Hate me if you want to.

Sometimes think that war is necessary
Every night I pray for peace on earth
I hand out my dollars to the homeless
But believe that every able soul should work

My father gave me my shotgun
That I'll hand down, to my son
Try to teach him everything it means

I’m a man of my convictions
Call me wrong, call me right
But I bring my better angels to every fight
You may not like where I'm going
But you sure know where I stand
Hate me if you want to, love me if you can


I stand by my right to speak freely
But I worry about what kids learn from TV

And before all of the debating turn to angry words and hate
Sometimes we should just agree to disagree

And I believe that Jesus
Looks down here and sees us

And if you asked him he would say

I’m a man of my convictions
Call me wrong, call me right
But I bring my better angels to every fight
You may not like where I'm going
But you sure know where I stand
Hate me if you want to, love me if you can

I'm a man of my convictions
Call me wrong, call me right
But I bring my better angels to every fight

You may not like where I'm going
But you sure know where I stand
Hate me if you want to, love me if you can

Re-telling an old story.

Old story remembered…
I originally wrote this about three years ago. Its amazing how much I have changed in that short while. Hhmmm.

--------------------------

"...its because they wouldn't know good tv if it jumped up their arse and bit inside their intestines."

This is only part of one of the wonderful conversations I had with a sales woman in the then Suncoast video store in the Wilmington Mall. I had to go buy the movie "Psycho (the Alfred Hitchcock version)" and the girl went bizzerk that I was buying it. She thought I was some kind of movie aficionado (which I would like to think that I am somewhat of one). And I thought I was in tune to movies, and thought I knew a lot about them, until talking to her. Well this girl, pardon me for saying, wasn't the best looking girl in the world, but made it worse with the way she talked. She had a certain "perfect ness" when she talked. She overly perfected everything she said to be very precise and meaningful.

Well she tried to get me to buy some more 'popular movies. First of all she was telling me about some kind of Chinese anime popularized in the late 90s. Now I used to be an fan of anime, but good lord. I am not buying 30 dollars worth of DVDs by this "greatest director of our time" of whom I have never heard of. I appreciate people loving something, but I thought it went a bit too far. She kind of flipped out when I told her that I liked Space Ghost, and I asked why they didn't carry more Space Ghost stuff and she said that above quote. Well I have to agree that a lot of people don't know good TV or movies.

I do myself fall into that category sometimes, because I do watch American Idol and Last Comic Standing. I just hate when people follow trends and stick to whatever is gimmicky, or its what someone else watches. I hate soap operas....the drama is too exaggerated. But honestly I watch wrestling which is essentially a soap opera…so? I love cooking shows, cartoons, Family Guy and Everybody loves Raymond. So what makes me different......I guess nothing. Sometimes I guess I try to differentiate myself from the mundane-ness of the world. But that doesn't work.

"The difference between perserverance and obstinacy is that one often comes from a strong will, and the other from a strong won't"

The austere simplicity is killing me. I have always been a 'stickler' for wanting people break out of their molds. But watching people try to succeed in life, but not breaking out of their metaphorical "shells" is saddening. I am like that, which is why I am sad today. I am sad at myself.

I am afraid to break out of the norm, because I am possibly afraid that something might actually change. I am afraid that my routine may be altered. I fear change. I fear commitment even though I yearn for it. I fear getting married even though I want to.

I fear the things that would be a stop to the usual. I fear the fact that I may have to put my life on hold for something else. I want to go back to school, quit my job and get my master's degree, but what am I scared of?

But I guess I just won't do anything about these things that I am thinking about today. I guess I'll just sit around and write another blog about them, because thats the easiest way to solve something....write a blog about it.

I don't want to teach anymore.

I can't take this disrespect. The pure unadultared disregard of human decency. These kids just don't care. They don't want to learn. They don't want to be here. The one or two souls that actually want to better their lives are tainted by the bureaucracy who will not realize that once they reach a certain point, things go downhill, and the snowball effect starts to begin. I really do love the act of teaching. I love the thought of helping the future of America. I love the idea of one lost soul coming back to the metaphorical flock because of something that I taught them about verbs and nouns.

But in retrospect I have yet to see any results. I can reach one or two kids and see a result in their education, but once they get back to their regular school, they fall apart again. And they sometimes fail by the hypocrisy of teachers, like myself who sometimes judge kids before we get the initial oppurtunity to actually meet the student. We set up mental walls as to what a student is going to be like just by reading their IEP. I am tired of myself. I'm tired of these kids who would rather get suspended than to stop talking about whatever 'game' their 'reppin''. Blood, crips, MS 13s, Sur 13s and Pirus have taken the place of family units in alot of these kids minds. The streets have became their homes. Guns have become their blanket of protection, while drugs are their glass of milk before bed.

I don't know how else to reach these kids. You can't be nice to them because they'll run you over. If you are too strict, they will revolt because you're not nice. There is no happy medium. You're either the mean teacher, or the "easy" that you can do whatever in their class. I don't want to be either. I want to be the teacher who makes students learn. I want to be the teacher who makes the metaphorical light bulb flicker on. But what good would it do?

Causing contention in myself...

Expression. Expression is a word that means something. It is a word that has grit. It is a word that puts the pulp in your orange juice. It's a word that you can chew on. When you talk to someone about expression, more than likely the person will talk about their own inalienable rights. Things like the freedom of expression. The freedom of speech. But there is no freedom of expression anymore. Our world has become too damn politically correct. We are all worried that something we say is going to piss someone else off. So here I go blatantly setting myself up for someone to get mad at me with this tyrrannical rant about our lack of freedom. And I, like everyone else, worry that this may piss some people off... but I have to say it.

I consider myself to be quite liberal when it comes to certain things, I really do, but I must say that we are almost under a regime when it comes to our governmental/ ruling system. I can't help but think of the hypocrisy of our system when I hear that the school system that neighbors my own tells their students that they cannot wear the American flag because some people might find it offensive. This is completely and utterly preposterous. The basic understanding of this "flag" situation, in Sampson County, NC, is that students cannot wear flags of any kind because some students don't like the other flags. What's good for one 'flag' must be good for all.

They are saying for example that: Latino students don't want to see the American flag. Mexican students don't want to see the Honduras flag. Puerto Rican students don't want to see the Costa Rican flag. The black students don't want to see the Confederate flag.

Now this to me is a haulting point in the road of someone wanting to express their love and admiration for a specific place or object. If a girl is from Mexico, let her freely express her love for Mexico by wearing a shirt with the flag on it. If a young man sees no hatred in the Confederate flag but merely loves the place that it represents to him, let him where it. But the problem with this is, is that you run into students wanting to be more and more controversial. They want to wear shirts that represent gangs, have naked women on them, have beer labels or drug references. These kinds of things can be argued in the principal's office, thus why the school system just says no to anything that could be used to argue a student wearing something too controversial.

So why do I understand it? Well I am a school teacher, and I see the amount of 'heat' that a Mexican student has over a Honduras flag. I see how much a black student hates the Confederate flag. I see how much hatred can emit from a Blood gang member seeing a "blue flag" hanging out of the pocket of a Crip gang member but stopping a person from wearing this is consequently a violation of our inalienable right to a little thing c? Me not being able to wear my favorite pink Polo shirt because a woman that I work with finds it offensive for men to wear pink? Its not too far in the future I am sure.

But I do understand where you the school system is coming from. I hypocritically understand with regard to how important it is for a student to understand whom he or she is and less worried about the appearance of the person in front of them. The students should be more focused on the paper or book that is lying on the desk. I think that students and parents alike need to not be worried so much about how disrespectful it would be to wear an American flag shirt on September 11th, and have more worry on the fact that they can't conjugate a verb.




*Link to the story: http://www.wect.com/Global/story.asp?S=7058873&nav=menu157_2_2

Falling for Arrogance...

I am sitting here in my terribly uncomfortable office chair. I wish I had've sit in one like it before I bought it, put it together, and hated it. I broke a bone in my foot and pulled a muscle (aka sprained my ankle) last Saturday. I have been in a boot/brace ever since. I am not used to having people do things for me, because I am a very independent person. So you can imagine the horrible situation that I am in. As I have stated earlier, I am a school teacher. You can just imagine the laughter that has been generated by watching me hobble around on my crutches or by the immense hillariousness that has emanated from seeing me scoot around in my extremely uncomfortable office chair.

But the ice pack that I have stuck to my ankle is extremely cold, and my foot that is extremely swolen have not hurt me as bad as the fact that I cannot do things when I want to do them. The reason my foot is hurt, is because I am moving. Now I know that that is not a good answer, nor does it explain what happened, but bare with me. Last Saturday morning I got up semi-early (since most Saturday mornings I like to sleep til atleast 10:30) and got started packing up the back of my F-150. I had already man-handled my 32 inch TV by myself (since I always am trying to prove to myself and others that even though I may be fat, but I don't bust my ass in the gym just to pay a membership). I had my surround sound taken down off the walls, and into its boxes ever so delicately. Each speaker was placed precisely in order of size. I had taken down my paintings off the wall. My dvds and cds had been placed in boxes. So you're asking how can this morning go wrong? Well this beautifully secluded house that I had been renting was off the road 'a good ways' and was amongst old trees. I am guessing that whoever placed the house there decided that they really loved this one tree. They put the house about three feet away from this extremely large tree. The roots had taken over the area where I had to park my truck and getting my Mustang through there was like going over 20 tall speed bumps.

Well as I said the roots had taken over the area where I park my truck and this was right beside of the front steps. I had a large front patio with steps on the side. Well here I go barreling down the steps carrying boxes under each arm (again trying to prove something to myself and/0r someone else) when I put my foot down directly on the top of a root. Well in my speed all of my weight came down on this foot of this tree in this yard of this house where I had been staying (now that sure is alot of prepositionary phrases, haha). My foot went off the side of the root and I went to the other side of the root. As my foot turned in a way that feet are not supposed to do, I heard a cracking sound that made me almost sick to my stomach. I dropped the boxes and my hands went out to grab onto something. One hand braced the side of the house, the other clinched to the tree.

So there I was. I was out in the yard of my secluded home, and the contents of two boxes and their emissary are strung chaotically around the base of this large, old tree. An extremely expensive surround sound system is laying on the dirt. A dvd player that I paid way too much for has fallen on top of another root. I am writhing in pain, with no one there to care for me. You see I had wanted to go ahead and do it myself, so no one would get in my way while I was trying to work. I knew that I could do it quicker than any of the other people could help me carry things. My arrogance had once again served to do nothing but bring me down. I had tried to get everything done by myself and this is where it has gotten me.

Well I see the error of my ways now, as I sit here waiting for the school's secretary to come back and get the ice pack that she brought me about 15 minutes ago. So by utilizing a long time trait, my arrogance has brought me a lot pain and embarassment. So I am hoping now that I am going to learn something out of this awfully terrible experience. But I have already learned one lesson and it is that I cannot step down on roots of trees wearing old-slick bottomed Rainbow sandals.

The palpitations of the heart...

A beautiful 17-year-old girl cascading into womanhood much like the redish brown locks of hair that had fallen ever so gracefully on the black and white button up shirt of her boyfriend, George. Doris seemed safe as they rest their eyes in his 44 Mercury. She sighed, and seemed to wake from her simulated slumber quicker than he did. She kissed him again. Then she slowly pulled his arm from her shoulder. She took his hand, and his heart dropped when she drew away from his breast. Why did she draw away from him? If something is wrong, why is she still holding his hand?

"I want to go home," she said, as she looked at him in a way that he couldn't possibly comprehend.

He held her hand tighter, and was dazed by her bold statement. She leaned further towards the cracked window and looked at the bank of river where they had parked that night. Then suddenly he said, as if the simple solution stated itself to him:"We'll get married Doris."

She sat in a silence that only the ripples of the quiet moving river could break.

"We'll go to Myrtle Beach right now, do you want to?"She pushed away his hand and laid her hands on the brawny muscles of his upper arms. His hair still short, still short from his last military-mandated hair cut. It made an almost unheard raking sound as he ran his fingers through his hair, almost in frustration. But as the inner monologue that she had running in her head, got to her, she clung to him passionately, again in a way that he could not understand. But he left it all now, to marriage. The solution would be to just get married. He did love her, and he wanted her. He wanted to be married to her, he wanted to have her to himself, as his own forever. And now he waited for the response that she had already decided upon in her own mind. But there was a time between her response that made an unnamely amount of tension, a pure irritation.

How could they tell her parents that she was pregnant? Being pregnant out of wedlock in 1947 was not something that was to be tolerated.

"George, where will you stay? You don't have any money," said Doris' mother in frustration.

The young man went pale, as he hated to hear these words. He had gone back to Doris' house the next morning, but he didn't need her to tell him that he was poor. George always had been poor. Being tossed around from house to house, as if no one had a place for him in such a big world. But he swallowed what little pride remained, and shown through the moment like the few shiny coins he had in his pocket. His spirit was bright and inalterable. His love for Doris was almost as strong as his will.

"Wherever we can, ma'am," he says with a hopefully reassuring smile.

There was along pause.

"You can stay here son. I know you love her and you have always treated us with respect. You were man enough to come to us. You come work here after you get done on the base to help fill in for what money yall need," Doris' father strongly stated from the kitchen table of his small farm house. He had remained quiet throughout the exchange, since that was his way.

George again went pale, as if his spirit again, had to be contained. Tears filled his eyes as he realized that he could not provide all that he needed for Doris, himself, and their unborn child. He knew that the money that the Army paid him for being a painter was not going to be enough. He had served oversees until he got hurt. He had taken a job on Camp Lejeune to make a living and to continue getting the small amount of benefits that being in the military can provide.

"She's only a child, Eddie. ," said Doris' mother as her voice cracked and as tears streamed down her face. "You're only a boy of 21. You're neither one old enough to do as you like yet."

George raised his head as a lone tear made its way down the tanned skin of his freshly shaven face.

"What does it matter how old she is, and how old that I am?" he said as he fought back tears. "What's the difference between me now and when I'm thirty. I'll still love her. I still want to marry her. I want her to be with me forever."

Eddie, Doris' father, made his way to the couch and took his wife's hand. "The boy is right mother," he said with a grin. "They love each other."

George and Doris took each other by the hand and stood up. The two of them sensetive to the antagonizing pain that her mother was going through. They felt sorry but they knew what they must do. The blindness of their love for each other broke the hysterical hurt of the situation.

After they all cried, for what seemed like hours, the afternoon came and they finally made it to the door."Daddy," Doris cried from the doorway, and she ran to him sobbing as if her heart were breaking from an immense palpitation of love mixed with fear. She took ahold of him. She held him close. His body was so big and comfortable but she knew that she was about to be a woman. About to join in matrimony the man that she knew would love her for all of her days.

Well the couple made it to Myrtle Beach and got married. They went through sadness, like when the son that caused them to join in marriage was stillborn. They went through happiness, like when they bore three other children. They grew older in years and their children had children. So here I am. I will tell you that my grandparents never had a lot of money but none of us have ever went without. The happiness, fear and love that made their marriage has carried us all through our years. The two of them are still loving one another, even though time tries to widdle them down, their love will continue to be strong, no matter what comes into their path.