on this blog...lol) the architect, unknown to me or I would certainly give him or her credit, illustrates my thoughts well. The picture shows two circular disks. On one of the disks are several pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. There are four people lined up in an old pass-the-bucket-fire-brigade fashion passing along pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in a team effort to build a bridge to the disk which contains the word “SUCCESS.”
In this illustration, success has a definite starting place and a definite end. There are four people attempting to build a bridge to the same place: success. Each person is doing his or her part to achieve the goal. Each part of the bridge is made up of similar, yet diverse, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, each piece representing an obstacle or a time in the builders’ lives.
What is not seen in this illustration is the vision dancing in the builders’ heads, the desire burning in their bones to reach their common destination, or the greatest motivator of all…the hope of achieving success. This illustration demonstrates the words Zig Ziglar has made so famous: “You can get anything you want in life…provided you help enough other people get what they want in life.
Here is my point. Success, whatever you determine it to be, is yours for the taking. Achieving success will not be easy, and, in some cases, acquiring it may not be fun. But it will always be worth the cost. So regardless of your circumstances, never let your desire of success or your hope of success fade. Set your goal. Keep your eyes on that goal. And don’t let anything…failure, friends, confusion, enemies, family, or job…get in the way. Instead, let your determination, perseverance, faith, and God drive you to that coveted resort called Success.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Pondering Writer's Block
For years I've disagreed with those who would suggest that a writer could get to a point when he or she could not write, a condition many call--Writer's Block. My stance concerning the issue was simply this, it isn't that the writer COULD not write, but that the writer WOULD not write. I still believe as I have always believed.
Writers harbor many fears. For some the fear is of rejection. Others fear if they write their readers may not like the story or idea presented. Whatever the fear, it is the fear that keeps them from writing. I know this is true because I suffer from the ailment.
I have stories burning within me that I do not not write. I do not write them because I am afraid no one will publish them. Or if they are published, the only copies sold will be those purchased by me to give to family and friends on Christmas.
Another fear holding me back is that someone will think poorly of me because of the verbage I use or the nature of the content I write. As part of a writing group project, I once wrote a story that was published in a small anthology that we sold to raise money for the group. Do you know how many people asked me if the events in the story were real? I'm not sure the exact number, but I'm certain it was around a million.
Perhaps trying to list all the fears that lurk inside the writer's mind is too overwhelming. Besides it is not my intention of this writing to actually try and accomplish such a monumental task. My purpose is to confess that these fears are real inside me. The thought of facing my fears is horrifying. But, face them I will. Today I am slowly drawing my warriors blade from its dusty sheath, and I will slay the fears that bind me. I will write. I will communicate. I will spin my stories like a giant spider's web in an attempt to catch a listening ear or an inquiring soul.
I'm a writer. And by golly, I'm going to write!
Writers harbor many fears. For some the fear is of rejection. Others fear if they write their readers may not like the story or idea presented. Whatever the fear, it is the fear that keeps them from writing. I know this is true because I suffer from the ailment.
I have stories burning within me that I do not not write. I do not write them because I am afraid no one will publish them. Or if they are published, the only copies sold will be those purchased by me to give to family and friends on Christmas.
Another fear holding me back is that someone will think poorly of me because of the verbage I use or the nature of the content I write. As part of a writing group project, I once wrote a story that was published in a small anthology that we sold to raise money for the group. Do you know how many people asked me if the events in the story were real? I'm not sure the exact number, but I'm certain it was around a million.
Perhaps trying to list all the fears that lurk inside the writer's mind is too overwhelming. Besides it is not my intention of this writing to actually try and accomplish such a monumental task. My purpose is to confess that these fears are real inside me. The thought of facing my fears is horrifying. But, face them I will. Today I am slowly drawing my warriors blade from its dusty sheath, and I will slay the fears that bind me. I will write. I will communicate. I will spin my stories like a giant spider's web in an attempt to catch a listening ear or an inquiring soul.
I'm a writer. And by golly, I'm going to write!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Another Post Coming Soon
Recently my son pointed out the date of my last post. I cannot believe it has been over a year! Time flies quickly by and only the determined are not left in the wake of regret. I shall post again...but not for a few days.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Pondering Our Borders
On April 18, 1775, Paul Revere set out on a vital, albeit dangerous mission. His job was to alert Samuel Adams and John Hancock that the British troops were coming to arrest them. Legend has it that Revere rode through the country shouting the warning, “The British are coming! The British are coming!” After delivering his message to Adams and Hancock, Revere continued his ride warning others of the approaching danger. Two others, William Dawes and Dr. Samuel Prescott, recognized the need to warn their fellow citizens and joined Revere in his historic ride. We know the success of their mission, but can we imagine the result if they had failed.
Today the United States is being invaded again. Like Revere, Dawes and Prescott, there are riders issuing urgent warnings, but unlike the citizens in 1775, the people seem apathetic and unconcerned.
I will not debate our presence in Iraq or other parts of the middle-east. If our troops are there—regardless of the “why they are there”—I am going to support them. I am for any measure that will provide them a swift and sure victory and a safe return home. They deserve our support. They answered the call of their nation, and we have to stand behind them at any cost. Their blood and sacrifice is far too sacred for anything less than our very best.
There is another battle front, however, which deserves our immediate attention: the border between Mexico and the United States. Some estimate that 25 million illegal immigrants have already crossed the border and are living safely in the United States. These illegal immigrants are enjoying the benefits of our free society without any of the sacrifices. They do not pay taxes. They do not enlist in our military. They do, however, get free medical care. They get work. In short, they get all the good stuff without any of the cost.
Am I against immigration? No! I am all for immigration. The more the merrier. Immigration is how this country was established. Immigration is how this country has grown. Through immigration our society has been infused with creativity, ingenuity, and power. However, the positive contributions of immigration have come through legal, not illegal, immigration.
Am I against Mexicans? No! Having worked with legal Mexican residents, I have found them to be an honest, hard-working people. Many have left family and home to pursue a dream that the United States of America offers: a better life. They work hard. They dream big. They contribute to our way of life. Illegal Mexican immigrants do not. They are here to scam and drain our economy.
Mexicans are not the only ones illegally coming into our country. Some suggest as high as 15% of the illegal immigrants crossing our poorly guarded southern border are from destinations across the globe, particularly the middle-east.
Here is the question that needs to be pondered: if you want to migrate to the United States, why do so illegally?
The Constitution protects anyone who has a right to be here. Illegal immigrants do not have a right to be here, and are thusly exempt from the constitutional protections afforded those that are rightfully here either by birth or naturalization. No other country in the world affords its citizens the right of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Although some claim that “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” are the right of all humans…and maybe it is, the constitution can only guarantee it to those who have a legal right to enjoy its protection.
Illegal immigration is, in essence, a war against the United States and the peaceful, law-abiding citizens that live here. Hence, illegal aliens are enemy personnel. Their only rights are derived from the Geneva Convention, not the U.S. Constitution. Our government, in other words, “we the people” have got to understand and recognize this threat for what it is and act accordingly. If we do not, we will not survive the war.
“We the people” must respond. We must consider all who would give aid to enemy personnel traitors to our nation, regardless of whether they are foreign nationals or our own elected officials. We must lend our hearts, minds, and purses to the protection of the nation. Close the borders. If necessary, ride like Revere and call to arms the people. Stand shoulder to shoulder along the border and block the entrance. Face it. The only people coming across the border illegally are drug smugglers (we don’t need anymore of that), human slave traders (we should have had enough of that in the 1700 and 1800’s), people who are seeking to harm our country by bleeding our economy, and terrorists seeking to inflict bodily harm on the people of the United States (does anyone remember 9/11).
I love my country. I love her people. I would love to have more people from across the world join us and live out the “American Dream.” But let them come peacefully, and let them come legally.
Today the United States is being invaded again. Like Revere, Dawes and Prescott, there are riders issuing urgent warnings, but unlike the citizens in 1775, the people seem apathetic and unconcerned.
I will not debate our presence in Iraq or other parts of the middle-east. If our troops are there—regardless of the “why they are there”—I am going to support them. I am for any measure that will provide them a swift and sure victory and a safe return home. They deserve our support. They answered the call of their nation, and we have to stand behind them at any cost. Their blood and sacrifice is far too sacred for anything less than our very best.
There is another battle front, however, which deserves our immediate attention: the border between Mexico and the United States. Some estimate that 25 million illegal immigrants have already crossed the border and are living safely in the United States. These illegal immigrants are enjoying the benefits of our free society without any of the sacrifices. They do not pay taxes. They do not enlist in our military. They do, however, get free medical care. They get work. In short, they get all the good stuff without any of the cost.
Am I against immigration? No! I am all for immigration. The more the merrier. Immigration is how this country was established. Immigration is how this country has grown. Through immigration our society has been infused with creativity, ingenuity, and power. However, the positive contributions of immigration have come through legal, not illegal, immigration.
Am I against Mexicans? No! Having worked with legal Mexican residents, I have found them to be an honest, hard-working people. Many have left family and home to pursue a dream that the United States of America offers: a better life. They work hard. They dream big. They contribute to our way of life. Illegal Mexican immigrants do not. They are here to scam and drain our economy.
Mexicans are not the only ones illegally coming into our country. Some suggest as high as 15% of the illegal immigrants crossing our poorly guarded southern border are from destinations across the globe, particularly the middle-east.
Here is the question that needs to be pondered: if you want to migrate to the United States, why do so illegally?
The Constitution protects anyone who has a right to be here. Illegal immigrants do not have a right to be here, and are thusly exempt from the constitutional protections afforded those that are rightfully here either by birth or naturalization. No other country in the world affords its citizens the right of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Although some claim that “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” are the right of all humans…and maybe it is, the constitution can only guarantee it to those who have a legal right to enjoy its protection.
Illegal immigration is, in essence, a war against the United States and the peaceful, law-abiding citizens that live here. Hence, illegal aliens are enemy personnel. Their only rights are derived from the Geneva Convention, not the U.S. Constitution. Our government, in other words, “we the people” have got to understand and recognize this threat for what it is and act accordingly. If we do not, we will not survive the war.
“We the people” must respond. We must consider all who would give aid to enemy personnel traitors to our nation, regardless of whether they are foreign nationals or our own elected officials. We must lend our hearts, minds, and purses to the protection of the nation. Close the borders. If necessary, ride like Revere and call to arms the people. Stand shoulder to shoulder along the border and block the entrance. Face it. The only people coming across the border illegally are drug smugglers (we don’t need anymore of that), human slave traders (we should have had enough of that in the 1700 and 1800’s), people who are seeking to harm our country by bleeding our economy, and terrorists seeking to inflict bodily harm on the people of the United States (does anyone remember 9/11).
I love my country. I love her people. I would love to have more people from across the world join us and live out the “American Dream.” But let them come peacefully, and let them come legally.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Distant Trails
Life is full of distant trails, paths that we once walked now covered by the leaves of time. Some we recognize immediately, while others are like a faded picture upon which we fix our gaze and wander through the halls of our own recollection trying to find the memory.
I like to travel these trails. I rode down one tonight. I went back to Madison, IN, my hometown, to visit my mother. Unfortunately, I did not call her to insure she would be home or awake. I wanted to surprise her. Instead, it was my surprise. She was home, but obviously in bed asleep as her car was in the driveway but all the lights were out. I pondered a moment on my own predicament and decided to wander down some distant trails.
I drove "downtown" to my childhood stomping grounds. Most of the houses on Third Street still looked the same...weathered and tired. I reined in though when I saw Lydia Middleton Elementary School. It was changed! The playground in the back of the school was gone, replaced by a huge new section of classrooms. Gone was the towering Hickory tree that once stood proud and strong shading us kids as we played dodgeball. Gone was the basketball courts I dreamed in, practicing to play for the ABA Kentucky Colonels. Gone was the window in which the old janitor lady, whose name I can no longer remember, but whose girth and warm smile I shall never forget, rang the bell that indicated recess was over. It was on that playground I kissed my first girl...I believe her name was Teresa...her parents owned a tavern in town and my parents strongly disapproved when I told them she was my girlfriend. I remember, too, that it was on that playground now buried under tons of brick and steel that we chanted "Kennedy, Kennedy, he's our man. If he can't do it, nobody can." That same playground was where I first learned of his assassination as well.
For a moment, I longed to walk on that playground one more time, to play again in the leaves that used to gather in the northwest corner, to feel the firm grip of Mr. Taylor's hand against the back of my neck as he guided me into his principal's office to discipline me for doing something wrong and promising me it would go on my "permanent record." But, I could not. Change had struck again.
I continued my wandering. Passing the house on Third Street in which a portion of my childhood was housed, I noticed how the new owners had cared for it. My eye caught a movement in the darkness. Someone was sitting on the front porch in a swing. I wondered if it could be the very swing in which I used to sit. I wondered, too, if they were pondering some lost past in their life as well. The movie theater, Roger's Drug Store, Mill's Department Store, Demaree's Men's Shop, the Courthouse, the Jail, the riverfront, the house on Main Street, the treehouse in the neighbor's yard, the alley, Second Street, my paper route, the Power Plant, Hanover Hill, Highway 62...all distant trails...all dusty with time...all changed.
As I drove back toward Jeffersonville, I wondered if given the opportunity would I go back? Could I go back? I pondered the possibilities. I finally decided that I would not go back if I could. Change has taken its toll in Madison, but more importantly, change has taken its toll in me. I must learn to be content with the horse I ride and the trail I'm on. And as for distant trails, I'm content to let memory's evening sun set over their horizon and close my eyes to dream of their experience. Besides, I kinda like the trail I'm on now.
Happy trails.
I like to travel these trails. I rode down one tonight. I went back to Madison, IN, my hometown, to visit my mother. Unfortunately, I did not call her to insure she would be home or awake. I wanted to surprise her. Instead, it was my surprise. She was home, but obviously in bed asleep as her car was in the driveway but all the lights were out. I pondered a moment on my own predicament and decided to wander down some distant trails.
I drove "downtown" to my childhood stomping grounds. Most of the houses on Third Street still looked the same...weathered and tired. I reined in though when I saw Lydia Middleton Elementary School. It was changed! The playground in the back of the school was gone, replaced by a huge new section of classrooms. Gone was the towering Hickory tree that once stood proud and strong shading us kids as we played dodgeball. Gone was the basketball courts I dreamed in, practicing to play for the ABA Kentucky Colonels. Gone was the window in which the old janitor lady, whose name I can no longer remember, but whose girth and warm smile I shall never forget, rang the bell that indicated recess was over. It was on that playground I kissed my first girl...I believe her name was Teresa...her parents owned a tavern in town and my parents strongly disapproved when I told them she was my girlfriend. I remember, too, that it was on that playground now buried under tons of brick and steel that we chanted "Kennedy, Kennedy, he's our man. If he can't do it, nobody can." That same playground was where I first learned of his assassination as well.
For a moment, I longed to walk on that playground one more time, to play again in the leaves that used to gather in the northwest corner, to feel the firm grip of Mr. Taylor's hand against the back of my neck as he guided me into his principal's office to discipline me for doing something wrong and promising me it would go on my "permanent record." But, I could not. Change had struck again.
I continued my wandering. Passing the house on Third Street in which a portion of my childhood was housed, I noticed how the new owners had cared for it. My eye caught a movement in the darkness. Someone was sitting on the front porch in a swing. I wondered if it could be the very swing in which I used to sit. I wondered, too, if they were pondering some lost past in their life as well. The movie theater, Roger's Drug Store, Mill's Department Store, Demaree's Men's Shop, the Courthouse, the Jail, the riverfront, the house on Main Street, the treehouse in the neighbor's yard, the alley, Second Street, my paper route, the Power Plant, Hanover Hill, Highway 62...all distant trails...all dusty with time...all changed.
As I drove back toward Jeffersonville, I wondered if given the opportunity would I go back? Could I go back? I pondered the possibilities. I finally decided that I would not go back if I could. Change has taken its toll in Madison, but more importantly, change has taken its toll in me. I must learn to be content with the horse I ride and the trail I'm on. And as for distant trails, I'm content to let memory's evening sun set over their horizon and close my eyes to dream of their experience. Besides, I kinda like the trail I'm on now.
Happy trails.
Initiation
Within these "ponderings" you will find my heart and soul.
Inspired by my son's blogs (www.joeymustain.blogspot.com), I, too, shall join the masses who are placing their ideas and thoughts on the virtual world of the Internet.
Please check this site frequently. Do not be content to sit on the fence rail, slide your seat into the saddle, grab the reins, and ride along with me as we explore the grassy meadowlands, deserts, and high mountain ranges of human thought! Cross with me the ragging rivers of controversy, and share with me the cool, crisp waters of agreement. But watch your back-trail, as such ponderings cannot leave you unchanged.
Inspired by my son's blogs (www.joeymustain.blogspot.com), I, too, shall join the masses who are placing their ideas and thoughts on the virtual world of the Internet.
Please check this site frequently. Do not be content to sit on the fence rail, slide your seat into the saddle, grab the reins, and ride along with me as we explore the grassy meadowlands, deserts, and high mountain ranges of human thought! Cross with me the ragging rivers of controversy, and share with me the cool, crisp waters of agreement. But watch your back-trail, as such ponderings cannot leave you unchanged.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
