Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy

All Men Are Created Equal

This will be different from my other posts. I try to have a general outline of what I want to say, to make my writing as concise, and enjoyable to read, as I can. Today, I am going to free write.

I saw a distressing news segment where a man on the street interviewed young people about July 4, and what it meant to them. These young people were saying the “ideal” of the country was great, but the country was not. A black woman said her family celebrated Juneteenth, not July 4, because this nation was built on slavery. It was not a happy segment for a grizzled old Army grunt like myself.

**Happy Independence Day, Ungrateful Colonials!**

Part of me wants to deny this, wants to scold the youngsters for what they believe. Another part of me, the reflective, contemplative part of me, wants to examine this in some detail.

I will start my contemplation with the assertion that this is a great nation. Yes, slavery existed in the south. But even at that time, the seeds of a great nation were being planted, even by people who themselves owned slaves. All men are created equal. For those who have to counter with “women too”, knock it off. ‘Men’ refers to mankind. To all homo sapiens, male and female, regardless of how you want to see yourself.

All men are created equal. It was a new ideal. Before we had nobles and peasants. The rulers and the ruled. Those who served and those who were served. Along came these white guys with this idea. “Hey, the Lord doesn’t create mistakes. He made us, man and woman, and because of that, every homo sapiens is the equal to another. That concept codified the injustice of slavery. God made the black man, and this creation was held in bondage. If God made all men equal, if follows that treating another homo sapiens as property was a violation of God’s law. The very Constitution recognized this. Here we get the oft maligned Three-Fifths compromise.

**The signing of the Declaration of Independence**

Even at the founding, there were two main factions. Those who supported slavery, and those who opposed it. Those that opposed it were mainly in the North, those who supported it were mainly in the South. The South was an agrarian culture. There wasn’t a lot of production of goods, other than crops; cotton, tobacco, etc. These crops were labor-intensive, and the southern plantation owners turned to slavery to provide cheap labor for their fields.

As the Founders hammered out the details of the Constitution that defined our government, they wanted a House in Congress to represent the people, what we call the House of Representatives. The members of this House were apportioned by the population of the various states. Southern slave owners wanted their representation based on the numbers of their slaves. The North was against this, as the slaves would have no say in this representation. The Three-Fifths compromise was devised as a means of restricting the power of the slave-owning South, in order to create a unified country of 13 states.

I’ve heard African-Americans say, “This country only considered us as 3/5 a person.” This statement demonstrates historical ignorance. Of course, if I didn’t know my history, I might also think that the Three-Fifths Compromise meant we considered slaves to be 3/5 of a human being. But I do know history. All men are created equal. Can you imagine a country in which a plantation owner need only purchase more slaves to obtain more political power? What kind of country would we have become with that governmental structure?

The Three-Fifths Compromise only put off the inevitable. In the 1860’s the North and South went to war over a lot of things, but the undercurrent was the specter of slavery. The war was costly, in terms of material and human lives. When the war turned in the North’s favor after a couple of years that looked bleak, Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, and the North’s war to preserve the Union gained the moral stamp of freeing the slaves.

**The Battle of Chickamauga – 4,169 killed on both sides**

Let’s be clear. There were those in the North who couldn’t give a tinker’s damn about the black man as a race. But many knew that regardless of their personal views, the idea that one man could own another was a terrible one.

This culminated in the proclamation in Texas that slavery was officially ended. At

**Military Order No. 3 ending slavery in Texas**

least in Texas, the words in the Declaration of Independence were finally realized. That’s why they celebrate Juneteenth, and until recently, only in and around Texas.

I think it is right to celebrate the end of slavery. It is a horrible institution that still exists today. Seeing it end in our country is a thing worthy of celebration. But it is a realization of the promise of the Declaration. Men and women argued, debated, legislated, fought and died over the concept of all men being created equal. July 4^th is a celebration of the big middle finger we gave to the King of England based on this concept. That it was imperfectly realized at the beginning should not cheapen the idea that was espoused. All men are created equal. Every homo sapiens has the same rights as another homo sapiens.

Juneteenth was a realization of that ideal. But even then, there was still work to do. We’ve had constitutional amendments, numerous legislations, all with the goal of continuing to realize that ideal. All men are created equal.

Do we want to focus on the fallen side of man, that presents as racism, hatred and bigotry? If so, then the United States was never a great country. It was flawed, evil and oppressive, and still is. As long as there are bigots and racist, this is a bad country, with systemic racism, and constant pressure to keep the oppressed, oppressed.

Or do we focus on the vision that led to the Emancipation Proclamation, Juneteenth, the 13^th and 14^thAmendment, the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and other acts, great and small, that reinforced the concept first written down in the Declaration? All men are created equal. No country has ever done that before. It’s in our seminal document. We have fought and died to make that dream a reality. And people don’t think that’s worthy of celebration? I don’t blame the young. I blame us old folk for allowing our educational system to degrade to the point where our young people don’t know our history, the good and the bad.

All men are created equal. That includes the young’ns. I guess.

FATHER’S DAY 2022

I woke up, got my coffee, and went out onto the back patio to listen to the birdsong, watch the birds on the feeder, and listen to some of my podcasts. My oldest daughter Jessica made a breakfast of pancakes and bacon. My youngest, Carole, who is a bit estranged from me, texted me Happy Father’s Day, and told me she loved me.

Other than that, I spent the day on the back patio reading, listening to my podcasts then music, enjoying the dry, mild summer air, and enjoying some peace.

I grilled some burgers, and my son-in-law Christian and Jessica joined us for a nice, quiet dinner. The two demon-spawn were with their abuelito José, so Christian was enjoying some quiet time. All in all, a quiet day. Robin called her father to wish him a Happy Father’s Day, and it came crashing down on me. I couldn’t call my dad.

PAPAW

My father passed away on December 17, 2018, after a mercifully short battle with pulmonary fibrosis. To my children and grandchildren, he was Papaw. To me, he was just Paw. He had a way of speaking that was mindful of a down-to-home hillbilly, which masked his intelligence and served to disarm a lot of people and put them at ease. He and I shared a love for Louis L’Amour books, so it just seemed natural to call him Paw. It would irritate Robin when he and I would carry on a whole conversation like we were extras in Beverly Hillbillies, with a lot of “I reckon so” and “y’all” or “I ain’t orta ought to…” I’m sure Robin felt IQ points being sucked out of her as she heard this, but it was our way of sharing a small piece of the world between us.

I was named after him, and I can’t remember a time when I ever resented that. As I got older, I realized that I was very much like him, and I was perfectly all right with that. I admired him, as a father and as a man, and I always hoped that he was proud of the man I’d become.

Life does what life does, and he was called to Heaven. Too soon for me, but I didn’t get a say. A year later, I lost my mother on January 2, 2020. I became an orphan at 56. Cue the movie Annie. Now I can be the plucky little kid looking for a Daddy Warbucks. Nah, I’ve got Robin, and she is much better looking than Daddy Warbucks. I was always pleased to know that Maw and Paw loved Robin, verifying that at least in that respect, I done good.

PARENTS

I take solace in this; my life has gone in much the way that I think God intended families to be. Maw and Paw were devoted to each other for over 50 years. They were the stable core for our family, raising three children. Sure, there were bumps along the way. It’s life, and that’s what happens. So, I was raised in a stable home, had parents who loved me and whom I loved and respected in turn. My parents passed before me or my siblings. The way it should be, at least in this broken world.

My parents were able to see their children grow to be successful adults, with children of their own. We made trips to see them. They got to spend time with their grandchildren, and then their great grandchildren. I was on a business trip when my second grandchild was born. I returned maybe a month and a half before Paw died, and we were able to get a picture of 3 generations of Steves.

LEGACY

One thing my parents did teach me, and I hope I’ve passed this along to my children: it’s not the mistakes we make that define us, it’s what we do about them that defines who we are as a person.

I remember a time nearly 20 years ago. Robin and I were separated, and I was talking with Paw on the phone. He was telling me what I needed to do to fix it. It involved doing something I didn’t want to do, which was take responsibility for my actions, and I told him, “Paw, it’s not that simple!” Without hesitation he replied, “Yes, son, it really is that simple. I didn’t say it would be easy.”

You know, he was absolutely correct. I made the simple decision. It wasn’t easy, but Robin and I are a week away from celebrating our 33^rd anniversary. He had a way of cutting through the crap the world would throw at him and break it down to simple, home-spun wisdom. I miss that in my life, and I miss him. I am glad Robin got to call her father. I can’t help but wish I was able to talk to mine.

That brings to mind something else he told me, once. “Dead is dead. It ain’t for the living to dwell on, cause we cain’t do nothin about it. Living’s for the living, so I reckon we should focus on that.”

I reckon so.

The Wisdom of Nature

Today I sat on my back deck, engaged in my favorite activity; bird watching. After my now monthly Entyvio infusion for my Crohn’s Disease I often don’t feel well, so I took the rest of the day off, and as the weather was good, I watched birds. I have a couple of bird feeders up, and I enjoyed watching the little birds come and eat, and do their bird things while I watched and let the world slip away for a bit. What I found is that there are things to learn from these little creatures. Owls may be wise, but even the little birds can teach us a thing or two.

Keeping it Simple

Birds, like other animals, have a knack for keeping life simple. Live or die. The ultimate binary choice. Nature has handed them the simplest of decisions, do what you can to live, or cease to be. Birds are not burdened by politics, hierarchies, or whether the other birds like them. Other birds are either a threat or they are not. If they are a threat, you fly to safety. If they’re not a threat, you go on doing what you need to do. A binary choice mirrored throughout the animal kingdom.

A flock of sparrows came to visit. Approximately 20 or so at a time. I call them Compies, after the tiny dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.

They swarm in, raise a ruckus for a few minutes, then move on to some other area, holding Sparrow Court throughout the neighborhood. I watched a mother and father feeding their young. The baby bird squatted on the ground, rustling its wings with its mouth open. It is clearly signaling for more food. What I didn’t see were the parent sparrows opining on how hard it was to parent. They didn’t harangue their kids about what they wanted to be when they grew up, or reminded them to put their shoes by the door. The baby was hungry, and mom and dad gathered food to feed it. They showed the baby the ropes, how to get food from the feeder, and how to hide when the hawks flew overhead. They kept it simple. Live or die.

Hierarchies

I noticed another thing as I watched. There were no true hierarchies. Sparrows did not

give deference to Cardinals, Robins or Blue Jays. Size was no determinant either, as smaller House Finches pushed aside Sparrows and other birds to get to the seeds. Eat or don’t eat, live or die.

Life for an animal is a string of binary choices. Animals don’t demonstrate for better living conditions. I certainly don’t open my back door to see birds gathered together with picket signs and tiny little bullhorns. Birds don’t complain about how the other birds treat them. They eat or don’t eat, live or die.

Binary Choices

Humans like to think life is complex. We add layer after layer of grey to our binary lives. We add cares and opinions and expectations and slights, perceived or real, to the way that we see life, and those around us. We crush ourselves under the weight of the life we have created for ourselves. We will sit and drink coffee, tea or something stronger and wish for a simpler life. We lose sight of the fact that we are in control of how we react to what happens to us. It starts at the core, a binary choice that should drive all others. Live, or die?

éla na ta dóseis (Come and give them) #DONOTCOMPLY

Sorry if my Greek is off. I don’t speak it, so I used Google Translate.

September 9, 2021, we were introduced to an American tyrant, President Joe Biden. In an appalling lack of judgment and an inability to ‘read the room’, President Biden decided what was best for all of us, to “protect” us from a virus that currently has a 1.6% mortality rate. (Deaths/#of casesx100)(https://covid.cdc.gov/covid-data-tracker/#trends_dailydeaths)

Last December, then President -Elect Biden sang a different tune (https://nypost.com/2020/12/04/biden-wont-mandate-getting-covid-19-vaccine-wearing-masks/). Even as late as this July, his Press Secretary, Jen Psaki, said it was ‘not the role’ of the federal government (https://townhall.com/tipsheet/spencerbrown/2021/09/09/flashback-psaki-said-vaccine-mandates-not-the-role-of-federal-government-n2595640). Yet, here we are.

Thus far we have a virus that, while highly communicable, is not very lethal, and an Administration who, as late as six weeks ago, did not think that mandates were the role of the federal government. Add to that his extra-constitutional bullying of states that don’t comply.

A Biden official today, Cedric Richmond, said the Administration will “roll over” states that resist mandates (https://m.theepochtimes.com/mkt_breakingnews/biden-adviser-says-administration-will-run-over-gop-governors-who-resist-vaccine-mandates_3991333.html). Seriously, some people apparently flunked their government and civics courses in high school and beyond!

Start with the 10th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. It states, “The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.” (https://constitution.congress.gov/constitution/amendment-10/) I await, with sardonic irony, the gymnastic attempts by people to argue this allows Biden to do what he wants to do, because there sure is nothing else in the Constitution that confers that authority on him. Since it is not a power delegated to him, nor are states prohibited from exercising that authority themselves, well, let’s just see the silly stuff people will say in response.

So we start with a virus with 1.6% mortality rate, add in a shaky government that has done a complete 180 on their stance on vaccine mandates. To all of that, add a huge dose of unconstitutional actions, and you have Joe Biden, the man who would be King.

This is a country where the government is of the people, by the people, and for the people. We don’t get dictated to. The Daily Wire, a news and media company with well over 100 people, has decided that President Biden can “toss off”, as the Brits might say. They started the hashtag #DONOTCOMPLY. 19 governors and at least 2 Attornies- General have announced they will file suit (https://m.theepochtimes.com/mkt_breakingnews/19-governors-2-ags-immediately-resist-bidens-vaccine-mandates_3990650.html). That’s all great, but maybe, just maybe, it’s time for Americans to remember our roots, slap Biden’s nose and tell him, “Bad, Biden!”

Or, if you want to use questionable Greek, try “éla na ta dóseis”. Either works for me.

P.s. I received both doses of the Moderna vaccine back in April, upon advice from my doctor.

WE’VE GOT THE WRONG GEORGE

So there’s this place in Minneapolis, dedicated to this guy named George. Now I’m thinking, this here George feller musta done something outstanding to have a whole section of a city named after him. He must have been a real pillar of the community. A man people looked up to. A man who represented the best ideals of a community. A leader, a paragon of virtue.

https://www.startribune.com/shrine-to-george-floyd-could-be-permanent-at-38th-and-chicago/571211342/

I thought I would look into this giant of a man, this virtuous civic icon. I did, and I’m confused. What tremendous accomplishment did he achieve to make him worthy of this honor?

Now, my Meditations with Marcus Aurelious move me to keep this positive, so I’m not going to catalogue the reasons why this was a bad idea. Look, I really don’t know what he did with his life from 2009 on, but I know he did not die on the virtuous path. Certainly not befitting the naming of a part of the city of Minneapolis after him.

My mother was a hard-core alcoholic. You can have a devil in you, do self-destructive things, and still be a good person. I’m not saying George Floyd didn’t do some good things. I do, however, have questions.

My first question is, does the African-American community (I’m confused about that too, but that’s for another time.) not have more worthy personages upon which to bestow such honors? I’ll bet there is!

I know a George who should have a square named after him. The first clue he deserves it is that he’ll tell you that naming a square after him is a damn fool idea.

I met George at a conference in Arizona. I’m positive he wasn’t looking for a white friend, nor was I looking for a black friend, but we hit it off. He’s a former officer and a gentleman in the Army. An artillery man, which I didn’t hold against him. I was Infantry, which I’m sure he held against me ( It’s ok, everyone does, even other Infantrymen.). He liked gin and tonic, I like single malt scotch, Speysides.

He was there with his wife, a very pleasant young lady, and I could see they doted on each other. We talked every chance we could, sipped our favorite beverages together, and decided we liked each other, despite our glaring personal deficiencies. We remained in contact after the conference, sending each other stupid memes, social commentary, and the occasional deep conversation about families and life.

George is a family man. He’s got kids and grandkids, and he loves them all. If the African-American community wanted a model for a successful African-American male, I present to you my friend George. A tremendous work ethic, God-fearing (or wife-fearing, which amounts to the same thing!), patriotic, selfless, caring…young African-American men would do well to emulate THIS George. What did you do in the week leading up to Thanksgiving? THIS George fried turkeys for elderly veterans, so they would have a turkey for Thanksgiving. Nobody asked, that I know of. THIS George just saw a need, and stepped in to fill it.

THIS George is the kind of person who, if he was awarded a medal for bravery, would tell you he didn’t do as much as others did, and that there are more deserving people for the award.

I would say more people need to be like THIS George, and I would be right, but I am here to tell you, folks, there are a LOT more people like THIS George than there are like George Floyd. America was built by people like my friend George. Smart, resourceful, hard-working Americans who do the things that need doing, and not to have squares named after them.

These people are the ones we should be honoring. The ones who have actually done something to make this world better. What kind of a world would we have if we actually revered the right George’s?

Here’s the challenge for you. You have at least one of the right George’s in your life. Identify them, and do a simple thing that can be life altering. Acknowledge the thing they do that makes the world a better place, point it out, and thank them for it. It’s simple psychology. If you want more of a behavior, praise it.

Let’s get the right George’s. Our country needs them!

THE STATE OF RACE IN AMERICA

Growing up, I was raised to know that, “People are different, but they’re still people.” I knew from an early age that my view of people should be based on their behavior, not on some external factors like clothes or skin color.

My first clue that not everyone thought as did came in high school. I briefly dated an African-American girl. She was pretty, sweet and a cheerleader. Her father was a nice man, but he told me once that our relationship was a “problem” for his daughter, and his family. At the time I didn’t understand.

I saw my first overt racism in the Army. I met white AND black racists. I was subjected to verbal and physical abuse by a group of black soldiers, because I was white. The racists were, thankfully, in the vast minority.

Through it all, the idea that “people are different, but they’re still people” was reinforced and cemented. Philosophically, I came to understand natural rights, and its practical application to our body politic. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I learned that ‘men’ referred to human kind, not actual men.

To me, racists of any color were not only non-American, but irrational. Tying any type of superiority to the color of one’s skin has no basis in rationality or science. It’s senseless.

Critical Race Theory, “equity”. All terms from the other side of the race coin. Does it make one group better than another, for any reason? Anti-American clap-trap. If you set yourself up as being better than another for an irrational reason, then you’re being a jerk. A sociopathic, anti-American jerk.

People are different, but they’re still people, but do you have to be a jerk about it?

Who Are You?

My favorite sci-fi series of all time is Babylon 5. Aliens galore, telepaths, techno-mages, true love, lots of action, space battles, you name it. And lots of fodder for metaphysical rumination.

There is a race called the Vorlon. An ancient, secretive race. They had an ambassador on the Space Station Babylon 5 named Kosh. In the second season, he meets the new captain, Captain Sheridan. The Ambassador looks at Captain Sheridan and asks, “Who are you?”

Captain Sheridan spent the rest of his life answering that question. I think the lesson is, we all spend our lives answering that question. Or we should. I sometimes wonder if people have the wherewithal to even consider the question.

I know some will respond to the question by saying, “I am a <insert occupation>.” But can we really be what we do? Isn’t there more to us? What about those who work in careers that don’t define them? I’m an insurance adjuster, but that’s not who I am.

Others might reply, “I am <insert accomplishment>.” But if we are the accomplishment, do we stop being something if we stop achieving? I was the Indiana Assistant Principal of the Year in 2011, but that’s not who I am.

Sheridan learned that the answer to the question is found in serving something bigger than yourself. Serving yourself is like eating empty calories. It makes your stomach full, but your body is not well served. A person can get trapped into looking for the next job, or the next accomplishment.

In the US Army Reserves, I served my country. As a teacher, I served my students. As a school administrator I served the students, staff and the community. As an insurance adjuster, I serve veterans and their families. As a husband, I serve my wife, and as a father and grandfather I serve my family.

Taking that to the next level, I serve God. In his service, I serve others. In this service, I find fulfillment. No matter what I do, if I serve others I fulfill God’s plan for me. Take that, Ambassador Kosh!

That begs the question, “Who are you?”

Meditations, Part 4

From my brother, I learned that there is true evil in the world, and that there are stout warriors who oppose it. He taught me that such bravery comes with a cost, and that true bravery is not in facing danger, but in doing what needs to be done, knowing the cost, but doing it anyway.

My brother taught me that excellence is a choice. Success comes with the application of will, and the fortitude to withstand whatever comes. Goal attainment, not success, is the epitome of excellence. He formulated his goals, worked his ass off to attain them, and in doing so attained excellence. As he says, “The only failure is the failure to try.”

My brother has taught me that greatness does not equal perfection. This is life, and mistakes are part of it. You can chose to let it weigh you down, or you can incorporate it into your life and move on. It is a choice. Choose to live.

My brother taught me that we choose our tribes. We choose with whom we identify, and that we need to be aware of the positives and negatives of being part of a tribe. Choose the right tribes, and be aware of why you chose them, and don’t be afraid to leave the tribe if it isn’t making your life better.

Most of all, my brother taught me that life can hand you nasty, shitty situations, but that perseverance can get you through the shit into happiness.

Don’t give up, ever.

Meditations, Part 3

From my sister I learned to express myself. She is a poet by nature, and when she wasn’t looking, I would see for myself how she viewed the world. Much understanding would not come until later, but the understanding did arrive, and continues to reveal itself to me.

From my sister, I learned to passionately defend that which I hold dear. She referred to people she cared about as her “babies”. She would defend her babies fiercely, verbally if needed, but mostly by offering guidance, wisdom and straight talk.

I learned from my sister the practical distillations of my father’s teachings. She put into action what he taught, and I learned how they worked in real life through her example.

My sister exemplified my mother’s perseverance in her dogged pursuit of what was right for her babies. This perseverance flourished in the face of adversity. There is no more noble pursuit than to persevere in the service of others.

This she taught me.

MEDITATIONS PART 2

From my mother I learned to be a professional. I learned to be even-tempered under pressure. I learned from her organization of thought and processes. I learned to order my thoughts, and to keep emotions from negatively influencing my decisions.

From my mother I learned the mechanics of good communication. I learned the techniques of active listening, and how to disagree with a person without attacking them.

From her I learned to set high expectations, first for myself, then for others. I learned that I should never expect from others what I don’t expect for myself. I learned the principles of principled leadership.

My mother’s example taught me perseverance. She was sexually molested by her father, repeatedly. She had every reason to be cold, distant and negative, but that is not how she was. She was an alcoholic, and that could have destroyed her life, but it didn’t. She could have collapsed with the weight of betrayal and pain, but she didn’t. Her father’s evil, her alcoholism and its attendant physical maladies were all obstacles, but never impediments. Her first and second love, her mother and father, committed the ultimate betrayal. He for molesting her, she for allowing it to happen. Yet she was able to emotionally connect to my father for over 50 years. Despite the horrible example of her parents, she was able to raise three successful children. Despite her alcoholism, she was able to have an outstanding professional career, obtained a Bachelor’s degree and then a Master’s degree, and made significant contributions to the processes of care at numerous hospitals.

From my mother I learned the value of a quiet discussion. Especially after my father died, I would sit with her, sipping coffee and having quiet discussions. I listened as she shared her life’s regrets, her favorite moments with the love of her life, and her joy at the way her children turned out. I would offer her insights, humorous commentary, but mainly listened. I learned more from my mother in that last year than I had all of my life. I know know that God decided I was ready to hear what she had to say.

My father’s death left a huge hole in my heart. It prepared me for the loss of my mother last year. It still sucked, but was not as devastating as it might otherwise have been. What her death did was remove the last parent from my life. No more quiet discussions, no more examples of perseverance, no more quiet pride in her children.

I miss her.