Tagged: family
One Last Thought Before The Week’s Proper End
Smokin’ hot blondie Megyn Kelly read a killer’s journals into the podcast-o-sphere earlier this week. But that’s not the reason to care about such an odd pairing.
The reason to care is now that the Nashville shooter of 2023’s journals are public, any one of us can legitimately respond to a Woke, Leftie, Alphabet Mafia-type with, “You sound just like that mass shooter in Nashville. Get away from me.” With this you can cut through all the politics and get straight to the heart of the issue.
You can take it from me, or you can track down Mrs. Kelly’s podcast yourself. I suppose you can also read the journals quietly to yourself. But rest assured, the chick (yes, the shooter was a girl) wrote the playbook for the Left in her journal(s) of reasons. It’s messed up.
I Have A BIPOC Teenage Step-Son, Therefore You Should Listen To MY Take
For starters, “The Captain had turned on the Fasten Your Seatbelt Sign.” So buckle up.
I need to draw your attention right away to certain facts that I believe should be obvious, but due to everyone’s performative heightened sensitivities these days, aren’t.
1. This is a WordPress blog called Captain’s Log. I am a pilot. I was a pilot in the Air Force. You don’t need to know anything beyond this combination of demographics (male, writes blogs, flys aircraft professionally, did so in the USAF) to be certain that I am white.
2. This teenage step-son I have referred to is a step-son. Step. That means I am not some happy-go-lucky Academy Grad who adopts African orphans to keep up with the Joneses. In order to have a BIPOC (African—not African-American/Black) step-son, I must be married to a BIPOC wife.
3. This is one level deeper, but given that he is my step-son, I think it is fair for anyone to assume that in his mom’s eyes, he is an angel and can do no wrong. In other words, there is absolute and comprehensive discord when it comes to raising him.
Let’s move on to certain facts that are not available to even faithful followers.
A. He currently is testing the waters of HS Track and Field.
B. His haircut is near identical to the alleged murderer’s.
C. I have seen him taunt his opponents (in basketball) in similar language to “Touch me and see what happens.”
D. He and I haven’t spoken many words for over a year now. This silence went into effect basically since a time when circumstances led to me checking his phone and finding atrocious garbage, to include a selfie of him flipping off the camera (which also exists for the alleged murderer). In ol’ fashioned American Dad style, I subsequently took a hacksaw to his phone. He hasn’t had one since. And he lies so much that I have decided to back off rather than “fight, fight, fight.” (Which would be with BOTH him and his mom/my wife.) Additionally, I agree with the general philosophy, “There is no point in communication if there is no truth.”
Got the picture?
Backing up, regarding the dead twin, I find great consolation in Mark Twain’s humor. Perhaps you will too. He wrote
In other words, in the fullest sense, between the black kid and the white kid, the black kid got the shaft—what a stupid thing to do.
When I tell whites about the demographic decisions of my life, they reward me with such reactions as, “That is sooooo interesting,” and, “That’s what I love about you, Pete!” It feels good. It feels amazing. They are right. And “interest” is at least half the reason I live how I live. Who wants a boring life?
But the truth is that I also love America and believe in my heart of hearts that I have an excellently formed and accurate appreciation for what exactly America is. And I want America to do what stands before it as possible—even if it still feels unlikely. I mean, I want America to be a post-racial country. Let’s mix it up like no one has and enjoy the unpredictable result. What is the saying? “Variety is the spice of life.”
But no. No one else wants that. Nope. Instead, my dreams have resulted in having a step-son who models himself after thugs and a wife who indulges him at every step.
As I have read the interweb’s reactions and trolls, I have come across this tit-for-tat notion where the Black responds, “Sure, when you first hear there is a murder and one person is White and one Black, you are right to guess that the murderer is Black.” Then they add the kicker, “But when we hear that a school shooting has occurred, everyone knows it is a White kid.”
I also grant this assessment.
The enormous difference, and one which affects me directly, is every White purposely dresses different than school shooters! And in the cases where there is some similarity, it is honest-to-goodness poverty or ignorance that has led to it. No White kids (except the seemingly unending supply of actual copycat killers) are imitating the school shooters’ appearance.
School Shooters are LOSERS! It is why they do it. They are losers with no imagination, no creativity, no hope, and access to guns. Losers. They are people who I purposely avoid and counsel everyone to avoid. They are losers who I want nothing to do with. They are terribly easy to spot. And they are pitiful. Leave them alone and report them anytime they do something that can keep them from shooting up schools!
With this Black kid, the same cannot be said. How he looks and how he acts is exactly the way my immigrant step-son has determined is how “cool” looks and acts. Take any run-of-the-mill Black celebrity-filled room, and this kid would have fit right in—same for my step-son. But the school shooter losers? They got beat up for showing up. That’s why they are convinced they are losers and see no way out but violence.
My first instinct when I saw the Black kid’s picture(s)? I wanted to tell my wife to take my step-son to get a proper haircut. Do I seriously believe that something as seemingly trivial as a hairstyle can change a life? Absolutely. How do I know? Because it ain’t about the hairstyle. It is about the fact that some parenting is happening. Some adjustments. Some common sense. Some reality.
What have I actually done after this tragedy? Nothing. Why not? Let me reference a not-so-famous quote from a beloved crime saga.
Neil McCauley (appearance completely like the cop sitting across from him) says to Vincent Hannah (I have a movie poster over my beloved piano of the very coffee table scene):
“You see me doin’ thrill-seeker liquor store holdups with a ‘Born to Lose’ tattoo on my chest?”
In other words, my time with my wife and my step-son has persuaded me of that which even believably portrayed criminals know to be the truth: Some folks are born to lose.
There are days when I avoid considering how much damage this “interesting” kid can do to my life and family (future legal troubles that my wife insist I pay to help as one example). But they are not the majority.
Dishonesty Is Without Use
I just began reading Ben Franklin’s Autobiography. As with all books I read, it is great.
Of note in his early years, he recounts a time when after trying to persuade his dad otherwise, Ben’s dad taught him, “Nothing is useful which is not honest.”
Just thought you might be able to put this to work with your own children.
A Downright Mean (But Not Mean-Spirited) Observation
It occurs to me near constantly, when it comes to relationship problems, “I am so right!” Nearly every marital issue could be solved by implementing some kind of “rule” or process. Get it? The disagreements all stem from each of us wanting our own way. (This is a given.) But the very idea (only ever presented by yours truly) that we compromise and/or put a “rule” or “plan” into place is so foreign to my non-Western wife that all I can do is assert the following observation:
If my non-Western (code for African) wife ever were to triply 1. See the value of “rules” or “plans” 2. Implement them and 3. Execute them, then all war (civil and otherwise) currently spanning the globe would end in the same instant—the two events are inextricably linked.
But it ain’t never happening.
It is still to be determined whether the hangup—be it blindness, stubbornness, or laziness—is genetic (some level of biology) or vindictive (“What does (s)he want?” “Revenge.” “For what?” “For being born.”) or proverbial (“can’t teach an old dog new tricks”). For what it’s worth, my money is on “all of the above”.
We will see.
Irritants of the Past Few Days
My daughter got a singing Moana doll as a gift. The doll says absolutely stupid things. To start, Moana suggests that her people have been ocean explorers (“We must sail to the far seas”). Yeah, exploring oceans in a canoe which never left sight of land. Then she has a line which says, “The stars lead us to where we want to go.” Again, the Moana’s of the world have never navigated their tiny islands or narrow coastlines via the stars. Gimme a break. Finally, she says something about “We’re all part of the land and sea. It’s who we are; it’s who we’re meant to be.” I’d already passed boiling point, but with this the folks at Disney seem to lose all distinction between bringing classic European fairy tales to life, a la Cinderella, Snow White, and Beauty and the Beast among many others (Pinocchio), and inventing fairy tales whole cloth for tribes who never wrote any down—and likely didn’t have any to begin with. In other words, folks, if you think all the peoples of Planet Earth are composing compelling music, telling remarkable stories, and relentlessly exploring the planet, then you are a fool.
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People do not “forget” the truth they were once taught. I have this hardbound collection of early Berenstain Bears stories and one of them is, “He Bear She Bear.” It is remarkable in its simple and inoffensive presentation of the facts of life. No alphabet mafia folk had been read this book as a child and then concluded at a later date, “No. No, that’s not right.” Instead, Berenstain Bears became tired, lost their en vogue status, and then went the way of the dodo. This is the way all truth is “forgotten”—boredom and displaced proportionality.
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You cannot grasp the “bully” nature of illiterate people until you live with them. They bully because they have no other recourse. It’s sad, but true.
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My mother shared with me that my immediate family members and likely their spouses are tired of me portending to be the only one with ideas. I share with you that my immediate family members and their spouses never read books. I believe it was Booker Washington who pointed out that those who can’t read and those who don’t read are one and the same. My brother and his wife tour the world to see the historical locations of everyone whose ideas I read about and would love to chat about. These two come back and report what tour guides told them. In my opinion, it’s worse than tribes who lived only with oral tradition because they think they are living it up. All they are really doing is anarchy.
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Books, for me, are a map, no different than a VFR Sectional or Low IFR Chart. I can’t tell you where you are on the map, indeed that is not my job (or anyone else’s). But given that I have a map and you do not, I can discern quite simply that you’re lost. It is your job as a literate person to determine where you are.
On The Immigrant
In the past, freely pursued immigration seems to have occurred for the singular purpose of “a better life.” Part of this purpose is discerned because of the sacrifices made and risks assumed for the travel from one location of Earth to another. As an American, I cannot shake the terribly, if not necessarily regular, dangerous ocean crossing from my conception of my ancestors and their desire for “a better life.” (Other parts of the world have similar barriers.) Seamen live risky lives for cash. Immigrants did not.
The immigrant of today, however, does not come to America (or Europe) for “a better life”. Rather, it must be assumed that the immigrants of today must prove in short order that they have made the move for “a better life.” If they don’t prove it, then we know they are here for destruction.
Why? What’s the difference? Put simply, the near risk-less and sacrifice-less transportation technology has, unfortunately, weakened the immigrant.
You get on a plane. You arrive. If you don’t like it, you get back on the plane, and you are home. No risk. No sacrifice. No bravery. No display of uncommon character qualities. Worse, the immigrant presents a full display of ignorance, a full display of greed, a full display of unwillingness to adapt to foreign cultures. Why do they come? Hollywood, fantasy, grass is greener, cash, exceedingly limited notions of cultural disparities that they don’t wish upon their children. I could list others. My claim is this, mind you: no reasons on the list would fall into “help America” or “help Americans” type categories, the likes of which “a better life” would necessarily entail.
The immigrant came because it was easy for them. Whether they want a better life remains to be determined.
Why does this updated assessment matter? Because the truth matters.
Why should you believe the ol’ Captain? Because you don’t have an immigrant in your life and I have one in my house.
Why I Want the Department of Education Gone
I want the government to dismantle the Department of Education because I love debating “happiness” or “flourishing” or “eudaimonia”.
There is a thing called “learning”. There is a status called “educated”. Most of the literate people (and some illiterate people) of the planet believe learning and education promote this happiness in the fullness of the word.
But the question remains.
Does education lead to happiness?
So dismantle the Department of Education. I’d even go so far as to support the end of formal schooling for a year or two.
What would “we” do? No school? Ahhh! How would life go on? Our precious daycares! Who would watch the kids screw around all day? Who would not teach them? Where would they eat? What would they wear?
Big questions, folks. And I don’t think for a second that any of them are anywhere near settled. So, Federal Government, proceed, sir!
It Sounds Like My Wife and I
As the family listened to Zelensky and Trump last night at dinner, though I knew my wife (Dark MAGA) could tell Trump(/Vance) won, I also had to chuckle because the argument Trump/Vance made was almost precisely the one I often find myself making.
“Recognize the facts!” we say in unison to the weak.
Unlike all the hypsters and hucksters, I am not worried about the future on the world or family scale. But I do confess that in both situations I am not sure what happens next. In my marriage, all I see is predictable error after predictable error. Will this end in tragedy? Probably not. But maybe.
What will happen on the world stage? I don’t know. But I like the historian (can’t recall his name, Stephen Kotkin?) who said, “War is always a miscalculation.”
Feels Like I’m Just Losing When It Comes To Cars
Financing used cars is the only way to go right now. But when any mechanical issues appear, the monthly payment skyrockets. Add Colorado insurance prices—and the raison d’etre—and driving a car at all becomes obscenely expensive.
I’m just coming off a false alarm “you need a new engine” on one vehicle, and a totaled-out second vehicle. This wreck was fortunate in a way because it was a high-mileage rust bucket. We got more from the kid’s insurance than we ever would have even as a trade. Yet, the plan was to keep it until the step-son needed wheels, at which point he gets the old car and, well you know the story. Now who knows when he’ll start driving.
Now this newer (still a 2017) used car seems to have a leak. Maybe it’s a fluke. I’ll find out soon enough. But it puts me in a foul mood.
I just want to read, you know? The toddlers are in bed. I just want some reading time.
Too tired for Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time.” Not even in the mood for an early X-Men comic. There’s always a Jack London freezing Alaska tale, but not tonight.
Anyhow, I have my stupid rule about reading at least a chapter from the Bible before anything else. Hmm. I’m in Two Chronicles (ha). It’s actually not terrible because of its summarizing. It is kinda nice to breeze through the history so quickly, from such a high-level, AND know that it’s still the Word of God.
I feel better already. Probably gonna hit the next chapter on that and then see about Hawking.
Oh well. Going snowshoeing with the toddlers tomorrow.
One day at a time.
Quit Complaining About the Eggs
Quit complaining about the price of eggs.
How, you ask? Easy. Eat steak.
Now that the prices are comparable, I have been eating 1/2 petite sirloin steaks—perfecting a cast iron pan fry—for breakfast as the rest of the country questions themselves into lunacy.
And I like it! Who wants eggs, when you can eat steak?
Captain’s Log 