Rodney Strange's Blog, page 12

'The Last First Day'

Summer came to an abrupt end just the other day with the sound of a school bell. Just like that, summer and all its glory faded beneath the feet of students' shiny new shoes, left on a sidewalk leading to a school building, gasping its last breath as it withered away. I would venture to guess that the start of school effects most everybody in one way or another. Parents of youngsters feel the sting of an empty pocketbook as their children trudge off to their first day of class. Grandparents and relatives ooh and aah at all those first day of school pictures. Teachers filled with anticipation make the final touches on their classrooms just minutes before another batch of students appear through their doorway. Me? I struggle with my lack of patience as I recall how I had forgotten how snarled the traffic becomes between here and work on that first day of school. Yes, the first day of school is always one of adjustment for most of us.
This year, the first day of school was different. My daughter appeared from her room at 7:45, stylishly dressed, and gave me a nervous 'first day' smile.
"It looks like you're ready to kick off this school year!" I smiled back at her.
She nodded and gave me a hug...and then she was gone. As I watched her drive away, a lump formed in my throat. Today was her last first day of school. I pondered whether the fact had entered her mind and if it had, did it hit her as hard as it hit me. This first day of her senior year signified the beginning of the end of a grueling twelve year journey. In the grand scheme of life, she was literally just weeks away from completing an era of her young life. Her and perhaps a million more young adults will step out into the real world in nine months and claim it as theirs, eager to begin their adventures.
I remember when I was there, so many years ago. Young and pretty dumb, the prospect of failure never crossed my mind the day I walked out of my high school for the very last time. Invincible and full of hope and dreams, I took life by the horns and hung on for what would prove to be the ride of a lifetime. I never looked back and certainly never wished I could go back to that old red brick school. That era had come to a close. There was nowhere left to go but forward.
But the other day, as the reality of this last first day of school sunk in, I found myself in an unsettled state of mind. I wasn't the least bit concerned about how this might or might not affect the last of my brood. The girl that drove away on that last first day of school has charted her course for the future and the only thing holding her back from that future is the present. But me...the end of an era looms before me as well, and I find myself unsure of what will come next.
Over the course of my parenthood, I've seen four children off on so many first days of school. There are memories that span a lifetime bouncing through my head as I contemplate what is to come when that final bell rings just a few months away. This last bell will really be my last. Those morning commutes to school consisted of moments that created the bond that held me and those children so close. Frustrating shopping adventures in mall after mall fill my memory as I recall nervously forking over money I never really seemed to have. Nights of homework with broken pencil lead and spilled tears. From Little Dribblers basketball games to state high school playoffs, piano recitals to volleyball and prom dresses...memories to cherish. Cub scouts and FFA livestock shows, and giggly little girls cluttering the living room floor for a Saturday night sleepover. Young men knocking on my door and an exchange of a nervous first handshake with the father of the girl they've had their eye on all year. Listening to stories about one teacher or another, late night talks about friends who've gone astray, and late nights pacing the floors, praying my child would walk through that door in one piece...more memories of an era soon gone.
I have friends, acquaintances, and co-workers who have crossed this threshold before me. I cast an eye toward them now and then, searching for a signal of what comes after. Their lives seem to carry on. There seem to be those who actually enjoy being relieved of their responsibilities of parenthood. They fish, buy a camper, travel. They finally are able to dress themselves nicely. Some buy a state of the art television to watch football games on now that there is no loud music to drown out the sound. They paint the trim on the house that has been neglected for years and they plant a garden. And when they venture out to eat occasionally...they don't pick MacDonalds.
As I sit here tonight writing this foolishness, the house is quiet...just me and a dog that really isn't mine. It is the last first football game of the season and my senior is rightfully in the stands cheering for her team. The dog lays at my feet staring at the door, awaiting the girl she loves to return home. Me too, if I were honest. There will come a day when I will truly miss waiting and watching the door.
Please, please do not waste a single moment of this era with your child. Cherish each and every challenge that comes your way as they make their way from point A to point B in their young lives. Let nothing stand in your way of enjoying the journey with your children, not a job, not the lack of money, not another adult that just doesn't understand the importance of your duties as a parent. For, take my word, it is a very short journey from that first first day of school to the very last day. And when that last last day of school comes...my heart will be filled with pride...and my eyes with tears. The most important duty God Himself ever trusts upon us is that of being a parent. Hold those times dear in your heart for there will come a time when those days will be...gone.

'When Will America Be Great Again?'

When will America be great again? The question implies that I personally don't think America is great at this point in time, doesn't it? Well, I'm entitled to my opinions and I know I can take my opinions and a nickel down to the 7-11 and see what it'll get me. This post is my final blog of the series 'When Was America Great' that took a look at the decades spanning the latter part of the twentieth century. (If you missed these blogs, you can see them here.)
I'm not going to dissect every event that has occurred during the first sixteen years of this century because...well, most of you were there and hopefully you were paying attention. Some of you apparently weren't. But I will jar your memory to a single event that changed America and directed our great nation onto an entirely different path, one we were so completely unfamiliar with that we found ourselves scrambling to recover from. It happened on September 11, 2001. Do you remember? In my opinion, this single tragic event was the day America's greatness died.
Sadly, some of you reading this are too young to recall the times prior to 9/11. What you've grown to accept as the norm in our nation is not what us 'old folks' remember as greatness. We remember a time when we never feared foreigners attacking us on our own soil. We were 'America the Great,' after all. Who would dare venture onto America's turf and murder innocent citizens? Today we know the answer to that and fifteen years later, the threat is more real than ever.
Today's young adults cannot recall a time when we visualized a bright and prosperous future for ourselves. What lies ahead for our teens, for our millennials? Back in the day, we graduated high school, a few lucky ones went off to college, and the rest of us found a job of some sort and started a family. We hammered our lives out of whatever we could, and looking back, I think most of us did a fine job of making a life for ourselves and our families. Today, even with a four-year college education, many of our young people struggle to find a means of supporting themselves. Many certainly are not earning the salary their education merits. Therefore, they don't see the greatness that the generations before them were blessed to live through. Our millennials aren't buying houses or cars, nor the trinkets that their predecessors indulged themselves with. With a stagnant economy and an unsure career future, the young citizens of today unknowingly continue to feed the beast of a rocky financial future.
Perhaps as the scene plays out, it will be the millennials who right our wrongs. Those generations who are taking up their space at the present have spent themselves into certain oblivion. Unwilling to forego the material pleasures that we grew accustomed to in the last decade, we have buried ourselves in debt. Thanks to the promises made good by President Clinton in the nineties, everyone in America was able to purchase a home. Many, yes, way too many, purchased homes they simply could not afford. I was married to a mortgage underwriter during those times and frequently over dinner she would mention closing one home loan or another often with some comment like this: "I closed on a loan for a half million dollar home today. Do you know those folks don't even make what we do? And they bought a half million dollar house!" Well, I had enough sense to know I couldn't afford a half million dollar house, but apparently lots of other folks didn't. This ultimately led to the bursting financial bubble that many still like to attribute to George W. Take my word for it, Mr. Clinton had everything to do with that meltdown. But hey, lots of people got to live in really nice homes for a few years.
Then along came President O...O...I just can't get that out of my mouth. He promised change. Boy howdy, did we get change. America entered an era of government literally running every facet of our daily lives, right down to our restrooms. The era of moral decline...yeah, I don't want to hear your opinion. It's not worth any more than mine. Back in what I like to call 'the good old days,' we had all the variations of people that we do today. We had gay people, we had transexuals, folks who believed in abortion and those who didn't. There were those who didn't like guns and those who did. We had citizens of all races and colors and we had folks who snuck across the border. And we had regular church goers and those who never went. For the most part, we just lived and let live. Nobody really got in anyone else's business. We didn't see the need for government to get in our business, and truthfully, I don't think we would have let the government run our lives the way we've allowed it to do today. We sort of liked our freedom back in those days. And we weren't scared of our government back in America's days of greatness. If you were to ask me who I'm most fearful of today...ISIS, Iran, Russia, China, North Korea or our own government...yep.
So, back to the question, when will America be great again? Let me ask you this. How is YOUR America? How is your day to day life? How's your financial status? How free do you feel as an American citizen? My America isn't all that bad. I own my home, lock, stock, and barrel. The old pickup is paid for. I think I'll be able to get my daughter in the front door of the college down the road. My retirement check is just a reach away whenever I'm ready to give up the daily grind, so yeah...not great but my America is okay.
Those are the questions I ask myself whenever a presidential election year looms before me. I personally fear there may be dire times ahead for America if we stump our toe on this election. Those who say America is great at this point in history...are lying to you. I've seen the GREAT AMERICA and this ain't it. Throughout our history far too many of our very own gave their lives for our right to live in a Great America. We owe it to them to do everything in our power to see that America will again be great! We owe it to our children, our grandchildren, and the future of America. The ball is in our court. We cannot go down in history as America's final chance at greatness...and we blew it. America can be great again...yes even Tony the Tiger GGGreat!

 

 

'When Was America Great ~ Part Four'

The Nineties

 

In my last blog post, I established the decade of the 1980's as one of genuine greatness with America riding high under the leadership of Ronald Reagan. The dawn of the nineties missed not a single beat as the legacy of Reagan transitioned into a reign of Bush the First. Our nation's economy continued to flourish as we turned the calendar to a new decade. a country full of hope and aspirations.
I found myself in a triple-digit position with a company I had dedicated the majority of the eighties to. With the beginning of a new decade, I relocated my family to a small Texas community of around six thousand that had reaped the harvest of a booming '80's economy. The town had all but posted a billboard at the edge of town declaring that within its community resided fourteen millionaires and one, yes...one billionaire, all earning their bragging rights during the decade of the eighties. I, with a salary of a mere hundred grand and some change, did my best to fit into a community whose golf course ranked in the top ten in the state of Texas. It was a bizarre experience for me, a man who had, in his own mind, finally achieved his ultimate career goals, to be humbled by 'the rich and famous' surrounding him and yes, perhaps even snubbing him for his failure to fit in.
Indeed, the nineties could perhaps be characterized by such TV shows as 'The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.' America was drawn to fame and fortune as perhaps never before. Our nation had entered uncharted territory with more millionaires per capita than ever in the history of our existence. We questioned what our next move should be...as families, as communities, as a country. With money in the bank and jungle in our pockets, we experimented with extravagance. We parked two new cars in the three car garages that came with our newly acquired hundred thousand dollar homes. We saved for our children's college educations and spoiled them with wonderfully expensive trinkets. We invested in the stock market and made even more money to fuel our ravenous desires. If wealth and career success is the definition of American Greatness, America charged into the first few years of the nineties in pure, unedited greatness.
While America basked in her greatness in 1991, Saddam Hussein launched an offensive which resulted in a takeover of the country of Kuwait, which held vast resources of oil. President George the First and his First General, Colin Powell, launched a one hundred day war to beat the Iraqi forces back into their own country. America was introduced to its military greatness, with 'Shock and Awe' as CNN showed us raw footage of massive smart bombs precisely picking off one target after another. Desert Storm verified what we already knew...America was just that great! And we thought George the First was great as well, wrapping up the year with an 89% approval rating.
The early nineties was my first recollection of a media that shifted from their traditional role of objective reporting to a more 'how we the media want you to see it' approach. In '92, Arkansas Governor Billy Clinton wooed America media with his saxophone and, coupled with one arrogant and annoying billionaire named Ross Perot, managed to oust George the First from office. As Billy took the helm, America continued its greatness. The economy grew by four percent per year, 1.7 million jobs were created annually, and stocks quadrupled in value. The average household income rose by ten percent throughout the decade and believe it or not, we even had a surplus in the government's budget. Is there a word greater that great? For if there is, America was there!
There are those who bathe in the nostalgia of the nineties who proclaim that perhaps the decade was America's greatest. But it was not without its hiccups. Many Americans found themselves mostly unaffected by the events which seemed so distant from their leather recliners within their carpeted dens, and had it not been for CNN, we might have not even noticed...the Branch Dividians in Waco. Or OJ Simpson and his glove, Rodney King, South Africa's dismantled apartheid, or Princess Diana's divorce and later on, her death.
We discovered hip-hop and Britney Spears, Seinfeld and Friends, and Harry Potter. With our ample supply of cash, we purchased computers with Windows 95 and turned ourselves on to Yahoo and eBay. We went to the movies and watched 'Pulp Fiction' and Toy Story.' Our children bought CDs at an unprecedented rate as boy bands such as 'Backstreet Boys' and N'Sync became even wealthier than the rest of us. We were vaguely aware of some talk about an intern named Monica and...a cigar? But everything was just so great...so Tony the Tiger GGGreat, that even with the Lewinsky scandal, we still gave our president a 73% approval rating.
So we have two back to back decades of American greatness. During that era, Americans saw a twenty-eight percent increase in household income. America had not only become a beacon of hope for the rest of the world, but our greatness lent itself to the world. Planet Earth had reached a prosperous plateau, and one of primarily peaceful circumstances. What fueled this period of greatness? I believe it was the despair of the seventies. America, with her determination and resilience, fought back against the failures of the seventies, with her sights set on, yes...greatness.
It has been said that the only thing people learn from history is that nobody learns anything from history. I think we did back in the era of our greatness, the decades of the eighties and nineties. But perhaps our greatness made us grow complacent. Like fattened sheep, were we doomed to be led to slaughter? As we fretted over the biggest f our worries of the nineties, something so silly...Y2K, a new century, unknown to us, loomed ominously just around the corner. We wrap up this series, 'When Was America Great?' with my next post. In the meantime, take some time to ponder...'When Will America Be Great Again?'

If you were a fan of the nineties, you will enjoy my latest novel 'The Chimera Parables'...see it here

'When Was America Great ~ Part Three'

The Eighties

 

So far in this series of posts, we've raffled through the decades of the sixties and seventies searching for the answer to 'When was America great?' While indeed both decades presented milestones that propelled our country forward, each had their drawbacks, some with dire consequences. As the seventies drew to a close, America was experiencing double-digit inflation, high unemployment, interest rates nearing twenty percent, and a dark cloud of impending doom. Coupled with serious foreign issues with the USSR and a hostage situation involving American citizens and Iran, President Jimmy Carter's presidency hobbled into the eighties on its last leg.
I hobbled into the decade of the eighties as well with an old car that barely ran, a wife and new baby, and a job that paid very little for the eighty hours a week I invested into it. The company had 'promoted' me and forced me into the wilds of west Texas, to a place named after the king of cereal, Post, Texas. My eighty-hour workweeks became closer to a hundred and with rampant inflation, what little raise I had received with my promotion evaporated like raindrops on a hot summer sidewalk. After several months, disappointed, disgruntled, and desperate, I quit my job and moved back to where I belonged...back to the town I had come to call home.
Meanwhile, a movie star named Reagan had won the presidency by a landslide , garnering an eight million vote lead over President Carter. Mr. Reagan had promised to make America great again and amazingly, no sooner had I settled back down in my hometown, everything really did seem to get better. I landed a decent job, bought a house and a better car. I planted a garden and bought a few goats and some chickens. I spent many of my evenings trying to figure out a Rubiks Cube while listening to Joan Jett belt out 'I Love Rock and Roll.' MTV came along and I discovered Madonna, who really didn't seem to be like any virgin I knew. I and the rest of America discovered Pacman which became even bigger than...oh, yeah, John Lennon got shot. Prince Charles married this smoking hot blonde and Reverend Myung Moon married 2,075 couples at the Madison Square Garden, thus the Moonies.
Michael Jackson got rich with 'Thriller' and E.T. and Ghostbusters made our imaginations run wild.
Somewhere in the early eighties as recession came and went, but as the song goes...'we were so poor that we couldn't tell.' Heck, we had survived the seventies! Mr. Reagan would tell us it would all be just fine, and we believed him. We'd just go about our daily lives watching MTV and playing Pacman. I discovered George Strait, Reba, and some boys who called themselves 'Alabama.' While Don Henley and the rest of the Eagles were trying to go solo, I bought a cowboy hat and a pair of boots. In '83 Vanessa Williams became the first black Miss America, but then some dirty pictures of her showed up. M*A*S*H went off the air and 125 million people watched their last show. Motorola invented the first mobile phone if you could call it that...the bag phone and Sony invented camcorders. AIDS appeared on the horizon which made us all ponder our pasts.
Urban Cowboy, Gilley's, and Dallas threw many of us into the cowboy culture, which was about the only culture the eighties seemed to have. Fashion left much to be desired and to the best of my recollection, there was nothing whatsoever sexual during that entire decade, except Demi Moore in 'Saint Elmo's Fire.' I have said from time to time that the eighties was perhaps the most boring decade of any I've lived through. Those who observe the rest of us might tell you that the generation of the eighties was a materialistic, self-centered bunch driven by their quest for wealth. Indeed, better times had arrived. Most households had two wage earners and a surplus of cash. And life was good. As Mr. Reagan had promised, government was no longer up in our business. Those who had money to save or invest saw generous returns on their investments. One could buy a hundred thousand dollar certificate of deposit and earn a cool ten grand a year on it...and some did just that. Me, I just tended to my garden and played Pacman, but life was good, nonetheless.
The space shuttle mission was in full swing and I remember how I marveled as I watched the Enterprise glide from the depths of space and land precisely on some concrete runway in some remote desert. I remember the horror on that January morning in 1986 as the Challenger Space Shuttle exploded just after liftoff. But we didn't give up on those space missions, because...America was great in those days, you know!
Let me tell you how great we were in those days. Mr. Reagan told Russian President Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the wall separating Berlin...and you know what? He did it! The cold war ended just like that.
I've spent quite a bit of time researching the events of the eighties in preparation for this article. Sure, there were a few glitches. The Iran-Contra affair was a pretty noticeable glitch, for example. But, boring as I seem to recall it being, I remember the eighties as a time for greatness in America. After eight years, Ronald Reagan handed the wheel over to George H. Bush in 1988 and the following year showed a growth rate of 3.8%, the largest in four years and an unemployment rate of 5.3%, a low of fourteen years. Army General Colin Powell was elevated to the position of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, becoming the first African-American to be nominated to that post. By 1989 the Berlin Wall was nothing more than a memory.
Me? Life was so good that I bought my wife a faux fur coat for Christmas and my son a Gameboy! As I sat in my recliner watching the first episode of the Simpsons, two shadowy figures in a dimly lit room huddled closely, and in muted voices:
Gore: "What is it?"
Gates: "I call it Windows."
Gore: "What do you do with it?"
Gates: "It's like a...window to...somewhere?"
Gore (stroking his chin in deep thought) : "I've got an idea..."
He scribbles three large letters onto a yellow legal pad on the table before him...WWW

Take my word for it...the eighties were indeed an era of greatness for America. Would the nineties be able to keep pace? Next blog...don't miss it!

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'When Was America Great ~ Part Two'

The Seventies

 

America rode into the decade of the nineteen-seventies on a horse with no name singing 'Me and you and a dog named Boo' and 'Jeremiah was a bullfrog.' Rock music had discovered Broadway (or was it the other way around) with 'Jesus Christ Superstar.' We wore bell bottoms and paisley shirts, with gold chains around our necks. Well, I didn't...I had just entered my teen years and still sporting Converse tennis shoes. But, all in all, to the best of my recollection, the beginning of the seventies seemed to kick off with a bang.
I discovered I was a normal thirteen-year-old, my ear glued to the radio most of my free time, absorbing all that..what you young folks now call classic rock. My daddy, a wandering man with restless feet, had settled his family in Ft. Worth, and I adapted to the city life quite well. I attended a large school, made lots of friends, and, to my surprise, even found myself attracted to a young girl or two. Bill Mack, the Midnight Cowboy on WBAP, would lull me to sleep every night with Johnny Cash's 'Sunday Morning Coming Down' and I'd struggle to fight off sleep until he'd finally play a song from some thirteen-year-old girl from west Texas named Tanya Tucker. It was her I really fell for back in those days.
In the summer of 1971, my daddy decided he'd stayed put long enough and moved us out to the eastern edge of west Texas to a dusty, rundown community of around three thousand people. I found myself in shock after the life of the city and vowed I'd never like this new town...not it nor the redneck hicks who populated it.
Meanwhile, on another planet called Earth, Simon and Garfunkle were singing about some bridge, 'Patton' was the movie of the year (I didn't see it until two years later when the drive-in finally showed it) and a TV show called 'All in the Family' aired which again I didn't see because...we lived so far out in the middle of NOWHERE! President Nixon was still an okay guy and Phyllis George was even better as Miss America.
The following year Carol King and 'The Godfather' were the talk of the town...well, not our town because we had no clue what was happening in the rest of the world. I spent my Saturday nights in front of the TV watching 'Hee-Haw' with tears in my eyes, wishing I was out on the town with my friends, who were probably sitting at home with tears in their eyes, too. We didn't know it, but Atari had introduced the very first 'video game' called Pong, but we were well aware that Dallas won the Superbowl that year.
Just as 1973 rolled around, we pulled out of the Vietnam war, which had been going on most of my life. Henry Kissinger won the Nobel Peace Prize. Cronkite talked about something called Watergate on the evening news but I didn't pay much attention to that because, you know, 'Hee-Haw.'
It was the mid-seventies that I...and America, seemed to spring to life. I started driving and Nixon resigned. I didn't pay much attention because...no more 'Hee-Haw.' I discovered a whole new life out there in the midst of that Texas no man's land. Whether I liked to admit it or not, that little podunk town had become home, a place where memories were yet to be made...memories so cherished that decades later I would write my first true novel about those times. 'Nineteen Seventy Something,' I'd call it. I discovered true love...and lust. I ruined my ears to the sounds of Grand Funk Railroad and The Eagles. Yes, whatever was happening on that other planet called Earth, I could care less about. I had come of age!
As 1975 drew to a close, I found myself graduated from high school, in college, and on my own...not necessarily in that order. 'Saturday Night Live' introduced itself and the Coneheads to America. Olivia Newton-John had captured my heart and Stevie Wonder had captured the radio. I was burning up the back roads in my Plymouth Roadrunner still addicted to the Eagles. With a steady girl and a standby just in case, my life had never been better. And perhaps even America was at the top of her game as well. In '76 she celebrated her bi-centennial, and we all celebrated right along with her. So was America great in the seventies...was it Tony the Tiger GGGreat? Well...no.
The decade began with the Kent State tragedy where police killed four college student protesters. That didn't sit well with America. Watergate took up much of the early decade with both a president and vice-president resigning. Perhaps the nation found itself in a dull lull during the mid-seventies, still reeling from Watergate while still trying to deal with the aftershock of the Vietnam war...namely so many was veterans who for the first time in the nation's history, came home in shame. And Roe vs Wade set the stage for what would become a battle that would be fought for decades to come.
Then there was Jimmy Carter...deep sigh. The Arab Oil Embargo caused gas prices to soar to over a dollar a gallon, launching an era of double-digit inflation. The seventies became the decade that would force mothers into the workforce simply to help support their families. When the decade began, the average annual household income was pegged at a little over eight thousand dollars. As the decade drew to a close, that number had doubled to sixteen thousand and still the majority of families struggled to make ends meet. Out of all the hardships I recall during that decade, it was inflation that literally dropped America to her knees. It got so bad that farmers drove their tractors to Washington DC in protest. To finish out the seventies, a group of Iranian militants seized an American Embassy and took hostages. If we hadn't had enough of Jimmy Carter...that put us over the edge.
And me...the seventies didn't end well for me either. The love of my life moved to California, came back a year later to marry me only to find me married to another woman...with a child on the way! Don't even ask. And to top it off, the Eagles broke up and, get this...DISCO!
The seventies hold a special place in my heart, but I can't say that all was great in America in those days....not GGGREAT. Would the eighties be better? Well, there was a man named Reagan...

'When Was America Great?'

Part One ~ The Sixties

The very last thing I want to do here is talk politics because I know we all have our bellies full of all that crap after two back to back conventions. But, what seems to be a common theme throughout this election year is...America is...or isn't great, depending on who you listen to. I personally tend to lean with those who are thinking 'not so great' at this point in history, but what do I know? I have spent considerable time this week pondering exactly when was America great? I mean, great as in Tony the Tiger GGGGREAT! I want y'all to know this has taken a lot of brain power on my part, and I am aware that quite a few of you haven't been around as long as I have, so...like those politicians we're not going to talk about...you're just going to have to take my word on this.
As the decade of the nineteen-sixties rolled around, I, much like now, was just cruising through life with my blinker on...dirty diaper and all. Granted, I perhaps wasn't so well versed in the politics of the era, but as I dug into the depths of my memory this week, I discovered I can surprisingly recall quite a few events of the sixties. So, was the decade of the sixties the era of America's greatness? I'll let you decide.
While those arch enemies of the Democratic party, the Russians, were shooting monkeys into space, President John F. Kennedy, not one to be outdone, put men on the moon. I remember watching the moon walks on television at school in kindergarten. Now, those of you who got a visual of that, I hope it was a snowy vision because that's the best television got back in those days. But, even at the tender age of five, I remember coming to the realization that America had done something great. I think everyone in my class stood taller, placed our little hands over our hearts, and recited the Pledge of Allegiance louder after those moon missions because we all knew America was great.
I remember the first time I saw Elvis on TV and somehow I knew he would be great, just like America. Elvis shook things up quite a bit in America when he came along. All the women loved the way he moved his hips as he sang 'All Shook Up." I recall my daddy wasn't too keen on Elvis, and perhaps a lot of other men who couldn't move their hips like Elvis. but somehow I knew Elvis would become a part of what would make America great in the sixties.
I remember that Sunday night the Beatles sang on the Ed Sullivan show. They threw America into a tizzy and while they may not have necessarily made America great, there sure were a lot of kids a bit older than me who thought they hung the moon, which have I mentioned, we landed on in the sixties. The Beatles started a wildfire that changed the music scene in America and was responsible for opening the door to great bands like, well...The Doors and the Rolling Stones, Creedence Clearwater, The Byrds, and The Kinks. Somewhere during that period of American Revival, young folks began to 'search for themselves.' Hippies and communes, peace signs and pot, all began making inroads into American culture. It all seemed pretty harmless to me, but what did I know...I stayed pretty busy watching Saturday morning cartoons.
What we would today call a parody band, the Monkees appeared every Saturday morning, singing 'Hey, hey, we're the Monkees..." The Banana Splits, HR Puffnstuff, Johnny Quest, and of course, Scooby Doo, came creeping into our young lives, changing the way we very young Americans saw our world around us. After supper every night, we'd all gather around the TV and tune in our favorite western TV show. Yes, there was a western on every single night. Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Wagon Train, Rawhide, Maverick...well, heck, there may have been many westerns on every night. I remember the hero in each show always got shot in the arm every week and was good as new by the next show until he'd get shot again. We played Cowboys and Native Americans at recess. Not sure that's what we called it, but I don't know of many of us who grew up with an overwhelming urge to shoot people like the young folks seem to do today. And yep, I remember the first Star Trek show...I mean the very first episode. Black and white, buddy...and fuzzy.
I remember how my kindergarten teacher cried when the principal stepped into the room and told her President Kennedy had been killed. I remember my mama was crying when I got home that afternoon. I remember everyone cried for a time after that. I recall the day his brother, Robert, died. And I remember Martin Luther King...someone killed him, too. I recall the racial tension in the sixties. nearly eight hundred riots, hundreds killed, and entire communities destroyed.
I vividly recall how we had nuclear drills at school, ducking beneath our desks and covering our heads to protect us from a Russian nuclear attack. Cities had designated fall-out shelters with yellow signs informing the public that it was as safe a place as any to ride out a nuclear attack. I remember the Cuban Missle Crisis...'The Real Deal.'
And there was the Vietnam war which dragged on throughout the entire decade. Lots of my friends' brothers died in that war. I remember the school bus stopping in front of one friend's house or another and the entire busload of kids would grow deathly quiet as we caught sight of a wreath of flowers placed on the front door. Parents would appear at the door, tears streaming down their faces as they struggled to find the courage to tell a child that their brother was never coming home. Those soldiers who did retrun...never seemed quite right, really.
And that's when the protests started. Young people took to the streets and swarmed college campuses to voice their opinions. The American government wasn't as tolerable to protesters back in those days and just as the decade of the sixties faded to black...well, that's a story for next week.
Well, there you have it. Were the sixties the era of American Greatness...I mean...GGGREAT? Not so much. In my next blog, we'll take a look at the seventies, MY personal favorite decade. Long hair, fast cars, loud music, and America's coming of Age! 

'Tabloid Journalism'

(Author's Note: I wrote this article before the Wikileaks DNC Document Dump became public. It appears the Democratic National Convention promises to be even more entertaining than the RNC. I can't wait to read what the tabloid reporters dig up!)
Perhaps it was a futile attempt to break the monotony of that deluge of political mumbo-jumbo that caused the major news networks to veer across that white line during the Republican convention last week. Or maybe it was due to a lack of qualified journalists who gathered in mass for the four-day hoopla. It seemed to me that some of the mainstream news media may have come up with a scheme to outsource their network coverage to reporters for the National Enquirer. I think that may be it, because, folks...that's about what we got from our 'most reliable news sources' minute by minute...tabloid quality journalism.
My high school journalism teacher, Miss Mason, was surely turning over in her grave, or hopefully glaring from some cloud in the heavens, her half-rimmed reading glasses poised on her nose as she wagged a finger.
"THAT is not journalism in any shape, form, or fashion! I insist on a re-write!"
Yep, I can hear those words spew from her mouth as those pale blue eyes strip all in the room of their dignity.
I'd like to pause here and encourage you to check what I've written so far for any sign of plagiarism. There is a slight possibility that someone, somewhere in the course of history may have uttered a phrase similar to something I've penned...we good so far? Let's continue.
You may have noticed the lengths those tabloid journalists went to last week to divert our attention away from the actual convention. For example, Melania Trump's speech. We were forced to wallow in those continuous 'news' stories for three days. They even presented diagrams and side by side videos of Ms. Trump and...who did she plagiarize again? It took Donald Trump blowing an air kiss to his running mate to finally get all that laid to rest! What I really wanted to know through all that is...just how old is Melania? And how tall, 'cause she looks kinda tall. (5'11") See, that's what every American male wanted to know. We don't care where she got the words for her speech, which, may I add, were spoken eloquently, accented with that charming foreign accent.
As for the Donald blowing Mr. Pence a kiss...from what I observed, Mr. Trump is a kisser! He kissed everybody all week long! He kissed his wife, his kids, his kids' wives, the VP wannabe. If I had been in his shoes, I definitely would have laid a big kiss on Laura Ingraham. Smokin' hot! I realized as I watched her speech that she was indeed the perfect woman...the one I've been searching for all these years. I secretly hoped Donald Trump would kiss her for me.
But did the tabloid journalists even mention how well Laura Ingraham wore that blue dress? NO! They concentrated on Megyn Kelly's strapless dress instead. I do believe one of her fellow journalists actually said, and for fear of accusations of plagiarism, I quote,
"Looks like Megyn is going to a pool party after tonight's convention."
News reporting at it's finest. I won't even mention the long, drawn out commentary on how the balloons fell all wrong at the conclusion of the convention.
Tabloid journalism is not new. Major news networks have been skewing the news for decades. I remember the night I turned off NBC's Nightly News with Tom Brokaw. George Bush the First had spoken his famous words months earlier, and I quote:
"Read my lips, no new taxes."
Brokaw apparently appointed himself as chief executioner and had relentlessly whittled away at George every single night. And there he was yet again, driving another nail in the coffin as I sat trying to enjoy my supper. I sighed, dropped my fork on my plate, and walked across the kitchen to turn off the TV. I've not watched NBC news since, nor will I until my dying day.
I want to briefly mention something I mentioned in last week's blog, which is not plagiarism since I wrote it. I am convinced that there are some who are younger than me who sincerely believe everything they hear from the news media. Now listen to me...you, you, you and you! All ten of you who read this blog. Believe it or not, the media slants the news. I swear I just heard Miss Mason scream! I don't mean to insult anyone, but honestly, you would have to be an utter moron (can I say that?) not to realize that the news you hear on your TV or read on your smartphone has been twisted like a German pretzel. Want my advice? Turn that crap off and go buy a National Enquirer!
And...learn to think for yourself. If you get the urge to read some news, google 'The Onion.' Those folks tell it about as true as anyone.
Now..some news you can really use. Melania is forty-six years old, twenty-four years younger than her husband and twelve years older than his oldest daughter...lucky old dog. AND...Laura is, wait...did I see that right? Six-foot-three! I'm gonna have to get a stepstool if I'm ever going to kiss that girl! (http://wikipicky.com)
BTW, plagiarism is a very hard word to spell. A full fifty percent of those tabloid journalists misspelled it all week long last week. That should tell you something right there. Feel free to plagiarize this along to your friends...

'In the Name of Social Protest'

"All of this began when some of you who know better, and are old enough to know better, let young people think that they have the right to choose the laws they would obey, as long as they were doing it in the name of social protest." Ronald Reagan concerning a violent student protest at Berkley University in 1969.

And here we are in 2016, forty-seven years later. Some of those student protesters grew up to become professors who taught our children. One only has to look around at today's America to see what they've accomplished.
I found myself in the company of several thirty-something-year-olds the other day and I purposely ventured into a restricted area of conversation...politics. I knew where the talk would go, but I genuinely wish to attempt to understand where and how some of what I consider 'the younger generation' come up with their opinions and beliefs. As I expected, we were on totally opposite ends of the spectrum. I wanted to know why. And after an hour, I still had no answer. I came to the conclusion that the majority of younger folks in our society today believe what they believe because...they've been told that's how they should believe. We've become a nation of follow-the-crowd. Wow, I really don't fit in.
I've been around for over a half a century...and I've paid attention most of it. I realized that much of what is considered 'mainstream progressive beliefs' really stems from lack of experience...and wisdom.
If we are going to legalize marijuana, why don't we make meth legal as well? If a man is truly attracted to young children, shouldn't we acknowledge his feelings and permit him the same rights as we do LGBTs? If Joe Blow thinks he's a cat, we should pass laws that force every business, school, and church to provide a litter box in their restrooms, right? If Mary Sue considered having an abortion but finally decided to bring her baby into the world...then six months later decides she just doesn't want to deal with it, should we allow her to 'dispose' of it? If I think I've been slighted because of my race, my ethnicity, or my culture...there should be no laws to stand in my way as I seek revenge...and if there are, I'll break them!
Ah, I'm getting myself into deep trouble here. Someone is going to come knocking on my door...take me away and lock me in some dark dungeon for eternity. Why? Because I don't think like I'm suppose to.
What those younger than me have been taught is that if they shout loud enough, march through city streets with their protest signs long enough...the rest of us will succumb and allow them to have their way. It began when they were three years old. If they protested long enough, mama and daddy succumbed and allowed them to have their way. In fact, rather than have to listen to a screaming child, they just let them do as they pleased. If that child didn't want to clean their room...well, lets not rock the boat. If they said they didn't want to go to school...no problem sweetie.
Then they grew up. And they demanded they have their way. And our society didn't want to rock the boat. If we do hesitate even the slightest, they take to the streets and shout and wave their signs. Protesters, we used to call them.
Protests have become riots. Property is destroyed. People get injured. People die. People who don't think like they are supposed to, and those who try to maintain order...die mercilessly.
Three countries to date have issued travel warnings to their citizens: Don't travel to the United States. If you do, stay away from highly populated areas where protests, riots, and violence may break out. (Three Countries Issue Travel Warnings About Visiting The U.S. ~ Huffington Post ) The Army has issued warnings to all military personnel to avoid 37 cities this week who have potentially dangerous protests scheduled (U.S. military told to avoid 37 American cities for fear anti-police protests may turn violent - Washington Times )

Welcome to the United States of America 2016. I really miss Ronald Reagan...it wouldn't have come to this on his watch. I gotta go...build a wall around my house.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggUeDa48V4g

 

'All That Matters'

It was a spur of the moment decision, really...made on a whim. My best friend, Big Ed, and I happened upon an accident one Saturday night back in Nineteen Seventy Something (coincidentally I happen to be the author of a top notch novel by the same name.) For reasons I do not remember now, but it couldn't have been any good ones, we had ventured across the Red River into Oklahoma, just north of our hometown of Delight, Texas (we'll call it that since that's the name of the town in my book.) We were cruising along with the windows rolled down on that warm summer night, likely jamming to Grand Funk Railroad or Pink Floyd, our minds as free as the wind that blew through our shaggy hair.
It was that single headlight that first caught my attention and I waved to draw Big Ed's eyes toward the direction the beam of light cast itself into the black sky just ahead of us. As we approached, we saw an old '64 Ford pickup in the bar ditch, smoke billowing from beneath the hood. Big Ed slowed the Gran Torino, finding the shoulder of the road and as we came to a stop beside the pickup, we saw what had caused the accident. Sprawled in the middle of the road was a Black Angus bull, gasping for breath as he lay dying.
We both scurried toward the Ford where an elderly man and his wife sat stoically, staring straight ahead. Their faces were covered with blood and I could readily tell the old man had at the very least broken his nose. Big Ed, who, as you could guess, earned his name by his stature, grasped the door handle on the driver's side and gave a mighty tug. The door failed to budge.
"Mister, are you hurt bad?" I shouted.
He shook his head slowly, "I think the wife and I are just bunged up. The doors won't open."
"Do you think y'all can climb out the windows?" Big Ed questioned, "We'll gladly take you to a hospital!"
"Naw, my wife's on a walker. She can't get out that window. Y'all go on into Eldorado and hunt down the constable. Tell him to send an ambulance."

I'd like to tell you the rest of that story, but this is a blog, not a book. I'll just wrap up by saying that before that night was over, I was nearly killed by a dead bull, Big Ed and I found ourselves in charge of an empty pool hall stocked with ice cold beer, and as we passed by the scene of that accident on our way back toward Texas, that old man gave us a feeble wave while scores of drunk Oklahomans tended to him and his injured wife. (The rest of this story is in my book, Nineteen Seventy Something.)

It was just a mile or so on the Texas side of the Red River bridge that Big Ed turned the music down and spoke.
"Whaddya say we go to college and study to be cops? I think we're cut out for the job, don't you?"
And so we did. It seemed the natural thing to do. We had practically become volunteer policemen in our little podunk town. Our ears always tuned to that CB radio, we had often been the first to arrive at the scene of an escaped cow on the highway. We'd rustled a few wild horses that strayed onto Main Street from time to time. We even shot a skunk or two that someone had found in their alley in the wee morning hours. We were on good terms with the local police officer. Yes, I swear to Pete his name really was Barney and he always seemed to appreciate that  we were eager to assist in helping him with his duties. There were times he let us slide when we probably should not have been driving, offering to follow us home in his squad car rather than taking us to jail.
It was toward the end of my second semester...I remember the night distinctly. Julie Ann Mathis, my first true lust, and I had just passed the courthouse, making that one blinking light on Main and Third, when she reached over and turned down the 8-track stereo and spoke.
"My daddy says cops don't make much money. He says if I was married to a cop, I'd spend lots of nights home alone."
I could see her eyes focus on me in the dim streetlight.
"I don't want you to be a cop. I don't want to always worry that you might not come home."
So I quit college and after leaving me and running off with an Alabama boy, Julie Ann settled down and ended up marrying some cop after all. But perhaps I have her to thank for not becoming a police officer. Perhaps because of her I am still alive.
It takes an extremely special person to choose a career in Law Enforcement. One who can live with the thought of dying...tomorrow or five minutes from now. I don't know who would ever choose to become a police officer in this day and time. I fear there may come a day when we just won't have any cops. Nobody will want the job. And then what becomes of us?
I struggle to find the words to end this rant. All I know is that there are days some folks leave for work and never come home. Their wives' greatest fears become a reality. Their children, their parents, their friends...all fear the day would come...and sometimes it does. They don't die for the paycheck. They don't die for fame and glory. They die...willingly take that chance to die...because what they do...matters. There are those who want to spout off. Black Lives Matter? What these oh-so-special people do day in and day out... put on a uniform, pin a badge on their chest, strap a gun to their side, and go out there to protect us...all of us...that matters! Pray for those who know they may not come home at the end of their shift...and still, they go to work. To most of us...all that matters

'Just Too Much'

The other day I drove the mile and a half to the local farm store to buy myself a new pair of blue jeans. I parked the pickup right up front by the door, and with ten short steps, I was inside. Another thirty feet and there I was, facing the rack that held just what I was looking for...Wrangler cowboy cut 13MWZ blue jeans. I spotted my size and scooped a pair into my arms and headed for the checkout. After chatting with the cute little clerk for a few minutes as I paid out, I scurried toward my truck and headed home. Within fifteen minutes from the time I had left the house, I was back with a brand new pair of Wrangler jeans.
Now I could have driven up to the city and bought my jeans at the western store, which has every kind of blue jeans imaginable. Up there they have all sorts of blue jeans, relaxed fit blue jeans, skinny blue jeans, baggy blue jeans, not so blue blue jeans...you get the picture. But, I'm a simple man, and I really don't need all that stress in my life. I know what I want. Why put myself through all that? It's just too much!
When I first began writing books, I would literally lose sleep worrying about whether my books would sell or not. I don't worry too much about it now. They don't. But during those first few years, I struggled constantly with the prospect of being a failed author. What was I doing wrong? Why wouldn't my books sell? My mom says they're good books. Then one day right in the middle of Walmart, it hit me like a brick.
I don't recall what I ventured into Walmart for....maybe some Rogaine or hair dye, but I remember I was in a hurry to get what I came for. But as I rushed up and down the aisles with multitudes of various items literally crammed upon rows and rows of shelving, something lit up inside my head. I paused in the middle of the aisle and slowly turned full circle, my mind suddenly churning with realization. I pondered just how many different products were on that one aisle. My eyes fell to the toothpaste. Probably thirty different kinds of toothpaste, I guessed. Across the aisle...condoms. Wow, they really make that many different kinds? I'd be the last to know about that...
On the next aisle, hundreds of shampoos to choose from. My little brain asked...how many different products were stocked within these walls of our little local Walmart dollar store...tens of thousands? Maybe millions? And that's when I realized why I wasn't selling many books. There's just too much to choose from!
I don't believe there's anything in this world more difficult to sell than a book. I think I could stand on a street corner of a ghost town peddling bagged cow dung and have better luck. Back in the heyday of my pecan farming adventures, I used to sell more pecans than I could grow. I had to buy pecan to sell! Folks from all over the planet wanted to buy my pecans. But, not books. A man could spend most of his life and a good portion of his retirement savings trying to get people to buy a book. For the most part, he'd be better off selling cow dung. Amazon is the world's book store with, I'd venture to guess, tens of millions of books available. With probably tens of millions of folks visiting the Amazon site on a daily basis in search of a good book, the odds are stacked against an author that a single one of those potential buyers will happen across his book. There's just too much!
I believe that the majority of us who write, do so for the sheer joy of it...but we really want someone to read what we write. An author may spend countless hours over the course of six months toiling over a book. The most he will be able to ask for his work on Amazon Kindle is around $2.99. Statistics tell us that an overwhelming majority of authors make less than a hundred dollars from book sales annually. So, if you're an aspiring new author, take my advice...sell cow dung. There's not too many people selling cow dung. Heck, sell it on Amazon. It'll sell better than that book you'll spend six months of your life writing.
I firmly believe our society is completely overwhelmed with 'just too much' of everything. We are constantly inundated with social media. Those who gauge such things tell us that Millennials are connected to social media eighty percent of their waking moments on a daily basis. I remember the early days of Twitter when I could pop a tweet linking to my website and scores of followers would immediately follow it. Back in those days, when I'd announce a new blog the flood of tweeters would literally crash my website. Now with over twenty-nine thousand twitter followers, my stats show a dismal and disappointing response rate. Why? There's just too much.
Our minds reel constantly from just too much. With Netflix, we dispair over what to watch. We are submerged with choices on our favorite streaming music apps. Billions of websites to choose from...where do we start? Looking for a phone case on Amazon? It will take all day!
I think there will come a time when we will rebel. We will seek out a simpler life. There may actually come a time when we put our smart phones in our back pockets and look up and see the world we've been missing. We'll decide that Super Walmarts and Amazon.com are simply just too much! We may, out of frustration, turn off Netflix and turn our TV to Channel 13...yes, there are still local channels coming over the airwaves.
I encourage you to consider wiping all that 'just too much' from your life. Put your phone away and turn off the TV. Visit that obscure mom-and-pop store down on Main street. Visit a dairy farm and check out all that cow dung. Catch a sunset. Visit your parents. Play checkers with your kids. Grow flowers. You know I'm right...you've been missing out on all the great things in life...just too much!