A few days back, I read a column, The Liberal View, which submitted that spanking children should be out of style. At first, I figured the article would be one of those tongue-in-cheek pieces, but upon going deeper into the column, I discovered as usual, I was 180 degrees wrong.
The author was deadly serious, quoting survey results from the American Academy of Pediatrics. Now, I won’t sit here and dispute the results of the survey. I’m sure they were accurate when they said the response indicated that of the 2,500 mothers interviewed, .54 percent admitted they’d spanked their child once or twice within the past month.
Then the author fell back on the flawed old saw that ‘violence begets violence’. She implies if you spank a child, he becomes a little monster, a bully, aggressive. Naturally, he doesn’t morph into a dislikeable little savage overnight, but, according to her interpretation of the survey, he will eventually.
That’s BS piled higher than the Empire State Building, or whatever building is the tallest in the world. If spankings make kids bullies, I would have been the most aggressive bully in Texas. But you can ask anyone. I’m anything but a bully. I’m a great believer in ‘a soft answer turnth away wrath.’ (although today, a soft answer seems to invite it)
Now, the column used an anecdotal explanation that the writer’s grandfather, an immigrant (though I have no idea what that has to do with anything), used a cat-of-nine-tails on her father when he was a youth. Often her father said, he had no idea why he was being punished.(I don’t know what that has to do with anything either)
In addition, her father said that everyone (all immigrants, I guess) kept such a weapon in his home in that particular borough.
I admitted I was spanked—a bunch. If the American Academy of Pediatrics had interviewed my Dad, his response would have blown the survey off the charts. I was probably a two-a-week spankee—and those were the good weeks. But I can tell you this, I always knew why I was on the wrong end of the belt. There ain’t a kid alive who doesn’t know why he’s getting his tail spanked.
Oh yeah, I know, there are loonies out there. There are disgusting pieces of scum wearing human visages abusing kids. I’m not talking about them.
I’m talking about average moms and pops sincerely trying to rear their children, not the others. We can do very little with the slums and those sickos who shouldn’t have had children.
There’s spanking, and then there’s spanking. One has to know when and how and if the situation calls for it.
With forty-one years in our public schools, I, along with the other relics in my generation, have witnessed the decline of parental support for schools in respect to discipline and academics.
Once, troublemakers in schools were labeled as products of low income, single parent homes. I never believed that. I still don’t. There were as many problems with children from the more prosperous homes.
If that isn’t true, then why do even the more affluent school districts create their own police force or set up a working relationship with the local police?
My best friend, Bobby, and I were mischievous, but his Dad and mine kept us pretty much in line. When his little brother came along, his mom nagged his dad not to be as hard on him as he had been on Bobby. That kid got away with stuff for which our tails were blistered.
Bobby and I taught in the Fort Worth area in the sixties. I ran into him in Austin in the eighties at a conference. His forty-something brother had been married and divorced three times, was currently unemployed and living at home with the parents.
I know, I know. One example proves nothing.
Am I saying spanking solves everything? No way. Raising children is the hardest thing in the world, even worse than a root canal. Just find out what works for you and do that. Don’t let a new world liberal, or an old fogy like me, sway you.
One comment about the survey though. Forty-six percent, or 1150 Mothers didn’t touch the kid. What do you want to bet we have a lot more spoiled brats in that group than those who got their little tails spanked?
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
When You're in a Hole, Stop Digging
I don’t know about you, but it seems to me there’s quite a bit of excitement going on around us today
A massive health bill will soon take over our lives; spilling oil is quickly filling up the Gulf of Mexico; a new Supreme Court nominee is in the news; and our neighbor, Arizona, appears to be teetering on the brink of revolution.
Oh, yeah, I forgot. A naturalized American citizen from Pakistan tried to detonate a
SUV full of explosives in Times Square. We were lucky as the dickens that he obviously had the IQ of a snail to bungle it as he did.
Despite the media stories catering to the administration, Iraq still looks bad to me, and Afghanistan is no better.
Any of us could talk for hours about the horrors and tragedies of earthquakes, volcanoes, mudslides, airline crashes, drug murders, and the plethora of angst with which we are hit everyday.
If we allow the tragedy to consume us, we’ll end up so depressed that we’ll play the ostrich and stick our heads in the sand or at least, stay in bed with the covers over our head.
When I get to that point, I take a deep breath, step back, and take a long look at really just how lucky I am despite a world gone bonkers.
I ask myself, just what can be done that isn’t already being done? Politicians control the laws; thousands of men and hundreds of ships are working feverishly to control the oil; Arizona will handle Arizona’s problems; aid is already assisting the victims of earthquakes, mudslides, and volcanoes; and professional lawmen are hard at work in the other areas.
About all I can really do is pray and send what donations I can. I think that’s about all anyone can do.
Everyone has his own opinions about the health bill, but, hey, that’s settled. It’s a law. There is a strong Latino outcry against Arizona. And it is easy to see why. Of course, Latinos are not the only illegals. There are folks here illegally from probably every country in the world, but right now, our neighbors to the south hold center stage because it is so simple to enter. Just crawl under the fence or ride the bus over.
As just about every American, I’m upset because our own government has crawfished on immigration control. I have no problem with immigration, but let’s do it by the book.
We’re a nation of immigrants. If you don’t think so, just ask the Native Americans (that’s politically correct language for Indians) from whom we stole the whole country in the beginning—from sea to shining sea we stole it.
You know, I would be willing to make all twenty million illegals legal today, at this very minute—IF a single one of you bleeding hearts can assure me that would not set off a flood of illegals from all four corners of our country.
You can’t. That cannot be done without securing borders. I mean, really securing them first. And you can’t prove that statement otherwise.
That being said, I can’t blame our Mexican neighbors for wanting to bail out of drug wars and find a better life for their families. And yes, there’s the rub. Why should those illegals be granted favors others of their own had to earn?
The answer is they should not.
Are we being insensitive to deport them back into harm’s way? Should we feel responsible for injury they might receive? Should we separate illegal parents from legal children or simply make the parents legal?
What about the fact illegals strain school budgets; swamp emergency rooms; and overburden social services? What about the fact you and I pay those expenses in our school, city, county, state, and federal taxes?
My only answer is to secure the borders. If you have a better answer, let’s have it. If you don’t, stop bellyaching.
Various sources put the number of illegals at 12-20 million. That’s 12-20 million who pay no tax other than perhaps a sales tax. They don’t work from January 1 to the middle of April just to pay all their taxes as you and I do. And in many instances, most of their wages go back to Mexico, not to local American businesses.
You’ve heard the old saying, when you find yourself in a deep hole, stop digging.
The only way we can stop the deep hole of illegals is to secure the borders like Arizona. Don’t count on Washington. They’re too busy playing their games up there.
A massive health bill will soon take over our lives; spilling oil is quickly filling up the Gulf of Mexico; a new Supreme Court nominee is in the news; and our neighbor, Arizona, appears to be teetering on the brink of revolution.
Oh, yeah, I forgot. A naturalized American citizen from Pakistan tried to detonate a
SUV full of explosives in Times Square. We were lucky as the dickens that he obviously had the IQ of a snail to bungle it as he did.
Despite the media stories catering to the administration, Iraq still looks bad to me, and Afghanistan is no better.
Any of us could talk for hours about the horrors and tragedies of earthquakes, volcanoes, mudslides, airline crashes, drug murders, and the plethora of angst with which we are hit everyday.
If we allow the tragedy to consume us, we’ll end up so depressed that we’ll play the ostrich and stick our heads in the sand or at least, stay in bed with the covers over our head.
When I get to that point, I take a deep breath, step back, and take a long look at really just how lucky I am despite a world gone bonkers.
I ask myself, just what can be done that isn’t already being done? Politicians control the laws; thousands of men and hundreds of ships are working feverishly to control the oil; Arizona will handle Arizona’s problems; aid is already assisting the victims of earthquakes, mudslides, and volcanoes; and professional lawmen are hard at work in the other areas.
About all I can really do is pray and send what donations I can. I think that’s about all anyone can do.
Everyone has his own opinions about the health bill, but, hey, that’s settled. It’s a law. There is a strong Latino outcry against Arizona. And it is easy to see why. Of course, Latinos are not the only illegals. There are folks here illegally from probably every country in the world, but right now, our neighbors to the south hold center stage because it is so simple to enter. Just crawl under the fence or ride the bus over.
As just about every American, I’m upset because our own government has crawfished on immigration control. I have no problem with immigration, but let’s do it by the book.
We’re a nation of immigrants. If you don’t think so, just ask the Native Americans (that’s politically correct language for Indians) from whom we stole the whole country in the beginning—from sea to shining sea we stole it.
You know, I would be willing to make all twenty million illegals legal today, at this very minute—IF a single one of you bleeding hearts can assure me that would not set off a flood of illegals from all four corners of our country.
You can’t. That cannot be done without securing borders. I mean, really securing them first. And you can’t prove that statement otherwise.
That being said, I can’t blame our Mexican neighbors for wanting to bail out of drug wars and find a better life for their families. And yes, there’s the rub. Why should those illegals be granted favors others of their own had to earn?
The answer is they should not.
Are we being insensitive to deport them back into harm’s way? Should we feel responsible for injury they might receive? Should we separate illegal parents from legal children or simply make the parents legal?
What about the fact illegals strain school budgets; swamp emergency rooms; and overburden social services? What about the fact you and I pay those expenses in our school, city, county, state, and federal taxes?
My only answer is to secure the borders. If you have a better answer, let’s have it. If you don’t, stop bellyaching.
Various sources put the number of illegals at 12-20 million. That’s 12-20 million who pay no tax other than perhaps a sales tax. They don’t work from January 1 to the middle of April just to pay all their taxes as you and I do. And in many instances, most of their wages go back to Mexico, not to local American businesses.
You’ve heard the old saying, when you find yourself in a deep hole, stop digging.
The only way we can stop the deep hole of illegals is to secure the borders like Arizona. Don’t count on Washington. They’re too busy playing their games up there.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Recollections About a Country Girl
Both my parents have passed on into a better world, Dad around twenty-five years back and Mom a little over eleven. She was eighty-six. Not a day passes that I don’t think about them. You’re probably the same. You know, a few seconds here, a few seconds there.
One fact I can promise you, the older you grow, the more you think of your folks.
Mom was a country girl, born in Montague County in North Texas near the Red River in 1913. One of eight children, four boys and four girls, she lived through the dust bowl and the depression. What little cash they made came from farming, which back then was hardscrabble tedium and exhausting labor from can’t see to can’t see.
Then one day, Papa Holly loaded the whole family on a train and headed west to Childress, Texas. There, he bought a wagon, piled kids and possessions in it, and trekked seventy miles north, settling beside Highway 83 five miles north of the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River and five south of Wheeler, Texas.
Life wasn’t easy, but no longer were they forced to live the life so depressingly depicted in the classic movie, ‘Grapes of Wrath.’ The land was more fertile. That meant more crops to grow, and extra cash.
Back then, education wasn’t as important as getting the crops in, but Mom graduated, married Dad who lived in Wheeler, and set about making a life with each other.
Papa was always looking for a better farm, and one day he moved from Wheeler County to the South Plains north of Lubbock.
Once when I was about three, she wanted to visit her parents, but dad couldn’t take off work. We didn’t have a vehicle, so Mom and her younger sister, Mae, took me and hitched from Wheeler to Lubbock, over two hundred miles.
Years later when we moved to Fort Worth, Mom never hesitated to load us in the car and drive by herself three hundred miles back to Wheeler or out to Lubbock.
She was a doting mother, sometimes too much. Her sisters were the same way. I’ve often wondered if it were because they had four brothers. Luckily for them, I guess, most of their children were boys. I was twelve before my first, and only, female cousin came along.
Mom was independent and self-sufficient. When Dad went overseas in WWII, she took care of my brother and me, ran the house, planted the fields, harvested, and then marketed the crops.
As the years passed, she held down different jobs, but none that would not permit her to take off and see about her family. She took in dry cleaning, rented out part of the old house, and finally became a realtor, a job that fit her like a fine glove.
And she was superb at the job, mainly because she was honest, caring, and willing to work her tail off.
Always in the back of her head, she was doing it for her sons,
and as so many sons, we were never as appreciative as we should have been. Only years later after we’d grown up and got some sense, did we understand.
When I apologized to her for those years, she did what ninety-five percent of mothers do, what my wife would do with our daughters, she laughed and said she always knew how I felt. That’s how mothers are.
She was a dedicated Christian and churchgoer all of her life, and she did all she could to put her sons’ feet on that path.
Dad’s death staggered her, but like the hard-headed dirt farmer she had once been, she kept the house in Fort Worth, helped raise grandkids and great grandkids. In her later years, she once told me that looking after her great grandson had added years to her life. She was still driving in her mid-eighties.
It might sound hokey or corny, but when I think about her love for her boys and the love my wife has for our daughters, I can’t help believing it is so very much like the love God has for all of us. It’s as pure a love as a mortal can give.
To all you Moms out there, thanks for everything.
One fact I can promise you, the older you grow, the more you think of your folks.
Mom was a country girl, born in Montague County in North Texas near the Red River in 1913. One of eight children, four boys and four girls, she lived through the dust bowl and the depression. What little cash they made came from farming, which back then was hardscrabble tedium and exhausting labor from can’t see to can’t see.
Then one day, Papa Holly loaded the whole family on a train and headed west to Childress, Texas. There, he bought a wagon, piled kids and possessions in it, and trekked seventy miles north, settling beside Highway 83 five miles north of the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River and five south of Wheeler, Texas.
Life wasn’t easy, but no longer were they forced to live the life so depressingly depicted in the classic movie, ‘Grapes of Wrath.’ The land was more fertile. That meant more crops to grow, and extra cash.
Back then, education wasn’t as important as getting the crops in, but Mom graduated, married Dad who lived in Wheeler, and set about making a life with each other.
Papa was always looking for a better farm, and one day he moved from Wheeler County to the South Plains north of Lubbock.
Once when I was about three, she wanted to visit her parents, but dad couldn’t take off work. We didn’t have a vehicle, so Mom and her younger sister, Mae, took me and hitched from Wheeler to Lubbock, over two hundred miles.
Years later when we moved to Fort Worth, Mom never hesitated to load us in the car and drive by herself three hundred miles back to Wheeler or out to Lubbock.
She was a doting mother, sometimes too much. Her sisters were the same way. I’ve often wondered if it were because they had four brothers. Luckily for them, I guess, most of their children were boys. I was twelve before my first, and only, female cousin came along.
Mom was independent and self-sufficient. When Dad went overseas in WWII, she took care of my brother and me, ran the house, planted the fields, harvested, and then marketed the crops.
As the years passed, she held down different jobs, but none that would not permit her to take off and see about her family. She took in dry cleaning, rented out part of the old house, and finally became a realtor, a job that fit her like a fine glove.
And she was superb at the job, mainly because she was honest, caring, and willing to work her tail off.
Always in the back of her head, she was doing it for her sons,
and as so many sons, we were never as appreciative as we should have been. Only years later after we’d grown up and got some sense, did we understand.
When I apologized to her for those years, she did what ninety-five percent of mothers do, what my wife would do with our daughters, she laughed and said she always knew how I felt. That’s how mothers are.
She was a dedicated Christian and churchgoer all of her life, and she did all she could to put her sons’ feet on that path.
Dad’s death staggered her, but like the hard-headed dirt farmer she had once been, she kept the house in Fort Worth, helped raise grandkids and great grandkids. In her later years, she once told me that looking after her great grandson had added years to her life. She was still driving in her mid-eighties.
It might sound hokey or corny, but when I think about her love for her boys and the love my wife has for our daughters, I can’t help believing it is so very much like the love God has for all of us. It’s as pure a love as a mortal can give.
To all you Moms out there, thanks for everything.
Friday, April 30, 2010
America Soars, Right into its Pocketbook
America Soars-Right Into Its Pocketbook
Throughout presidential candidate Obama’s campaign, he promised change that would send America to soaring heights while spreading wealth to every backwoods niche in the country.
And he has done some of that, especially the soaring business. I figured those of you who voted for his pie-in-the-sky dreams might care to see the results of his first sixteen months of soaring.
A few days back, the House Ways and Means Committee released the list of the $670,341 billion in tax increases that he has already signed into law. These taxes total a whopping $2,100 increase for each man, woman, and child in America. Now, that’s what I call soaring.
Remember the ‘no tax increase for incomes under $250,000?” According to Texas Insider, he’s violated that promise fourteen times. But, hey, who’s counting? Keep in mind, this information is not from a liberal or conservative source, but the House Ways and Means Committee. (how truthful they are, you decide)
Under his one-party control regime, he will level new taxes upon individuals and employers who do not buy government-approved insurance; stick a 40% tax on high cost health plans, but exempt union members; increase Medicare taxes on all income; levy a 3.8% tax increase on investments; lower medical deductions by 2.5%; 10% tax increase on UV tanning services; $2,500 annual cap on Flexible Spending contributions; excise taxes on brand name pharmaceuticals as well as medical devices including wheelchairs; and a double penalty for non qualified HAS distributions.
Oh, yeah, I forgot-tax increase on tobacco—naturally.
Also this year, there are several more increases scheduled to kick in:
1. Alternative Minimum Tax will decrease from $46,700 to $33,750 for single filers and from $70,950 to $45,000 for married couples filing jointly
2. No deductions for state and local general sales taxes on federal income tax return.
3. Businesses will not be able to claim a tax credit for research, experimentation, and development.
4. Taxpayers will not be able to claim a deduction for qualified tuition and expenses.
5. School teachers will no longer be able to write off books, supplies and other equipment
6. Five year depreciation of farm machinery and equipment will expire.
7. Donations of books to public schools will no longer be eligible for an enhanced charitable deduction.
How’s all of that for change? Hold on, I ain’t done yet. In 2011:
1. 35% income tax bracket increases to 39.6.
2. 33% bracket will increase to 36%
3. 28% bracket will increase to 31%
4. 25% bracket will increase to 28%
5. 10% and 15% brackets will coalesce at 15%
6. child tax credit will decrease from $1,000 to $500
7. marriage penalty tax will be restored, charging married couples a higher tax rate than individuals on the same total income
8. the “death” tax returns with a 55% maximum rate and a $1 million exemption, after years of decreasing “death” tax rates
9. dependent care tax credit will decrease from $3,000 to $2,400
10. adoption tax credit from $13,170 to $5,000
But that isn’t all. The following tax credits will also expire: energy efficient home appliance; hiring unemployed veterans and disconnected youth; Work Opportunity Tax Credit; the $400 ‘Making Work Pay” credit; electric drive motorcycles, three-wheeled vehicles, low-speed vehicles, and plug-in electric vehicles, most of which are utilized by the handicapped.
Somehow, I don’t believe this is the change the majority wanted. Do you?
Throughout presidential candidate Obama’s campaign, he promised change that would send America to soaring heights while spreading wealth to every backwoods niche in the country.
And he has done some of that, especially the soaring business. I figured those of you who voted for his pie-in-the-sky dreams might care to see the results of his first sixteen months of soaring.
A few days back, the House Ways and Means Committee released the list of the $670,341 billion in tax increases that he has already signed into law. These taxes total a whopping $2,100 increase for each man, woman, and child in America. Now, that’s what I call soaring.
Remember the ‘no tax increase for incomes under $250,000?” According to Texas Insider, he’s violated that promise fourteen times. But, hey, who’s counting? Keep in mind, this information is not from a liberal or conservative source, but the House Ways and Means Committee. (how truthful they are, you decide)
Under his one-party control regime, he will level new taxes upon individuals and employers who do not buy government-approved insurance; stick a 40% tax on high cost health plans, but exempt union members; increase Medicare taxes on all income; levy a 3.8% tax increase on investments; lower medical deductions by 2.5%; 10% tax increase on UV tanning services; $2,500 annual cap on Flexible Spending contributions; excise taxes on brand name pharmaceuticals as well as medical devices including wheelchairs; and a double penalty for non qualified HAS distributions.
Oh, yeah, I forgot-tax increase on tobacco—naturally.
Also this year, there are several more increases scheduled to kick in:
1. Alternative Minimum Tax will decrease from $46,700 to $33,750 for single filers and from $70,950 to $45,000 for married couples filing jointly
2. No deductions for state and local general sales taxes on federal income tax return.
3. Businesses will not be able to claim a tax credit for research, experimentation, and development.
4. Taxpayers will not be able to claim a deduction for qualified tuition and expenses.
5. School teachers will no longer be able to write off books, supplies and other equipment
6. Five year depreciation of farm machinery and equipment will expire.
7. Donations of books to public schools will no longer be eligible for an enhanced charitable deduction.
How’s all of that for change? Hold on, I ain’t done yet. In 2011:
1. 35% income tax bracket increases to 39.6.
2. 33% bracket will increase to 36%
3. 28% bracket will increase to 31%
4. 25% bracket will increase to 28%
5. 10% and 15% brackets will coalesce at 15%
6. child tax credit will decrease from $1,000 to $500
7. marriage penalty tax will be restored, charging married couples a higher tax rate than individuals on the same total income
8. the “death” tax returns with a 55% maximum rate and a $1 million exemption, after years of decreasing “death” tax rates
9. dependent care tax credit will decrease from $3,000 to $2,400
10. adoption tax credit from $13,170 to $5,000
But that isn’t all. The following tax credits will also expire: energy efficient home appliance; hiring unemployed veterans and disconnected youth; Work Opportunity Tax Credit; the $400 ‘Making Work Pay” credit; electric drive motorcycles, three-wheeled vehicles, low-speed vehicles, and plug-in electric vehicles, most of which are utilized by the handicapped.
Somehow, I don’t believe this is the change the majority wanted. Do you?
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Past is Over
The Past is Over!
Quick, who said, “I’m not going to fire a two million dollar missile at an empty ten dollar tent and hit a camel in the butt.”?
If you answered former president, George Bush, you hit the answer right on the butt.
Old George. He caught, and still does, a lot of flak, some of which he brought on himself, but not all. Of course, if you listen to the present administration, old George is even responsible for the earthquakes of recent months as well as the volcano eruption in Iceland.
I voted for George, for governor and president. I didn’t approve of all his decisions, just as I do not approve of the current president’s. On the other hand, while I’m not the greenest pickle in the barrel, I’ve learned enough to realize that the human animal has a propensity for criticizing decisions without the benefit of pertinent knowledge. We’re all superb sidewalk superintendents.
No one can claim George is a polished speaker. He often mispronounces words, uses malapropisms, butchers syntax, and in general, garbles the point of his message. He is an English teacher’s worst nightmare.
I mean, after all, who else but George would say “I think we will agree, the past is over.”
Duh! If it is past, it is over.
In researching George, I ran across the following poem of his verbal gaffes on several sites. I got a good laugh from it. You will too. I could not find who composed the poem, but whoever they are, my thanks.
Make the Pie Higher
I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.
Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the internet become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being and the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope
Where our wings take dream.
Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!
Oh, and there are many, many more gaffes. And yes, he certainly lacks President Obama’s eloquence. I can’t remember very many presidents who were as articulate, but George is a good and decent human being-and in today’s world, that is more important than eloquence.
Presidents always catch the blame even if they were not responsible for the situation. Of course, they often exacerbate the problem by decisions they make in regard to it.
People around the world took potshots at Harry Truman for doing what he had to do to end the war. Every president is in the same boat.
Clinton will never live down “I did not have sex with that woman.” H.W. Bush will always be remembered for “Watch my lips. No knew taxes.” Dan Quayle (though not a president, fortunately) will always suffer the embarrassment of being unable to spell potato. And who will every forget Lloyd Bentsen’s cutting reply to Quayle, “You’re no Jack Kennedy.”?
So, our forty-third president is not a gifted speaker. I’ll always believe he did his best just as I believe our current president is following ‘the wings of his dream.”
By the way, Nostradamus’ 1555 prediction, “In the millennium, the village idiot will become leader in the home of greatest power,” was not referring to poor old George, though many swear it was.
Actually, old Nostradamus was referring to Harry Reid.
Quick, who said, “I’m not going to fire a two million dollar missile at an empty ten dollar tent and hit a camel in the butt.”?
If you answered former president, George Bush, you hit the answer right on the butt.
Old George. He caught, and still does, a lot of flak, some of which he brought on himself, but not all. Of course, if you listen to the present administration, old George is even responsible for the earthquakes of recent months as well as the volcano eruption in Iceland.
I voted for George, for governor and president. I didn’t approve of all his decisions, just as I do not approve of the current president’s. On the other hand, while I’m not the greenest pickle in the barrel, I’ve learned enough to realize that the human animal has a propensity for criticizing decisions without the benefit of pertinent knowledge. We’re all superb sidewalk superintendents.
No one can claim George is a polished speaker. He often mispronounces words, uses malapropisms, butchers syntax, and in general, garbles the point of his message. He is an English teacher’s worst nightmare.
I mean, after all, who else but George would say “I think we will agree, the past is over.”
Duh! If it is past, it is over.
In researching George, I ran across the following poem of his verbal gaffes on several sites. I got a good laugh from it. You will too. I could not find who composed the poem, but whoever they are, my thanks.
Make the Pie Higher
I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.
Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the internet become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being and the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope
Where our wings take dream.
Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!
Oh, and there are many, many more gaffes. And yes, he certainly lacks President Obama’s eloquence. I can’t remember very many presidents who were as articulate, but George is a good and decent human being-and in today’s world, that is more important than eloquence.
Presidents always catch the blame even if they were not responsible for the situation. Of course, they often exacerbate the problem by decisions they make in regard to it.
People around the world took potshots at Harry Truman for doing what he had to do to end the war. Every president is in the same boat.
Clinton will never live down “I did not have sex with that woman.” H.W. Bush will always be remembered for “Watch my lips. No knew taxes.” Dan Quayle (though not a president, fortunately) will always suffer the embarrassment of being unable to spell potato. And who will every forget Lloyd Bentsen’s cutting reply to Quayle, “You’re no Jack Kennedy.”?
So, our forty-third president is not a gifted speaker. I’ll always believe he did his best just as I believe our current president is following ‘the wings of his dream.”
By the way, Nostradamus’ 1555 prediction, “In the millennium, the village idiot will become leader in the home of greatest power,” was not referring to poor old George, though many swear it was.
Actually, old Nostradamus was referring to Harry Reid.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Eighteen-Minute Battle
The Eighteen-Minute Battle
April 21, one hundred and seventy-four years ago, the Texian Army defeated Santa Anna at San Jacinto in a historic fight that gained independence for the rebels and ultimately set the stage for statehood.
There have been an untold number of stories of the battle in movies, TV, and novels. Some are so filled with fabrication that I’m surprised the authors even set the story in Texas. Others are fairly close to what seems to be the general consensus of what took place.
After the adoption of the Texas Declaration of Independence, Houston left New Washington for Gonzales to take charge of the troops and go to Travis’ aid. There, on March 12, he learned of the fall of the Alamo.
Settlers fled east, but Houston and his small army remained to stave off Santa Anna.
Houston pulled up at the Colorado, waiting anxiously for Fannin to join him as ordered, but Fannin did not follow the orders. He was captured. On Palm Sunday, he and his men were executed.
On March 23 (some say the 25th), Houston learned of Fannin’s capture. On Palm Sunday, the 27th, Santa Anna executed and burned Fannin and his men. The four hundred men Houston counted on had vanished. The next day, he moved his army east once again, despite his men’s griping and complaining. They wanted to fight, not retreat.
For two weeks they camped on the Brazos until a mysterious message came to Houston that Santa Anna was to his south, heading his way. Houston moved out.
At this point, Santa Anna began making a series of mistakes that sealed his defeat. Hearing that President Burnet and his staff had moved to Harrisburg, he made the very mistake Wellington had prodded Napoleon into making. As Houston had gambled, the small dictator split his force three ways, and with 700 men, moved south.
Santa Anna pushed his men hard until 9:00 p.m., camped without water, pulled out early next morning, and hurried on. Anxious to reach Harrisburg, he took only a few men and raced ahead, riding into the village at midnight, but Burnet had moved his cabinet to Galveston.
He then received word came that Houston was heading for the Trinity. Santa Anna saw another chance to end the revolution in one stroke, ambush Houston at Lynch’s Ferry.
At the head of his 700 men, he raced to Lynch’s Ferry. In his enthusiasm, he ignored the sluggish waters of Buffalo Bayou on the left; San Jacinto estuary at the rear; and the marshes of Galveston Bay on the right. No room for maneuvering.
Leading 700 exhausted soldiers, Santa Anna arrived ahead of Houston.
Houston soon came up behind him.
On the twentieth, there were a couple skirmishes. One Texian was killed.
On the twenty-first, General Cos arrived with four hundred men, the second prong of the split, bringing the Mexican force to 1100 against Houston’s reported 783.
Houston knew the third prong with three thousand or so Mexican forces was coming. He ordered Vince’s Bridge destroyed, cutting off Mexican reinforcements and Mexican flight as well as Texian retreat. It was fight or die.
At four o’clock, Houston gave the charge. Eighteen minutes later it was over. They captured the Mexican general the next day.
But, what would have happened if Fannin had obeyed orders and joined Houston at the Colorado? What if Houston had not received that mysterious message on the Brazos? What if Santa Anna had not pursued Burnet? What if he hadn’t split his troops? What possessed him to camp where he did, a spot not even a shavetail lieutenant would have selected?
Reverse any of those decisions, and we might find ourselves in a completely different world today.
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
April 21, one hundred and seventy-four years ago, the Texian Army defeated Santa Anna at San Jacinto in a historic fight that gained independence for the rebels and ultimately set the stage for statehood.
There have been an untold number of stories of the battle in movies, TV, and novels. Some are so filled with fabrication that I’m surprised the authors even set the story in Texas. Others are fairly close to what seems to be the general consensus of what took place.
After the adoption of the Texas Declaration of Independence, Houston left New Washington for Gonzales to take charge of the troops and go to Travis’ aid. There, on March 12, he learned of the fall of the Alamo.
Settlers fled east, but Houston and his small army remained to stave off Santa Anna.
Houston pulled up at the Colorado, waiting anxiously for Fannin to join him as ordered, but Fannin did not follow the orders. He was captured. On Palm Sunday, he and his men were executed.
On March 23 (some say the 25th), Houston learned of Fannin’s capture. On Palm Sunday, the 27th, Santa Anna executed and burned Fannin and his men. The four hundred men Houston counted on had vanished. The next day, he moved his army east once again, despite his men’s griping and complaining. They wanted to fight, not retreat.
For two weeks they camped on the Brazos until a mysterious message came to Houston that Santa Anna was to his south, heading his way. Houston moved out.
At this point, Santa Anna began making a series of mistakes that sealed his defeat. Hearing that President Burnet and his staff had moved to Harrisburg, he made the very mistake Wellington had prodded Napoleon into making. As Houston had gambled, the small dictator split his force three ways, and with 700 men, moved south.
Santa Anna pushed his men hard until 9:00 p.m., camped without water, pulled out early next morning, and hurried on. Anxious to reach Harrisburg, he took only a few men and raced ahead, riding into the village at midnight, but Burnet had moved his cabinet to Galveston.
He then received word came that Houston was heading for the Trinity. Santa Anna saw another chance to end the revolution in one stroke, ambush Houston at Lynch’s Ferry.
At the head of his 700 men, he raced to Lynch’s Ferry. In his enthusiasm, he ignored the sluggish waters of Buffalo Bayou on the left; San Jacinto estuary at the rear; and the marshes of Galveston Bay on the right. No room for maneuvering.
Leading 700 exhausted soldiers, Santa Anna arrived ahead of Houston.
Houston soon came up behind him.
On the twentieth, there were a couple skirmishes. One Texian was killed.
On the twenty-first, General Cos arrived with four hundred men, the second prong of the split, bringing the Mexican force to 1100 against Houston’s reported 783.
Houston knew the third prong with three thousand or so Mexican forces was coming. He ordered Vince’s Bridge destroyed, cutting off Mexican reinforcements and Mexican flight as well as Texian retreat. It was fight or die.
At four o’clock, Houston gave the charge. Eighteen minutes later it was over. They captured the Mexican general the next day.
But, what would have happened if Fannin had obeyed orders and joined Houston at the Colorado? What if Houston had not received that mysterious message on the Brazos? What if Santa Anna had not pursued Burnet? What if he hadn’t split his troops? What possessed him to camp where he did, a spot not even a shavetail lieutenant would have selected?
Reverse any of those decisions, and we might find ourselves in a completely different world today.
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Play Ball, T-Ball That Is
Play Ball, T-Ball, That Is!
Well, I never thought I would do it. I mean, go to a little league ball game.
To be honest, I always disliked the competitiveness parents forced on their youngster as a means to relive their own youth, to accomplish what they had never achieved.
And don’t tell me I’m wrong about that. Too many parents go nuts at these games, abusing not only the kids, the other parents, the umpires, but the very concept of the activity itself, the ball game, which is supposed to be fun.
Fun! That means kids enjoy it. To heck with the parents and family. Let them keep their mouths shut unless it is to cheer on the little ones. After all, that’s what all of this is supposedly about. Let the kids have fun and learn more about the game.
Our daughters were very active in extra-curricular school programs. To my relief, they never expressed interest in community programs like little league or whatever was available back in the eighties. I would have let them participate probably even though I abhorred the behavior of many parents whose youngsters participated.
Now, my feelings haven’t changed. I still believe these games are for the kids and not the mother who is a repressed cheerleader or the dad who is a frustrated quarterback.
The reason behind all this is the fact my five-year-old grandson, Keegan, started
playing T-Ball.
Don’t ask me to explain the game, because I can’t. It isn’t a game as much as it is an activity to accustom the little gals and guys to a more structured game. And believe me, with five and six-year-olds, it turns out to be more of an activity than a structured game.
Keegan, who has a remarkable attention span of ten seconds, plays for the Astros, a team that practices at Ridgewood Elementary on Merriman Street in Port Neches.
I can’t help admiring the coaches who patiently work with the kids who remind me of a flock of chickens after a single, frantic grasshopper.
Those guys have to have eyes not only the back of their heads, but above each temple and in the forehead.
A couple weeks back, the Astros played their first game. I say a game, but not really a game. Each team of twelve players batted around three times.
The score? Hey, take a guess. Forty-eight, forty-seven; thirty-two, thirty-two. The score wasn’t important. The kids had fun, and they learned a little about the game.
They learned you don’t run to third base when you hit the ball; you run to first.
They learned that a bouncing ball isn’t anywhere as easy to catch as it looks. And they learned you can’t be standing around shooting the breeze with a buddy and still snag a fly ball.
What I like about it is the batters get three balls. If they miss all three, the T-Ball is set up, and they hit it. Everyone gets to hit the ball and run—hopefully to first base, not second or third like one little squirt who cut across the infield from first to third and then home.
I couldn’t help noticing one of their favorite experiences in the game was sliding into a base. They slid even if the ball was still in center field. Some of their efforts were thwarted however when their shoes caught on the base, flipping the little fellows head over heels.
But they all came up laughing and holding up theirs hands signaling they were number one.
Keegan? Well, he did okay. He stopped the ball in the outfield once when it hit him and bounced off. A small guy, he runs hard, but his little legs don't cover a whole lot of ground very fast. His first two hits, he was thrown out at first, but his last time, he made it.
And to our delight and cheers, he, along with the other little ones raced around the bases. When he crossed home plate, he held up his hand, extending his first and last finger and laughing, “LSU”.
The crowd roared.
That’s how it should be.
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Well, I never thought I would do it. I mean, go to a little league ball game.
To be honest, I always disliked the competitiveness parents forced on their youngster as a means to relive their own youth, to accomplish what they had never achieved.
And don’t tell me I’m wrong about that. Too many parents go nuts at these games, abusing not only the kids, the other parents, the umpires, but the very concept of the activity itself, the ball game, which is supposed to be fun.
Fun! That means kids enjoy it. To heck with the parents and family. Let them keep their mouths shut unless it is to cheer on the little ones. After all, that’s what all of this is supposedly about. Let the kids have fun and learn more about the game.
Our daughters were very active in extra-curricular school programs. To my relief, they never expressed interest in community programs like little league or whatever was available back in the eighties. I would have let them participate probably even though I abhorred the behavior of many parents whose youngsters participated.
Now, my feelings haven’t changed. I still believe these games are for the kids and not the mother who is a repressed cheerleader or the dad who is a frustrated quarterback.
The reason behind all this is the fact my five-year-old grandson, Keegan, started
playing T-Ball.
Don’t ask me to explain the game, because I can’t. It isn’t a game as much as it is an activity to accustom the little gals and guys to a more structured game. And believe me, with five and six-year-olds, it turns out to be more of an activity than a structured game.
Keegan, who has a remarkable attention span of ten seconds, plays for the Astros, a team that practices at Ridgewood Elementary on Merriman Street in Port Neches.
I can’t help admiring the coaches who patiently work with the kids who remind me of a flock of chickens after a single, frantic grasshopper.
Those guys have to have eyes not only the back of their heads, but above each temple and in the forehead.
A couple weeks back, the Astros played their first game. I say a game, but not really a game. Each team of twelve players batted around three times.
The score? Hey, take a guess. Forty-eight, forty-seven; thirty-two, thirty-two. The score wasn’t important. The kids had fun, and they learned a little about the game.
They learned you don’t run to third base when you hit the ball; you run to first.
They learned that a bouncing ball isn’t anywhere as easy to catch as it looks. And they learned you can’t be standing around shooting the breeze with a buddy and still snag a fly ball.
What I like about it is the batters get three balls. If they miss all three, the T-Ball is set up, and they hit it. Everyone gets to hit the ball and run—hopefully to first base, not second or third like one little squirt who cut across the infield from first to third and then home.
I couldn’t help noticing one of their favorite experiences in the game was sliding into a base. They slid even if the ball was still in center field. Some of their efforts were thwarted however when their shoes caught on the base, flipping the little fellows head over heels.
But they all came up laughing and holding up theirs hands signaling they were number one.
Keegan? Well, he did okay. He stopped the ball in the outfield once when it hit him and bounced off. A small guy, he runs hard, but his little legs don't cover a whole lot of ground very fast. His first two hits, he was thrown out at first, but his last time, he made it.
And to our delight and cheers, he, along with the other little ones raced around the bases. When he crossed home plate, he held up his hand, extending his first and last finger and laughing, “LSU”.
The crowd roared.
That’s how it should be.
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
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