My Introduction To Oregon
In Jacksonville, we lived in a small house on an acre of land, one of
many parcels of land just like it in the general area.
There was an old feed shed out back that we cleaned out for me to
stay in. I was into putting black light posters all over the walls. It was
sort of a collage of posters, and clippings from newspapers and magazines. It was
great because I had my Fender tremelo reverb amp, a really nice Gibson acoustic with
electric pickups, and I could play every Glen Campbell and Johnny Hartford song there was
including his version of Mason William's Classical Gas.
I would bring in the neighborhood kids and give them free guitar
lessons. I was always the recreation director, teaching them how to make bows and
arrows from small brush, all kinds of things I just made up as I went along. I
always felt honored, because we'd have little contests after making these things, and I
didn't have any prizes to give them. They always agreed that whatever one of the craft
projects was that I made myself would be the prize. And so it was.
There was this one kid, though, who was always getting into my room
and messing things up and breaking things, and one day I went in there and he was just
about to light a poster on the wall on fire. I was mad. I got him running out that
door so fast. He knew he didn't dare stay. And, with him about 100 feet I way, I
popped him in the butt with a pellet from my .177 caliber pellet gun. I'm a very
good shot.
That was the second, and last time, I had to take a lesson about guns
from my memories of my father. The first time, I shot a bird that didn't die, and
then brought it home to nurse it back to health. He was furious. His rule:
never point a gun at someone unless you intend to kill them, and if you do point a gun at
someone, don't hesitate, pull the trigger. So, he made me shoot it point blank. I
got the message. I've shot alot of guns. I relate to the boy Jody in "The
Yearling", the one with the pet fawn, very much.
Tommy
Roe - Dizzy
The real problem was that I was used to living somewhere where you
didn't have to lock any doors. That's when I learned about keeping honest people
honest, by locking the door. Why put a friendship in jeopardy with an otherwise good
person by leaving it to temptation when I could so easily just lock the door?
Kind of like regulation and corporations.
Anyway, he and I made up, and continued to be friends.
I went to a school for a few months called McLaughlin Middle School.
It was huge compared to what I was used to. I think Scotts Valley Elementary
had maybe 500 kids in it. This was like 3000 or more. That didn't bother me, though,
because I was very social.
I made alot of frends, and being from California, most of what they
wanted to teach was stuff I already knew. Even the electronics classes. I sensed
they were trying very hard, but, like everyone who's ever tried, they found me pretty hard
to pigeon hole. They decided to get me into math. To me, math was a useful concept,
that, when needed, could easily be looked up in a book.
I always viewed books as an extension of my mental database, not an
external source. My job was to notice key words in publications and manuals, and
then, whenever I needed them, I would remember approximately where to find it... sometimes
I could even see the word as it was printed on the page... and then go to it.
I always sensed a distinct difference between short term memory and
long term memory, and noticed that you could go to a lecture or read a book, and not be
able to recall it immediately after, but the next day, after sleeping, it could be
recalled easily. I always figured that sleep allowed for the transfer of short term
data to long term storage. It's like a dog with a behavioral problem who goes to
sleep one night, has a bad dream, and the next day, suddenly doesn't have that problem
anymore. It finally got transferred to the database.
So I developed a study habit of taking copious notes while reading
the text, reviewing the notes 2 days before a major test, and re-reading anything that
seemed unclear, or important dates I knew I would be asked about the day before the test,.
I wasn't a straight A student, but I did well. Especially on essays and
verbal tests. They called me an under-achiever. I'm not sure, still, what they
meant. I was satisfied with my grades, I didn't feel motivated to worry about
impressing anyone, and I felt like I did a good job actually learning the concepts, and
contextualing them into personal relevance.
And I developed methods to teach other people by planting little
seeds that I knew would lead in a day or so to a new opportunity to give them another
insight. At Scotts Valley School, I found out 2 years later, they called me the
philosopher, though they never said it to my face. And I remember constantly having
kids around me, asking questions about how to conduct themselves and about morals and
ethics.... and I thought we were just talking all that time. In retrospect, I often think
that I could have been a real positive influence on my friends had we not moved to Oregon.
So, math was not something I really cared about. And, 6 weeks
of the Honk Kong flu very shortly afterward made it a moot point.
Aretha
Franklin - Respect
I'll always remember the day the principal of the school drove up in
the driveway and saw me in the feed trough in front of the pasture, sitting there in the
sun, and it felt good. It was only the second day I had been able to get out of bed.
He just looked at me and said "Guess you've decided you don't
have to go to school anymore, eh Rehn?" I just looked at him and said
"Nice to see you too."
He said, "I wanna take a look at where you live". So
I walked him to the shed just a few feet away and I opened up the door, and he looked
inside and saw all the cool black light posters and collages (I liked the Buffalo
Sprngfield Poster the best, for what it's worth) and all he said was "Damn."
I'm sure he thought I was on drugs. I can understand why.
But I wasn't. I had seen all the Sonny Bono movies showing how smoking
marijuana would cause you to look in a mirror and go crazy and hallucinate and kill
yourself... and I remembered all the stories from Santa Cruz, a place that had a huge
mafia operated drug business importing most of the drugs from south of the border, and
alot of people died and took acid and really hurt themselves and did crazy things, so I
decided I wasn't going to go that route.
But, like most authoritarians, the rule is shoot first, ask questions
later. I could never respect that.
One time when I was 8, I had a baseball coach who liked to yell and
scream and cuss at the players. One day he decided to do it to me. Now, I was a good
player, a good team player, and I'd do anything he'd ask. He said "Rehn, get
your f-ing ass on the field." I just looked at him, and decided I would
just sit there. He said it again. I just sat there. Finally, after ignoring me
a few minutes, he came over and said "Rehn, what the hell is your problem?"
I looked at him straight in the eye and said "When you decide
you're going to treat me with respect I'll be glad to take the field." He
apologized, and never yelled at me again.
So, the principal said to me "Rehn, you're f-ing up."
I said, "So are you".
That kind of stuff was hard for me to hear, because I had always had
the sense that my teachers and parents treated me different than the other kids. I wasn't
quite sure how. I think they knew I didn't have a malicious bone in my body, I
always did my work, I was prompt, polite, what I think they called a Perfect Adaptive
Child or something like that. So, it seemed like they pretty much let me do whatever
I wanted to do, and mostly helped me get what I wanted and got out of my way. But mostly,
I knew they trusted me, and I honored that trust because it meant freedom to me.
The principal marched to the front door and my mom answered the
door and I heard a bunch of yelling.
I only went to that school about 2 more weeks before we moved to a 20
acre parcel in White City, Oregon. It was on the corner of Peace and Justice
Streets. There was a minister on the Justice side, and a Police Officer on the Peace
side. I always thought that was interesting.
White City, Oregon
This was a fun place for me. I had a corvair in Santa Cruz
(yes, in the 8th grade). I wanted to rebuild an engine, and was fascinated with the
concept of perpetual motion, and it was a great box to fit stuff in. I had an idea
of how to use solar panels to charge batteries and use a windmill device on the back of
the car to provide an additional charge. After reading a little Buckminster Fuller
and a whole lot of Popular Science and Mechanics over the years, I figured everything was
possible if you wanted to do it.
I mean, nobody invented electricity. It was there to be
discovered.
One day, before moving to Oregon, I came home and it was gone.
So, when we moved to this place in White City, Oregon, George
bought me a calf and a truck. I know you're not supposed to interact on a personal
level with animals you're going to eat, but I taught Domino about 10 tricks before I came
home one day and he was gone. I didn't really think all that much about it, though I
was annoyed no one told me or asked me any questions. And nobody offered an
explanation, as usual. But, I was used to dealing with animals as part of the food
chain, so that part of it didn't matter to me.
Strangely enough, though, I'm one of those people who can go out in
the woods and attract animals. I just talk and sing to them, and stay very still.
I don't kill animals unless I need food. Like the Indians, I have always
believed all life deserves honor and respect.
George was a farmer and dairy foreman and ranch hand and logger and
mechanic and did all kinds of mechanical stuff I had never been exposed to. That was
very much the good side he had to teach me. I always loved the farming part. He knew
alot about taking care of soil and erosion, just like Al Gore talks about. George
only had a 9th grade education, and was barely functionally literate. But he had a
lot of practical wisdom. Unfortunately, he didn't have any self-esteem. I felt
sorry for him.
We lived in a cinder-block shed, split up into 4 small rooms, and it
was extremely cold in the winter. The next summer, it was extremely hot. I had
alot of great memories about Oregon, and my parents. I think Oregon is a beautiful
place. All I'll say is that this is when I first developed ulcers.
We moved back to Santa Cruz, California, where I attended Soquel High
School. It was an excellent progressive school. I was recruited to play the lead in
Mrs. McThing, then Patrick Dennis in Mame, and Ewart Dunlop of the Barbershop Quartet, and
other roles. I got a best actor award, and was a high-point member of the Thespian
Society.
There are actually a million good things to talk about. And a
few that make a difference. I was also in speech and debate, and our instructor had
an international reputation as being the finest high school speech and debate coach there
ever was. [He was coach of Lance King, who I understand is/was in
the Diplomatic Corps.]
He was a tough old German coot who cared about people intensely and
was about as gruff as sandpaper on an open sore... I think he always knew he didn't fool
me. We had alot of fun giving each other a hard time in front of the class.
People couldn't believe I had the guts to talk back to him like that. But it really
was a game for us. They just didn't know it. What a kick.
This guy was so cool to me, he knew what was going on at home and so
he'd set me up for all these speaking contests. I was good at original and oratorical
interpretation. He'd come to my house, pick me up, feed me dinner, go over my speech, take
me to the event, and take me out afterward to coach me on my performance. He was very
direct but it wasn't personal. This guy was incredible. He was also on amphetamines 90% of
the time. That was also part of his reputation. Other than that, he was
incredible.
The first speech he assigned me to deliver was Martin Luther King's
"I Have a Dream Speech". This skinny little white kid, delivering "I Have A
Dream". What an honor. I spent weeks researching the life of Martin
Luther King. And the speech was so beautiful. So beautiful. It was so much a part of
my being. I know why my teacher assigned it to me. Because he knew I would respect
it. He gave me a real gift that day.
Bob
Dylan - Everybody Must Get Stoned
Life was pretty good, at least away from home, and I had alot of
friends, and still was President of the class. In theatre the people really liked me, even
though they knew I was pretty innocent. They weren't.
After the first play, we all went to some house and had a cast party.
I had a beer like everyone else, just to be social. I really didn't like it, and already
had an aversion to the idea of drinking. So, I went outside to get some fresh air, and
somebody offered me a joint.
I politely said "No, thanks" and proceeded to go inside the
house to call the police. Someone stopped me in the middle of dialing. It was before
you could just dial 911.
They took me outside and talked to me for about an hour, and offered
me a joint again. I said no, got out of the car, and started to walk down the road
to go call the police. They convinced me to have a beer, spiked with whiskey, and
when I was totally plastered, they set me out on the driveway, and woke me up later to
take me home.
I still did theater, and they had all their parties, but I
avoided all that. I didn't want anything to do with it. For about two months, they
would follow me around outside and offer me stuff, and I just told them to stop it.
They flat out would tell me that they would stay on me and on me until I gave in.
One day, about 6 of them cornered me. They reminded me that
they had never done anything to harm me, and I could trust them. They said they really
didn't care if I smoked it, but they liked me and wanted me to come to the parties,
but they just didn't want me to call the police. So I tried it.
I sat on the edge of the stage for about an hour, giggling. My
drama teacher, who also was incredible and put on high school plays that were rated better
than all the semi-pro shops south of San Francisco, she just kept saying, "What are
you so happy about?"
I was usually pretty quiet, and she knew what was going on at home.
The thing is, it was fun. I wasn't all that impressed, but what hit
me most was how much I had been lied to about what marijuana does and is. And my
government did that. That really was the day I started questioning authority.
So I started going to the parties, and sure, I'd have a hit or two,
but mostly, I was saving/helped people the lives of the
people who had od'ed, making sure they were still breathing and giving cpr-like actions when necessary. Like JT says, That's Why
I'm Here. I admit I smoked it a couple times during school, but it was just a couple
times. It messed up my concentration.
One week, the guys all decided to buy a bag of Acapulco Gold
together. It was $10 an ounce. I guess they decided I was the least likely person to
be suspected, so they gave it to me to hold onto until the weekend. I had a coat that
would easily conceal it.
Did I mention that when I got into high school, I always wore slacks
and a sport coat with hard-soled shoes? Michael J Fox had nothing on me. I was the
only person in the school in the Junior Achievement program. I actually created it there.
Turns out, my sister, who was on every drug you can imagine, found
out somehow that I had it. I think someone told her she could get some from me.
Instead, she turned it over to my parents, who were going to call the police, but my mom
finally said, "No, we'll let him talk to the counselor at school."
So, the next thing I know, without warning, I was sititng in my
counselor's office. I heard questions about whether I was in a cult or whether I had done
other drugs.They couldn't possibly believe I would have that quantity and not be a serious
drug addict. I heard every possible hysterical arguement you could possibly imagine
that keeps it illegal to this day.
And none of it has anything to do with marijuana. It was the
most absurd banter I had ever heard in my life. And nobody asked me the simple
question "What happened?".
After about a half hour of this, I asked if I could have a drink of
water. He said, "If you try to leave the room, I'll call the police."
So I said "Call 'em". I left his office and got some water, and he
followed me like a dog on a leash.
I sat down on a bench, and I looked him in the eye and said
"Look, this is the only time I've ever had a quantity, I'm mainly just holding it for
other people, I probably should have known better than to take it and be used, I'll smoke
some at parties, but otherwise, it's not a big deal. And, I said, you need to understand.
All of you people don't have a clue about weed, and you've lied to me all these years, and
you need to know, I will never blindly trust you or any one else in power again."
And then I walked away. He didn't like me anymore, even though
I was one of the "elite" of the school. But nobody at school ever bothered me
again. And I smoked a little at parties. You know, the ones where I was saving
lives.
And calling the police wouldn't have put an end to anything. It
was a cultural thing during the period at the end of the Vietnam War. Everybody
thought the drugs and hippies and flower children started in San Francisco, but the fact
is, it was in Santa Cruz, and I was living smack dab in the middle of it.
And I was angry at the government. Because I believed what they
told me. They were supposed to be trustworthy, after all.
Not too long after that, I was going to attend the moratorium march
in San Francisco, but my parents were against it. I couldn't figure out why. I
thought they would like me going to a moratorium on protests against the war. I thought
they liked Nixon. When I told one of my firends, they just chuckled, and talked to
me for a couple hours.
Let's just say I truly joined the moratorium that day. [I didn' tgo to it, but I agreed with it] And I was even
angrier, and less willing to trust my government. In speech and debate the next
year, the hypothesis was about Vietnam. And I did pretty well in my debates.
That's when I really got into John Lennon, songs like "Power to the People",
"Instant Karma", and "Working Class Hero".
It was truly the end of the inncocence for me.
I'll bet I never smoked weed again for 5 years. I just didn't
want to. And I've never suggested that anyone else should either. I always figured that
was their business.
The other interesting thing at Soquel High and the Theater Group is
that we were very into hypnosis, dream analysis, telepathy. When the group got into
spirits, I kept messing up the Ouija board by asking questions about God and the devil.
Sometimes, it would fly off the board. I'd just laugh and go home.
The telpathy part came in handy. I could actually get George to
stop arguing by planting an image in his mind about his favorite son. I'd have to listen
to alot of boring stories, but it was better than fighting.
We moved around Santa Cruz 2 or 3 times in the next 1-1/2 years.
Then, we moved to Arcata, California.
George was a logger, and that's when we moved to the Big Bend Ranch.
It was incredibly beautiful. No electricity. All propane, batteries,
water from a spring... for me, it was a good fit, I felt at home. I played my guitar all
the time. Once a month we had a dance down at the one room school house where
the elementary schol kids went. I was the guitarist and singer, another guy played
the drums. His name was Manuel, a Hoopa Indian, as a matter of fact. Cool people. They
taught me a lot. They were very humble and appreciative. and very respectful.
The bus driver for the high school was a great guy. Before
evading the draft and going to Thailand of all places, he had played with Crosby, Stills
Nash & Young, and he was good. Rick Replogle.
Crosby,
Stills, Nash & Young - Teach Your Children
Most of the time, I was the guy shutting people down on the guitar by
being a superior player. This guy shut me down in about 5 minutes. After I got
over it, we had fun jamming. Not much else to do when you're 40 miles out in the
middle of nowhere with no tv. But nobody complained. We all felt lucky.
But this guy taught me alot. And what a beautiful voice.
We had to get up at 5am to make it to school by 9am. All we did
was play music and sing the whole way. And once a week, the bus driver would pull
over and play for us for 15-20 minutes.
One of my jobs on the ranch was to be a hunting guide. I would
lead people to where the deer or birds were, get them to hold still, and they'd shoot 'em.
One time, I got a 6 point buck to hold still, and they handed me the gun. I
didn't really mind shooting an animal for food, but I just hadn't thought about it.
I shot over it's head twice, and it still wouldn't run. So, I handed the gun back to
George, and he took it down in one shot. It simply wouldn't move.
It was so remote, the game warden always asked permission before
patrolling the property. He told us he didn't care about us doing whatever we
wanted, he just wanted to get poachers. His predecessor had been missing 4 months
before they found his car in a ravine, the officer with a bullet through his head.
I have a book dated 1963 that my father left me, tells you how to do
practically anything with food from scratch. I was making dandelion wine and beer
for everyone, just because it was fun to do. And, I collected all the beer cans from
the camp. I made about $20 per month off those. I also kept the plastic things out of the
Seagram's whiskey bottles, because they made excellent cable reinforcers for the ends of
video cables in the radio/tv class, where I was officially the engineer. I fixed
lots of stuff. Had my first reel to reel at the age of 7. I could breath edit like a
pro when I was 16.
I tanned all the deer hides and saved feathers for making moccassins
and purses and slippers. I found a recipe for tanning hides using acorns. It took 3
days just to make the "soup", and another 2 weeks of processing after the hides
were dry to make them soft and preserve them. It was quite a process, but
interesting.
I was really into radio. I listened to the radio all the time.
Listening for tricks, formatting info. The next year, I was program director
of the station. I loved programming the music. They did an Arbitron there that
year, which was unusual. Our 10 watt radio station was the number 3 station in the
market, when it was on the air. The funny thing that few people knew, is that out of
12 stations, we were number three, to a 5,000 watt AM and 50kw FM... both of which I
supplied the music play lists for [and/or worked for and with the
programmers]. One of the stations had a pd who was a jock from an RKO station
in Fresno (KYNO), and really hadn't figured out the PD job yet. The other was just a
friend. In return for the playlists, I'd go down to the stations, and they'd let me
hang out during the shows, use the production rooms, and teach me all kinds of stuff.
But I couldn't get a real job because of this birth defect... I
sounded like a woman with a real smooth voice... actually like Pat Kelly of KFRE Fresno,
the first west coast woman legend of night time broadcasting. By the time I was 19,
I looked like I was twelve.
And now I'm going to tell you what was going on with George and my
mom. Just a little. Just enough.
George was a brutally violent alcoholic. I thought of it like an
allergy, a bad reaction people have to something that's not good for them. From the
day he moved in, our home life was hell. I don't know what he did to my sister
alone. Remember, I was always in the extra room unattached to the house.
Some of the things he/they did.
Byrds - Turn, Turn, Turn
My mom tried to poison my sister and I twice. She tried to gas
us once. I know the feeling of being poisoned. George, a 290 pound logger who
used to be a sparring partner for George Foreman and Larry Holmes, used to sit on top of
me with a hammer in his hand or his fist doubled up and scream and scream, and ask me
questions that would only lead to more trouble. I finally just told him to either kill me
or leave me the f_k alone.
One time, he came at me with the same butcher knife he used on the
deer and I slipped out the window into the pouring rain... no lights or anything... and
stumbled down the road a mile to the next house in the logging operation. They knew
something had happened, and they knew I was responsible, so I asked them for a gun, and
they gave it to me. They knew George. [I asked them,
they ignored the question, and it's probably good they didn't give me one]
I went back home, dripping wet and still in my underwear, and I went
into his bedroom and aimed the gun at him and said "You SOB. You can
do whatever you want with me, but if you ever do anything like this to my sister, I'm
telling you, I'll kill you without even a second thought".
Years later, my mom said that he would get so mad at me because I
intimidated HIM all those years.
That was always my deepest, darkest secret. Because I would
have killed him. I've only told that to one person before. And I hated the thought
that that was how I [might have] had to interact with my own
parents.
And my brother and other sisters. For the most part, they didn't
believe any of this was going on. We lived a Leave it to Beaver life until George
came along. I survived because of my deal with God to teach me what I needed to know.
I clung to the idea that there was a time to every purpose. And I
always had my music.
One other trick they used to do, back when we were in Santa Cruz, was
to get out the 22 rifle and aim it at each other and threaten each other. We'd leave
the house, and go to the neighbors and ask them to call the police. We'd tell them
what was going on and they either didn't want to get involved or didn't believe us.
So we'd sit along the side of the road, a few blocks down, just in case the gun went off
(so we didn't get hit), and would wait for hours for the arguing to die down or for the
gun to go off. It did a few times. They never hit each other with it though.
And, finally, George wanted me to call him dad. Frankly, I just
wasn't going to do that. My mother started yelling at me about it one night.
She thought it would make George happy and make him stop drinking and fighting.
I told her I wasn't going to do it, and she started to swing to slap me
across the face and I grabbed her hand and stopped her, and told her to never even think
of hitting me ever again. She didn't.
I'm going to assume that gives you the flavor of it.
They wouldn't take me to the doctor about the birth defect. My
mom knew what it was, but George insisted I must be a late bloomer. So I waited until I
was 18, got on Medi-Cal, and went to the doctor myself. It was a simple fix for the
rest of my life, a shot once a month. That's all it took. [Although, now I find out that Kallman's Syndrome was the reason/birth
defect the Germans/Nazis used to justify Eugenics]
Except for the going through puberty part. They did that with
weekly shots, a ton of pills, and I went from a high tenor to a baritone in less than 2
months. The whole process took only 6 months. Most people do it over years.
Until High School, I'd had a girlfriend since before kindergarten.
I enjoyed the company of girls. In high school, though, we were in the middle of a
sexual revolution that I didn't think was a good thing for people in high school. I saw
too many people getting deeply hurt and used.Sex wasn't possible for me anyway. I
didn't want to be humiliated. So I avoided dating. I was popular, and a lot of
the girls asked me out. I always had an excuse. And it wasn't like I didn't want to.
Lovin'
Spoonful - Do You Believe in Magic
The first day at Arcata High, going to my first drama class, I
tripped over a girl's foot and fell at her feet and looked up and knew I had found my
first love. We hung out alot together, one time she even told me she loved me, and I
told her it was good to have friends you love. So our relationship was mainly like
me being there to be her friend every time she was hurt or needed help. I don't
think she ever figured out what was going on. But we touch base every couple of
years just to see what's happening. She never did get married.
What I got from all of that, my parents and all, was that it wasn't
about me. That what I had experienced was null and void and just not a good example,
and should not use it as an example of how normal people act. But that left me with
one question. What is an example of how to act?
I understood why they did what they did. I could not condone
it. For the most part, I disassociated myself from my relationship with them. But
there was this nagging question: if you can't trust your mother, who can you trust?
I left home at 19 (they needed the money I got from my father's VA
benefits to survive. George was drunk one day setting chokers in the woods, and got
caught by a tree. It broke his back, took out 5 discs, broke his pelvis... it was
bad. He just got meaner. He settled the claim one day when he ran out of beer... for
$1000)
My sister has never been functional. For a while there, she tried to
commit suicide twice a year like clockwork. People ask me how I turned out so well.
I just tell them I'm a survivor. But, despite it all, in every other way, I really
felt like I had a charmed existence. Everything else always worked out great for me.
Everything. And I had my deal with God. And I read my Bible. And I learned.
Pink
Floyd - On the Turning Away
All through that time, I looked everywhere but at home for role
models. We talk about how we need good role models, especially in a society of
broken homes. But when you get right down to it, it seems there are few on the air,
in the community, all around us, to draw upon as replacements symbols for people to view
and respect and model themselves after.
And it's interesting to think that some people would think of some
kind of label to put on what I'm talking about. I've been called a loser, nerd,
naive, lost... whatever. It's like blaming a woman for getting raped. But we talk about it
like we all think there should be good role models. And then laugh at those who don't have
them, and needed them, and end up criminals or having mental problems. At the very least,
many people undergo therapy for post traumatic stress... which I did for about 3 months
when I was 25. [That was my appraisal, I was never given a
diagnosis]
And it's not like anyone should expect perfection in the people we
look up to. That would make a bad role model too. Because people need the room
to be, and people need to see that we are all fallible as much as we are good people.
And it's not angst about the phrase Who said the world was fair.
When I compare animal behavior to human behavior, many fundamentalist Christians go
a little nuts. They say we are better than animals, we have a soul, we have have a
conscience, and so it makes us better than animals.
But, it's like abortion. I believe in choice because, if for no other
reason, this society has no structures to empower those people we cast aside for doing
something like getting pregnant. As for the rest, I'm actually still undecided what I
think.
To not have choice would mean sentencing more people to a life of
disadvantage, poverty, illiteracy, bad things for people and cultures. It's all part
of this veil of the facade of righteousness. And I honestly believe a woman has the right
to choose what occurs with her own body... just as I did, when I decided to take a
medication and live a little less time, and have a better life, rather than live a few
years longer and be ill.
I don't believe God wants young women, trained by their role models
and parents and society to do things that the society itself claims to be bad, to be cast
off like expendable problems. I can't believe a merciful God would want to perpetuate the
suffering of poverty that will leave its trail through generations.
Even the police chiefs of America agree with Headstart, if nothing
else, as a deterrent to crime. Empowering children lowers the crime rate. It's a
proven fact. Head start, although under funded, in the long run, is an effective
tool in building disadvantaged people's lives to become productive citizens.
And the concept of saying unwed mothers should work instead of become
educated. It's a nice thought, but that just means another generation taught
the skills of the poor, illiterate and angry. For a responsible society, it doesn't
look like we're willing to give what it takes to get the job done.
But, our leaders, for political expediency, say things like more
people are off welfare and back to work... even though the job of empowering the people
was not done. And it's not really that they're necessarily even at work.
They're just off the welfare roles. In the streets. Living lives most of us wouldn't
want to live. And we call that a successful program.
The only other thing I'll say for now about my life, is that I was
married for nearly 10 years. It wasn't that bad of a marriage, but there were a few
issues. Like, I didn't want to pass a birth defect like mine on to a child.
It's not that bad, I just don't see a reason to perpetuate it. Even though I am the
namesake of the family. And I, too, had based my idea of the future on having
children.
What probably ended it more for me was two things... one, after going
through some troubles and thinking things were patched up, she made a comment that I know
was intended as a compliment, but it was so not consistent with the person I had ever
been. She said "one of the things that attracted me to you is that I knew you
would be wealthy one day". To me, that was an insult, and had nothing to do
with caring for me. But that's not what ended it.
What ended it was going to a family reunion/Christmas celebration,
and my sister, the one I went through hell with, took me out for a drive and blamed me for
for all the times she had been brutalized and raped by my stepfather. I knew it was not my
fault. She kept running away, and then coming back. Child protective services kept getting
involved, and sending her back. And no one ever asked me a single question. No
one told me a thing. I really didn't know. But alot made sense about what she told
me.
Even my family says they tried to get us out of there, that they were
desperate to help. But no one ever asked me anything. And so, for a time, I
was lost, burdened by the guilt of not protecting my sister, and burdened by the knowledge
that I would have killed him had I known. And a little angry that the systems and the
people who so disagreed with the kind of thing that was going on did nothing. They
even called my sister an incorrigible for running away, but did nothing as it destroyed
her life, and most certainly affected mine.
And finally, with that thought, to think that there are many people
who had it worse than we ever did. It gives one cause to pause and reflect.
And we push these people into poverty and homelessness and then call
it victory to get them off the welfare roles. And we don't realize that as a
society, these people are victims, not criminals, and need help. And we leave them
to their own devices, we take no responsibility for their well being, we just abandon them
to die, either in body or in spirit.
See, I know God doesn't want me to suffer, Do you think God
would want you to suffer? Why should they? If you were starving,
you'd pray that someone would feed you. I guarantee you that you would. If you
were about to lose your home, you'd be more than frightened. You'd be frantic. Why should
they be any different, worthless, forgotten when they are a part of a society that
we created, the conditions for their failure created by ourselves as a whole? Why
should our responsibility end? The recent stock market crashes and the fraud should inform
you that you should not really take anything for granted.
I've been pretty successful, except when I've faced governmental and
corporate corruption. Unfortunately, I've dealt with it time after time after time.To the
point where I almost gave up. And I doubt I'm the only one who's ever felt that way.
And that's why I'm doing all this... so that those who have not faced
hard ship can understand it. I mean real hardship, not just not getting a new pair of
shoes. I mean like starvation.
To give you a glimpse at one of those people who have had to break
through it, even though I say I have been given many advantages compared to most. And to
show our leaders why it is so important that we really take responsibility, that we really
care for the well being of all of the people. Even though we say it's their problem,
it haunts us with every crime, every murder, and every homeless person on the street.
And still, we say it's their problem.
Personally, if I was a loser, I would not be doing this. But I
am not a loser. Like many Americans, in many different ways, I am a victim... having
done nothing wrong myself, and feeling the legacy of others' crimes that continue to
negatively impact my life. And a judicial system that doesn't care. Doesn't even
want to hear the complaint.
Let me guarantee you, in that situation, we are all losers. And we
lose a little more each day. Have you looked at your 401k lately?
But here's the most interesting thing of all for me about it. What I
saw was two people who really loved each other, who I know, despite their problems and the
pain they caused, they actually did love me. But they were so impaired by the
injustices that had been done to them, that they couldn't help but pass the same
injustices onto my life. That's the way it happens. They said things and did
things they never meant to do. It's that unbroken cycle of grief and injustice
that's up to us all to resolve, because it affects us all.
And this isn't really about welfare... it's about the soul of a
nation, and welfare is but one example of what we all would prefer to deny than have to
look at and acknowledge and be responsible for. We hear pretty words that make
it sound like it's handled, but it's just a facade. It's like this: next time you
see a homeless person... remember that you're a person who allows this. That's not
about guilt, it's just the truth.
In the next section, we get into the real corruption, and more.
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