National, Politics & Culture Federalist vs. Anti-Federalist, The Founder’s Debate Over Our Constitution

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“A people who mean to be their own governors must be armed with the power that knowledge gives”, James Madison.

“Dangerous ambiguities.”, Patrick Henry.

 

Philosophy The American Façade

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We often talk (and rightly so) about the destruction to our society by an Alynsky trained anti-American, racist, socialist.

We often site various horrors that are being forced upon the masses by a tyranny of the minority.

Truly many feel if we can just get the Republican’s back at the helm of the ship of state, all will be well. What leads to that conclusion? What data supports this belief?

The older I get, and the more knowledge I acquire I can’t help but feel I’ve been holding on to an idea, and the reality is much different.

I was thinking the other day how easily the words I love my country roll off my lips and lips of others. Then I started to ponder what exactly it was I “love” about this country. Grant it there are moments of great pride, but is that really enough to result in love of country?

I’ve come to the conclusion it isn’t.

I’ve come to believe that we are a sick society in rapid decline. I also believe for the most part there is a duopoly in the ruling class and the courts are part of the tyranny we are actually living.

If I despise tyranny (and I do), how can I love my country?

Firmum In Vita Nihil Blimps, Brothers, a Girlfriend and Frogs

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After finishing another school year, Dad got transferred again. This time it was up the coast a bit to a Marine base called  L.T.A. (Lighter Than Air). It was in the middle of nowhere in the rural area of Orange County. We lived in a duplex with some folks from Oklahoma. It was here where I got my first schoolin’ on the birds and the bees, and country music. Real country music. Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Tennessee Ernie Ford, and such.

Having moved, my new school was University Park, and I was starting the fifth grade with my G.I flat top ( a little dab will do ya). I’ll never forget two teachers there. One was a folk/country music type, the other was into the “British Invasion”. In the morning I got The Kingston Trio, and in the afternoon I got to hear “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones. It was funny to me that these teachers who obviously wanted to listen to music would turn it into classroom study. I remember the Stones fanatic asking me (I’m 9 almost 10) after listening to “Paint It Black”, “Joe; What was he trying to say?” “Uh, hum. I’m not, um…” It was quite a difference between parochial school and public.

My best friend in L.T.A. was Frankie Hernandez, he was a chubby Mexican kid. His mom was always in the kitchen making fresh tortillas, and pumping us both full of them. They were incredibly good with peanut butter and jelly. We collected baseball cards together ’cause Frank wasn’t exactly too energetic. My favorite team was the Baltimore Orioles, and my favorite players were the Robinson brothers, though back then I never quite figured out why one was so much darker than the other. They both had the same last name…didn’t matter, they were my favorite players. We saw our first pro baseball game together at the “Big A”.

Then cupid strikes me for the first time. Her name was Rae, and we were to be together forever. Which wasn’t real practical since both of our Dad’s were in the service, and we knew our time together was to be months, but we played along with the charade. She was a great 5th grade girlfriend.

A few other experiences come to mind from this year (1966), recess: “Kill the man with the ball”, it was huge back then. The rules were simple, whoever had the ball had fifty other kids chasing him into the dirt covered play ground, and you wrestled the ball away to see how long you could keep it.

Then a very strange thing happened that Halloween. Some older kids “crucified” a bunch of frogs on telephone poles. Everybody thought they were weirdos after that. They were pretty much shunned from then on. No parents, no police, no school, and for heaven sake no psychiatrist. Just the kids handled it back then.

Everything was going great between me and Rae, had only been in one fight all year which ended with his older sister chasing me home. I wouldn’t hit a girl, and I had already fought three brothers. Fighting in those days was primarily wrestling until somebody cried uncle. But to run home chased by a girl was a bitter pill for my budding ego.

When I got home everybody was crying, and my Mom was holding some papers. I thought, oh no, another transfer. What about Rae? Another six months without Dad. This time was different, it wasn’t just another West Pac tour and transfer. This time, it was War.

Firmum In Vita Nihil All The Racism I Know, I Learned At School

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Being a Navy brat in the 1950’s, I did quite a bit of moving around. Michigan, Maryland, and then Sasebo, Japan is my first recollection. That was about 1957 when my father was transferred there for three years. Needless to say, many of my first friends were Japanese. I actually learned Japanese prior to English. I recall Japanese, Kabuki, terraced hills, all of the bent over elderly, exposed womens breasts, the abacus, flying fish, and running home with a trail of Japanese kids chasing me down to get my cowboy hat. They were ultimately my friends, and I was theirs.

Dad got his transfer papers in 1959, and we took a plane back to the states, having to make an unplanned stop in Hawaii for a couple months ’cause I got sick. I made friends there too with some natives, but it was time to move on.

We ended up in Linda Vista, a suburb of San Diego, California and lived in what was called K-Part Housing (military). Back in those days there was already a physical division line between where the white folk lived, and the minorities, primarily black folk. Perhaps this meant something to somebody, but it didn’t mean anything to a little white kid who hung out with anybody his age.

As per usual, dad went off on another West-Pac tour of duty, and I finished out roughly a year and a half at Holy Family Catholic parochial (elementary) school. I used to love that school, I remember having to ride my bike from my house through the “other” neighborhood to get to school each day. Never a worry, never a care. People were still just people then.