Tagged: family
On the Obvious
I want to start with, “Well, I’ve officially learned…” But the information is so patently obvious that it is more like, “Well, I have to admit you were right.”
Two cultures just cannot mix.
Don’t hear me say that a man and woman can’t fall in love and decide to marry etc. But don’t for a second let that man already have a child and that woman already have a child. Or, more pointedly, don’t let the non-dominant culture’s representative bring in a child. Does this sound mean? Or even tough? It’s not. Or maybe it is. But that assessment puts it squarely in the realm of truth. Truth, it seems, by popular definition is painful.
Truth is painful. Just look at what people don’t want to say. Just list a few things people don’t want to believe. Here’s maybe the deepest, darkest secret we keep in our land of self-delusion: “My kid is a moron.”
Nobody wants to concede this one. And when it becomes known to the parent(s), they do some magic act of retreating socially and investing their time otherwise. “My hands are clean.” “What can I do?”
But when the kids turn out to be contributing members of society, it’s all rainbows and unicorns. Everyone wants to know all about it in as precise detail as possible and the parents beam, “This was all Bobby (or Susie). At most we pointed them in the right direction. Ha. We. It was their mother, I was hardly around truth be told. We are truly blessed.”
So what are my demands? What do I want out of this life?
Agreement from the adult population of earth that lying is wrong. Notice I am not asking for everyone to stop lying. I couldn’t even comply with that demand. I just want everyone of age to agree that lying is wrong.
All my life I have thought it was obvious. (Thanks, mom and dad.) It is not.
An anecdote for your consideration.
I was in line at the grocery store in the small town where I work. Long story, short, I informed my bro-looking adult male line-mate that I had a wife who did not instinctively believe lying was wrong*. In a perfect display of active listening he stopped in his tracks and paused until responding, “How would you even communicate?” I said, “That is exactly the point. Thank you.”
How would you even communicate?
****
*How can someone believe lying is not wrong? It’s shockingly simple. They insert some other moral good which trumps it. Like “I just want peace.” But it could be many other ideas. That’s just the one I hear and see on the regular.
(Please keep in mind that even this peace is not defined as the only real peace that comes with virtue and morality. What these people really mean is obvious. “I just want to remain a neglected child.”)
On Culture
I used to think that culture was “you use chopsticks, I use silverware,” and a myriad of other inconsequential and oftentimes interesting differences. And in this thinking, the important, unifying fact was that the food still made it to the mouth.
This is not culture.
By analogy, culture is, “We made it one trillion years on this planet before seeing silverware! Don’t lecture me on Henry Ford or freedom!”
In short, if the people from two supposedly different cultures aren’t engaged in contentious pride fighting, they aren’t from two different cultures.
****
Why does this matter to me? Because I get tired of people who have only engaged with other people from the same culture acting like they have any idea which way is up. These uni-culture people may prove the smartest on Earth, but that doesn’t mean they know which way is up.
American Wives Are Humanity’s Low Pressure Systems. What Happens If Equilibrium Is Withheld?
If I was teaching meteorology to pilots, then my first lesson would include a tub of water, with a movable divider holding an amount of water at bay from filling the tub entirely. (Picture a tub half full, with an actual divider keeping the water to the left half. The right half is dry.)
I would then ask, “If we define high pressure as where the water is, then how would we label the area where the water isn’t?”
The motivated and slightly piqued students would answer, “Low pressure.”
“Good,” I would rejoin.
Then I would call the room’s attention to the tub and, with comedic flare, withdraw the divider. All would see the high pressure water rush towards the area of previously low pressure, crashing against the walls before quickly calming to a standstill.
“If you can admit that that just happened, and trust that it isn’t limited to the apparent lateral movement as this tub seemed to indicate, but vertical as well (which, if you consider what you witnessed fully, then you will be forced to conclude that water did move in the available three dimensions entirely), then you can understand every other concept of meteorology—and make sound weather calls throughout your life as a pilot.”
The high pressure seeks balance. It must find the balance it seeks. This is meteorology.
What about relationships?
“Feeling low” is probably the simplest description of “depression” (itself still in the same semantic domain as “low”). We all have experience, whether first or second-hand, with people feeling low.
What happens if the “high pressure” doesn’t rush in?
More often than not, people who demonstrate the need for help receive help. But what happens if they do not receive it?
****
I refuse to believe that life on earth is about high pressure rushing to lows. I just refuse. It especially bothers me when the lows self-declare. Contrary to the smut pushed by “mental health crisis” hypsters, there are objective markers that life is not only “okay”, but that life is so good that you have actually not one damn thing to complain about.
I feel like I can distinguish this refusal from the “Am I my brother’s keeper?” domain. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe anyone riding high owes their entire existence to coming down. “Misery loves company” is my counter. “Don’t bring me down”. “Look at the lilies of the goddamned field.”
“A Plan For What?” She Said.
“You need to tell A- that the next time he calls his dad, they need to make a plan!”
“A plan? A plan for what?”
I calmly, though unable to hide irritation, say, “My wife. His dad wants to talk to him. Well, the boy is 14, not 8. So A- can tell his dad all about how he is in school and then has basketball, and then dinner, except on days when basketball is later, and then A- and his dad can figure out when a good time to schedule phone conversations would be. This is not complicated.”
“My husband. You know all about this. Don’t you want to talk to H- and she won’t talk to you?”
“What? This is nothing like that at all. We don’t care and have never stopped or tried to stop A- from talking to his dad. And no one is trying to stop them from talking now. Again, you and I have no business being involved anymore at all. The boy is 14! Tell him to explain his schedule to his dad so they can come up with a plan. Why do you and I need to go back-and-forth about this? There is nothing complicated about it.”
****
Dear reader, can you guess what is at issue here? Can you imagine the underlying rub?
You got it. The dad, and apparently every physical and spiritual force—nearly power itself—wants my step-son to have his own phone. The dad wants to be able to text him and have him respond right away. The dad wants to be able to call him as he pleases with his son answering promptly.
It makes no difference that the dad is in a foreign land. It makes no difference that the dad has taken zero interest in the boy for pretty much his entire life, even though he had him to himself for the first eight years of that life. Nope, none of these things matter. When you’re dealing with humans, you are dealing with children or children-grown-older.
I need to be clear—mostly to my maker—the smart phone does not solve any problems!! And the smart phone creates innumerable problems for all it touches!! I would honestly rather give kids hard drug samples rather than smart phones on the off chance the kid just doesn’t like the effects. I don’t think I could be persuaded that, for example, crack hooks every human that has sampled it. But the smart phone? 100% addiction rate. No one can resist. We’re junkies one and all. It’s astounding.
Well, when it comes to kids in my “sphere of influence”, they have to wait before their first high. Step-children from the dark continent as well.
At face value the situation is so laughable it isn’t funny. It’s almost a joke with a punchline.
So, ha ha ha, here’s one. There’s this 14 yr old boy and his dad—impeded by no one—who can’t figure out how to call each other in 2024. The dad says, “Ring ring.” And the boy doesn’t answer because he’s at school. The boy says, “Ring ring.” And the dad doesn’t answer because he’s at work.”
Here’s the punchline I like best: “I guess ‘colored people time’ transcends time-zones!”
****
“A plan? A plan for what?” she said.
One last note. While hanging out at an airport the other day, a few of the super rich came strolling through, just off their private jet. The dad—keep on mind we are talking very wealthy people flying on private jets for leisure trips—the dad, I overhear, is complaining that his teenager won’t answer texts. He goes on to say it is easier to get a response if he posts in snapchat or instagram or whatever other app the kid is known to be absorbed in day-in-and-day-out.
So, no, this has nothing to do with anything but morons being morons. The international factor is irrelevant. The family history and dynamics are irrelevant. If people want to talk to each other, they can. If people aren’t talking to each other, it is because they don’t prioritize it.
Case closed.
We Are Trump’s Loving Wife
The classic American marriage contains the beautiful scene of a husband unexpectedly finding that his wife has granted permission to “go big”.
My favorite illustration of this was captured by a commercial, some years ago, where after the husband puts the new big screen TV into the TV stand, he stands back, admiring his TV. The wife walks in and is not immediately impressed.
Baffled, and fearing the worst, he asks her, with trepidation, “What?”
She answers, “It’s just that there is a lot of…space.”
The scene continues with the husband microscopically examining the fit of the new bigger screen TV. He is squinting and running his hand along border between the TV and the TV stand. His wife comes in this time, and is visibly strained.
She says, “It is fine.”
He responds and concludes the anecdote with, “I can still see light!”
****
As you no doubt have seen, there are red/blue county maps of America making their way around the web and one headline I saw claimed, “There are no blue states.”
Translation: there are blue counties in otherwise red states, and there are states composed entirely of red counties.
Implication: All of the United States of America, not merely the 75,000,000 voters and electoral college, just told Trump, like a loving wife, “Treat yourself!”
****
Yes, that’s the best analogy of the passing scene, I should think.
Time To Turn Off the TV
I know you don’t agree. I know you don’t. That is the point of this post. There is no topic more detestable to humanity of all stripes than the notion of turning off the TV—and any meaningfully similar source of information.
Yes, I’m happy Trump won. But not for anything to do with politics. I’m happy because while all the republicans and conservatives were wringing their hands, I said over and over that he had it in the bag. And so when I was proved correct, I was happy.
But every moment since then, I have been questioned by friends and family and had my good name challenged because I am not happy that Trump won for the same reason as they are.
I do not believe he is some sort of savior. I do not believe we’ll see a reversion to some past life when groceries were cheap and rule of law was respected and understood. I just don’t see national politics from that kind of perspective.
But the point of this post, again, is to explore that when I share my perspective, which boils down to, “You’re all Henny Penny and if you would just turn off the TV, you’d have profound improvement in your ‘flourishing’,” folks lose their shyat on me. It’s like I’m asking them to give up—not just food but—breathing.
I actually resorted to telling my Ethiopian/African wife (you’ll-understand-this-if-viewed-from-well-known-they’re-more-spiritual-vantage-point), “You love to talk about demons as if it’s still Biblical times—well when it comes to our attachment to TV, I agree. This situation seems at the level that an exorcism may be necessary.” Perhaps unbelievably, this did get through—in its moment.
So I think I’m done. I already do not have a TV at the house. I have cut movie watching drastically back (difficult to cut completely because night work leaves a lot of zombie time during the day). But I’ve been checking news like a junkie of late. It’s time to stop that now. And why? Because, as an human without TV, I can happily report, “The sky is not a-falling.”
My Not-Unanticipated Gloat Text To My Family
I haven’t shared too much directly personal content of late, but for the bigger point, here is the text I fired off to my immediate family (my folks and my siblings and their spouses, only one couple being Harris supporters). I do not believe anyone but my mom or dad will have read it. And I generally only experience glee when picturing my brother-in-law smiling as he reads what he would never say.
After the text I have addd here some much needed commentary—as no one but me seems to enjoy taking writing at face value and thinking about what it means and doesn’t mean.
****
I’ll keep this absolutely predictable text short:
S-. H-.
Gotcha!!
Like you, I feel like the biggest “soul interrogation” just ended and you two failed. Racism (BIPOC are not better), sexism (women are not better), and communism (theft is not better) are evil. And you both have to live with the fact that you voted according to them (and, in spite of at least superficially agreeing with me and being surrounded by people who also agree).
Fear not! It’s beautiful, in a way. That is, it is truly a powerful (think sunrise 🌅 , not democrat machine’s gun-to-head) moment, if you approach this “lived experience” from the twin Biblical perspectives of divine patience and grace, as offered by the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.
The maker and sustainer of the universe has given you more time to repent. Be happy. Consider it.
I, for my part, thank the LORD and will think of you before all others whenever I see a rainbow or cloth representation of a rainbow’s colors going forward and am inescapably reminded of patience.
****
Notice I didn’t say anything about Trump. Do you see? Not one thing was about Trump. This is for many reasons, all equally as noble as the true thrust of the text.
Firstly, I didn’t vote for him, so “my guy” didn’t win. My problem with dems has never been that they didn’t support “my guy” or “Trump.” My problem with dems is their support of evil.
Secondly, and more importantly, nobody voted for Trump because he is a man, or because he is white, or because he is old. Naturally this is hyperbole—I cannot know for certain that those DEI features were ignored by all his voters. But I can say that anyone who did cast such a shamefully-reasoned vote would never admit it. This is also hyperbole. But not hyperbole is the following: any racist, sexist, and ageist voters for Trump had no influence on the contest. And more specifically, I know my Trump-voting family members voted for him for his policies or humor or record or simple hope that his MAGA slogan is his earnest hope and plan.
Lastly, Kamala Harris is so empty, so devoid of reason, so obviously puppeteered that it is impossible for me to be wrong that her voters were voting with evil intent. Besides the manifest logical truth of this claim (you can’t reasonably vote for someone who isn’t for at least one thing), the Harris voters’ own silence on any non-DEI (evil) reasons for their vote is impossible to ignore. 66,000,000+ citizens voted with race, sex, age, theft, and lies as their motivation. 71,000,000+ voted with, at their core, hope as their motivation.
They hoped he wants America to be great again. They hoped he knew he was fibbing all the time he lies. They hoped he wouldn’t put himself before America.
Now we wait.
“So You Wasted Your Vote”
I didn’t get to conclude my, “I wrote in a candidate, which by the way is not as simple as you may think-” before my acquaintance dismally uttered, “So you wasted your vote.”
Just like that, I found myself neutered. The man behind the knife was Puerto Rican, incidentally, and didn’t seem to be in the mood to let the joke pass without consequence (which I have to say the joke has gotten funnier with age—go watch it again if you need a pick-me-up). This means he isn’t voting for Trump either.
But I didn’t take away his manhood when I learned his position. So I count that as indicative of my winning the moral moment.
This post is ultimately about the meaninglessness of all our ballots and the meaningfulness of right action. But first I want to record, for posterity, how a write-in vote works.
- There are only specific candidates who can be inked in. These folks had to essentially apply for the opportunity and you can google your state to see the options. (I may actually run one year. Seems like a bucket list thing to me.)
- In Colorado, the law says you have to write in the last name of both the president and vice-president for the vote to count. (I believe the full names would be fine, too. But the space is limited, and since this is mostly an exercise in futility, let’s not draw it out.) So be sure to read the instructions on write-in voting in full.
- Here’s my ballot.
Okay. Back to the debate. Just about everyone on the continent tells me that I wasted my vote. I contend that I did not waste my vote in any sense different than you “wasted” yours. And I counter that it is foolish to believe that if you vote for Trump or Harris you have somehow not wasted your vote, somehow spoken in a more effective language. Or contributed to democracy or the country more than me. Or you have accomplished some civic duty, which I have not.
No, no, no. That’s wrong.
Don’t hear me suggest “fatalism”. I do not dryly believe “what’s going to happen is going to happen.” Please do hear me when I say your actions during this one, seemingly absolutely critical moment in time do not weigh more than your actions during all the other moments. I think I mean this in the biblical sense, introduced by the psalmist and highlighted by my namesake, “one day is like a thousand years, a thousand years like one day.” In short, all our votes are wasted because the notion of voting necessarily implies an incorrect perspective on life—even the life of a country.
Another way to talk about this point of mine that I here offer is to reminisce about the “How did we get here?” question that is terribly fun to debate.
I have yet to hear anyone suggest we got here because of folks’ past voting records (here being these two candidates, after the last two, after the last two, ad infinitum). Instead, the answers given are more provocative. “Education” (or lack thereof). “Immigration.” “Wars.” “Immorality.” “Russia” (meaning anywhere from the theory they have intentionally and strategically taken over the universities to the direct influence on elections). And many, many others. “Welfare.” “Military Industrial Complex.” “End times.” “Democracies only last 250 years, give or take.” Bluntly, then, I mean that if we do not cite our past votes in our answers to “how we got here?”, how could our votes ever be “how we achieve” whatever goal (political or otherwise) towards which we aim?
In the end, no, by writing in, I did not waste my vote any more than you did, you who chose one of the two candidates who possess a proper chance at winning. (Trump has it in the bag, never forget that.) So dismount your high horse, Citizen, and rest assured that in the not too distant future I will be lounging like a tree near streams of water with the knowledge that I didn’t let myself get caught up in the hype anymore than I did for Black Jesus (or Bush or Biden…).
This election is another referendum on how you (we) live your life. It should be interpreted as yet another instance of divine compassion. We’re mucking things up for sure down here. But Voting for Trump or Harris (or anyone) does not change your character. And believing that it does betrays a fundamental flaw in your understanding of life.
Vote or don’t vote, I don’t care. But I do care that you shape up. Turn off the TV. Use the newfound free time to exercise your mind, body, and spirit. The battle rages.
A Little Time Means A Lot Of Focus and Politics is Personal
As election day draws near, I cannot deny that my resolve not to vote for Trump began to waiver. Colorado is solidly blue, so a Trump vote would certainly be a wasted vote. Still, I was starting to feel like it would be fun to tell the grandkids that I was part of the unforeseen popular majority.
As I voted today, I just couldn’t do it. And with time running out, the underlying reason finally surfaced. (I don’t know why I didn’t see this happening; it always does. We veterans prefer working under pressure for the clarity it brings.)
The reason I can’t vote for Trump is because I can’t vote for Republicans. The Republicans were in power during 9/11. They had a chance to accomplish what no humans have yet accomplished, and they blew it—including wasting my time and energy by sending me to Iraq in response.
9/11 should have been used to relegate the false god Allah to the myths and legends section of libraries and bookstores. And the only way to do that is make supporting him deadly—which can be done directly or indirectly, but with intention, nonetheless. So many gods have perished. This shouldn’t be controversial. Instead, and unconscionably, the supposedly great Republican party* decided to lie and wage irrelevant (and illegal) wars under the guise of satisfying all interested players and offending no one.
So, no, I won’t buy into the same system that made that category mistake. Nations are okay, but gods are where the action is at.
Anyhow, I know my opinion is unpopular. So it’s not like I expected to find some candidate who wanted to lead and win the coming Holy War. But I also can’t vote for people who have had the opportunity to do so and dropped the ball. So I found the rules for write-in votes (you can’t just vote for anyone) and there is some random unaffiliated and normal looking citizen that satisfied the requirements for Colorado’s ballot and I voted for him. In other words, literally any average citizen is better than Trump/Harris and the major (and minor) parties. His name is Chris Garrity. Best of luck, man.
In short, with time drawing to a close, I have just now realized that, for me, politics is personal.
*To be clear, the Dems would have done no different.
Kamala Is Not A Grandma
The politically incorrect trolls are having a field day with Kamala’s “as a parent” response. People or bots are correctly pointing out that she is not a parent, but their implied reason is invalid.
Kamala Harris has no children of her own, and she met her step-children when they were 15 & 19 (or thereabouts). But CNN’s question was about the last 4 years, which means while the step-children were 21-25 and 26-30 years old. And Kamala was 56-60.
There’s more. The whole “make mistakes while parenting” is relatable when you and your children are young. If Donald Trump, while 70 and Barron 10, delivered the quip, it may produce laughs, but it still wouldn’t accomplish the purpose Kamala sought the other night.
But all of this is missing the bigger point.
This woman is 60 yrs old. That makes her twenty plus years into being capable of being a grandma and she is suggesting she is a mom making mistakes. The lie she told is her age, not her family status.
Donald Trump, the most misogynistic presidential candidate in recent history, is going to beat the first two women candidates, and why? Because Kamala lied about her age. Why? Because she’s a woman and lives in reality after all.
Captain’s Log 