If I Were King-Sexual Violence

Whether the numbers are 40,oo0 or 400,000 the numbers are appalling ar a national  crisis.  If were King,  my task force would have ALL those kits ready to go.    They would ALL  be admissable in country.  Women would preside over rape cases.

We need to find alternatives to the humiliation and terror and possible threats and repercussions and I am a conservative!   This IS a societal imperative, or should be!

In a patriarchal system,  there is… lip-service.   I am not sure if th

Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Prevention Program, Bureau of Health Promotion and Risk Reduction ,Ohio Department of Health 246 North High Street, 8th Floor Columbus, Ohio 43215 (614) 466-2144

Rape Kits and Violence against Women

Many sexual assault patients who come to hospital or other exam sites for a sexual assault examination choose to report to law enforcement. Reporting provides the criminal justice system with the opportunity to offer immediate protection for the victim, collect evidence from all crime scenes, investigate the case, arrest a suspected offender and prosecute if there is sufficient evidence. All patients need to know that even if they are not ready to report at the time of the exam, the best way to preserve their option to report later is to have the exam performed. Additionally, patients need to know law enforcement cannot mandate or request they take a polygraph, voice stress analyzer, or other truth telling test as a precursor to taking a report and conducting a thorough investigation. O.R.C. 2907.10.

 Anonymous Reporting Procedure

Medical personnel and/or hospital support person should inform the adult patient of her/ his right to decide whether or not to speak to law enforcement personnel. If the patient decides not to report the sexual assault, the hospital/facility may simply provide the date and general location of the assault to the law enforcement agency having jurisdiction without giving the patient’s name, address or other identifying information.

I am not advocating to whether a victim should report or not,  but that decision should the choice of the victim,  or if the victim is like 10-11 years old,  a proxy may be necessary.

I have not weened out the procedures for each and every state,  but Statute of Limitations MUST never be the case.

If there is a false report,  the juvenile justice will handle the case,  then move on from there.   There will NO techicalities in place,  that should be off the table.

Here is the conundrum that shows what rape is.  The message sent.

https://wordpress.com/post/stlluna7.wordpress.com/6050

The girl is only 15,  so we all understand what that is.  But also,  she passed out,  and he was debating the issue whether,  he should take advantage of her.

Rape,  Arson, Rape!

The most troubling part is about 1:12.  And these putzes make PSAs,  talking about,  “No means no”!  Hollywood promulgates of a lot of this…

“The Violence Against Women Act protects the lives of tens of thousands of … “We have to promote human solidarity, avoid indifference, and play a part with …

 

The Rape Hologram

I watched a movie last night about 17-year-old Eun An. (Nam Bo-Ra).   I highly suggest that anyone who can view this 2012 film, (Don’t cry Mommy), please do! It a very heart-breaking story.    This movie is about more than one victim, it’s about a mom and  daughter’s happy life together,  being shattered irreconcilably.   Making matters,  worse,  is the sexism.    It is a narrative about responsibility and how jurisprudence and its own misogyny,   perpetuates the myths and the realities.     In the end, this it is not a blog meant to bash men,  but rather where to start,  in addressing education.

Don't_Cry,_Mommy-001

“Revolution is the negation of the existing, a violent protest against man’s inhumanity to man(mankind) with all the thousand and one slaveries it involves. It is the destroyer of dominant values upon which a complex system of injustice, oppression, and wrong has been built up by ignorance and brutality.”  Emma Goldman.

Yes,  but what are we going to do about it?  Laws are a means to an end.   Votes! What does this do, for victims?  The net  effect resolves nothing and they do not placate the victims which include, the family of those victims!

In this movie,  a mother seeks revenge.  Because the perps are allowed to go free and the main perp,  gets a couple months of probation.   Eun-Ah in the mean time is let down by the system,  let down by a culture of near silence by and the continuous ‘rape culture’.

To make matters worse, the girl was raped by these assholes, a second time.  With her own self-worth utterly destroyed,  she becomes even more disillusioned.    Now let’s put this into perspective,  a girl is raped, twice!   Her mother is outraged and the legal system suggests, to settle!  The mother throws down the money offered to her.  At that point,  the perp’s family accuses her daughter and her mother as being loose.

After a recent blog on RallyPoint,  one guy used the Duke LaCrosse team as an example of how men suffer too?  WTF?  Let’s break that down also.  I am sure the legal system let them down.   No!  We are not going to go there.  Compared to the millions of girls and women are who are sexually brutalised, an anecdotal inference to that,  is so sexist,  that is no wonder that this issue, propagates into a miasma of legalise.

“I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.”  ‘Jane Austen’.

As a solution,  neither more laws with no justice or settling out of court will cause the rapist to abstain or ,the mother’s sadness to be any less sad.

The solutions are many,  but it will take more than rhetoric and blaming the victim or more laws.  It will require consideration of how the woman feels and judges adjudicate cases against perps.  It will require education and one that is not an attack on all ,males but , listening to mothers, girlfriends and wives.

As an aside,  a friend in Germany of mine was raped.   She asked to hear story about keeping the baby.   I told her that my NOT place to tell her what to do.   Her response humbled me  because she told me that I was that I am the first to not suggest,  but listen.  She was crying!

The name of the game  is being supporting.  It is not about me,  but to advocate meaningful change, which includes,  like the movie, remedies and compassion for victims everywhere.

This show made me cry,  and not feel bad about crying!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everbody Wants to Rule the World.

 

In our nascent days as people,  we stood for liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  We also had churches dictating the position that we could have sex.   To achieve that end,  government and religion would invaribly have to be voyeurs as well.    It seems to me,  the government has too many bigger issues to worry about,  than consensual play between consulting adults.

 

“The onset of mania occurs when when repression is no longer able to resist the assaults of the repressed instincts.”

Karl Abraham

More importantly we do not take the time to listen,   but we judge and assume too many things.   Most of which, are not true.   We try to find a witch to burn and are amazed when some or many, sing in acapella.  About the differences from one life to another.

“Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled”

Bob Dylan

We can’t quite figure it out and rather than to leave people alone,  we enact new laws that restrict people, from the right, to the pursuit of their own happiness.

In fifty years,  most of us will be long gone and those laws,  like their effectiveness,  will serve no purpose.   Agreeably,  there is a need to restrict certain ‘illegal’ behaviors,  but for all the billions we spend on foster children and child welfare,  there are still homeless and abused children, with social workers who live  comfortably, but still no safe place for said children to live.

The legislators and moralists preach restraint.  One codifies the law, to enforce their causes and the other a moral platitude, that never can be met.  Today, the hippies of generations past,  are lawyers, judges and preachers.  They tell young adults, that they can’t drink until they are 21,  as if that arbitrary number actually does save lives.

Or preachers who are popping young women,  driving off bridges and telling us,  that God dissaproves,  of what we are doing.   Memo to the Elmer Gantys of the world, we know what you are doing and did do, when you were young.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’

Bob Dylan

One Tin Soldier

Like the BDSM community,  who regulate their own,  and there are those who are those people who are out there, who are true sadists, who give the lot of them, a bad name.  But moreover,  the doms are very compassionate of their charges and ask them (subs/slaves) what are the limits. Most really do care!  They love their people and hate those who do not follow the rules of that community.

At stake is the very existence of their lifestyle,  who to the outsider,  does seem bizarre.  But being bizarre is not a crime and the participants do volunteer and their bosses, make sure, that the verbal contract, is not breached.

 

 

Remember: this is not about you: parents and friends.

This is about the beauty of life an the indescribable joy of self-satisfaction.

 

 

 

I will say it again. I am calling B.S.

“To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships.” – W.E.B. Du Bois

Every year just before the start of the football season we get  political correctness with the term,  The Redskins.  Okay I can see how the name can be construed to be something offensive but what about tackling poverty rather than worry about the name of a football team or teams?

To put this in stark terms, counties on Native American reservations are among the poorest in the country and, according to the Economic Research Service at the U.S. Department of Agriculture, nearly 60 percent of all Native Americans who live outside of metropolitan areas inhabit persistently poor counties.

http://www.spotlightonpoverty.org/ExclusiveCommentary.aspx?id=0fe5c04e-fdbf-4718-980c-0373ba823da7

Tom Rodgers is the president of Carlyle Consulting of Alexandria, Virginia. A Blackfoot tribal member, he advocates on behalf of Native American tribal governments and their people. He was previously a congressional staffer for Senator Max Baucus.

http://nativeamericannetroots.net/diary/1411

Unemployment rates are depressing with alcohol use and violence against women alarming.   The poverty rate ranges from 40-54% with about 10% in extreme poverty.   WASHINGTON—A gap in law enforcement on Native American lands creates an environment in which Native women suffer a higher rate of violence than any demographic in the United States, according to data collected by the U.S. Department of Justice, the U.S. Census Bureau and advocacy organizations.

http://americaswire.org/drupal7/?q=content/law-enforcement-gaps-leave-native-women-vulnerable-rape-and-domestic-violence-1

I saw a program from the reservations where rapes were around 60% of the Native American women?  Do you think they care about a name when they are hungry and subjected to rape so much?   The women there had their little support group,  lamenting the violence and degradation.

Washington Redskins Defend Name With Help From Native Americans

http://time.com/3104775/redskins-video-native-americans/

“It’s a warrior’s name”

Native amimg_9638webrez-house

The Washington Redskins premiered a video Monday in which Native Americans explain why they don’t think the team’s hot-button name is offensive.

In the Redskins Facts video, Native Americans argue that they have bigger issues to deal with than a football team’s name. “They’ve never asked Native Americans. It’s somebody else who knows nothing about us trying to speak for us, and it’s kind of an insult,” Wade Colliflower, Team Redskins representative from the Chippewa Cree Tribe, said before adding, “If you can help in any other way it would be greatly appreciated.”

http://www.smagnis.com/inside-the-richest-native-american-tribe-in-the-u-s-where-casino-profits-pay-1m-a-year-to-every-member/

Sadly though that money does not help those in dire need.   Have you seem some of the Alaskan Wilderness show?  Or Alaskan Troopers?   Some of those homes are barely big enough for one,  let alone a family.    And yet some tribes get one million per as the article above relates.

So yes, Native Americans are rightfully mad but that anger should be redirected to get help to the needy and not create another caste system in this country.

The drinking and violence is staggering and being homeless over a year ago,  I know the plight that faces people without a place to stay!!!

WashingtonRedskins2

Fix the pain and suffering and then we’ll see how I feel about women and children suffering and men with no hope and no future….

Chills, Spills and other things. Roads to now. Are you here?

I felt the sun’s virtually as unabated heat in the white sandy beaches of the Florida  panhandle and the smell that permeated that area from a nearby Paper Mill.   It’s sickly sweet smell hung in a florid sky and the aftertaste of scallops made me feel nauseous and trapped.

The Frozen Rainbow.

 

I guess things happen for a reason and behind the doors of our dreams are cryptic answers too complicated to comprehend.  Especially for a child.   The Northern Lights breathed a luminous landscape in the night skies and the cold winds were a knife with a lethal cut.

NL2NLights

Sad moments made the frosty chills breathtakingly painful and unforgettable.  The lonely heart of my many nightmares both real and dreamt cascaded over me,  sealed by the ice and recorded in fragments of memories.

The Rainbows here were made of AU with Santa’s helpers nearby,  ready to conference with that white-bearded Totem handing out candy and coal.

I was lost one day in a row of sleepy trailers which billowed out smoke from wood-stove fires and dangerous old space heaters which either warmed us or ignited other kinds of fire.

My Journey seemed to have no end.   With a runny nose and rubber boots I languished in this maze,   seeking out some answers from a random neighbor.    This story somewhere between a dream and my fear of being permanently lost.   The smoldering ruins of a fragmented world.   Like elevators in towering skyscrapers chased by Gremlins and the free fall of a damaged psyche trying to make amends for being hurt.   To be hurt less or no more.

Life always seemed to be changing.   Starting over again and again with the approach of a train, a car or a bus,  we were Gypsy’s not long for anywhere.  And each mode of transportation offered Rockwell scenes,  with pop tarts,  Corn Chips,  Sandwiches and Koolaid.

 

Texas was the land of tumbleweeds, tornadoes and tacos,   where watermelon festivals and PTA meetings and Open Houses happened in a school with disagreeable teachers and paddles with holes in them strategically located in plain site.

At our home in Burkburnett we had a storm cellar and one day a boy who is a few years older than us wanted to show us younger kids something.   He showed his ass (literally).    Getting upon a large electrical spool inside the storm cellar, he showed us his wares,  so-to-speak.   Or the lack thereof.  (underwear).   I had to be careful with that term.   LOL.

Now as far as his crime,  it was not his own but the influences around him.  Probably at home or somewhere else.  Nothing wrong with the human body,  especially the coming of age stuff.

When you’re an adult and violate the vulnerability of your kid or someone else’s,  you set in motion a disaster.   Roles are confused with adult behavior in a life whose coming of age is thwarted for a time.

   Anger bleeds with wounds so deep you fail to thrive.  Your life is bits and pieces and crashing bells.   You cry silent tears of rage and people getting too close makes you want to fly away to a place no one else can land.   You dream of leaving on a train like the Box Car Children or in a clean space station dressed in white where angels cannot find.  You dream of stories where you are the hero and you can control the volume and the brightness.

Box CarBC2AngelT

Sad songs make you happy because at least they are real and the clouds and the dark skies are a kind of revenge,  control over the storms.    You cheer the rain and people wonder at your skills to know but what they do not know,  that these are your sanctuary.    Snow Days are a thrill, a hedge against consensus. A road painted in white,  radios calling it a day.

One night you wander in your dreams, falling down to the Earth and walking back to the camper where you hung out.   The next morning your bleeding hand started to heal and the following night you punch out a window.    Your dreams and your reality clash and the rebel yell resounds.    Heart beating to rhythms unheard cloaked in allegory.

The ending of a story with buildings punctuating the end.   Times will never be the same.   Love?  Happiness?  Your own shame,  mix in a vortex of purple and green hues.   The Cowboy left bleeding in the sand,  his hand no longer the fastest,  the mask going gray along with the retreating clouds.  The wary veteran reporter no longer finds a smiley face but a dearth of wisdom and the prickly thorns of conscience.

 Anthropocenebaby102Lacey1angelt2

My two cats are my sentinels and they know the sounds to make with purrs laced with loyalty and a home where a home might not be.   A car,  an alley or a truck stop day room,  your car at least has your friend.

SoLstreets-of-larado-fake

Pensive Patience – Turn your head and deny.

Israelirescue-the-worlds-poorest-3

One night we ended up at a place called the Port Authority in New York City.    We being my girlfriend and I,  as we had a stopover before heading on to upstate NY.     The busstop was an eclectic mix of wandering souls,  some with bus tickets and others seemingly having a ticket to hell or a local jail.    The insidious nature of being poor relegates too many people to the streets and ironically far too many are servicemen out of the military,  many with serious mental issues.

So what do the police do?  They either arrest them or make them move a few feet to another Gate.  Where they put down their makeshift cardboard homes while swilling alcohol and threatening other homeless people or harassing bus riders.  I remember the narrow metal benches that were too thin to sit on,  let alone sleep on.   But that didn’t stop some from trying as I saw a young Puerto Rican man trying to sleep and an obviously high and drunk lady of about 50 pushing that young man off the bench.

The result was almost too bizarre and unsettling to observe.   As they yelled at each other the disagreement escalated and the disturbed woman with a bottle in a brown bag broke that bottle as she smashed it against the top of a metal 55 gallon drum producing a rather lethal weapon.  She waived her jagged bottle and threatened to kill the guy.   A black lady seating a few feet away called the old drunk lady a bitch and other assorted life-affirming comments.

1414010274739_wps_2_Joan_Rivers_Apartment_Con230-East-63rd-Street-Apt-3__11

Finally the 50 year old mentally ill lady discarded her weapon and it got scary and otherworldly.   The lady proceeded to lift her soiled skirt,  dropped her unmentionables and menacingly told the young guy to  F#@K her.   Now the old black lady was in top form, telling the ersatz stripper that no one wanted to see her nasty coochie.   Again her vocabulary was as a colorful as before and it seemed that high tide was going out because she feel asleep until the whole entourage was shifted like an adult version of musical benches in an insane asylum.

Perhaps we can start by realistically addressing homelessness.   The VA Hospital,  truck stops and Motels have their parking lots where homeless people find a safe place to sleep for the night.   The decent people (not billionaires) who try to accommodate the needy are indeed angels of a kind.   And these professional fast-food workers and managers basically hold the world together,  while Wall Street and it’s minions drive rental properties out of sight.

The people in NYC who get gunned down are not necessarily suspects but innocent bystanders.  The stories feature the injuries of random shots into a crowd while they get paid leave and offer no apologies.   Sad when police officers do their own version of terror against the weak and enfeebled.

The other side of the homeless equation is where are the children of these homeless seniors?   Where are the cops that do good and why are not these cops emulated by other police officers?   An officer approaches a feeble adult and gets aggressive not knowing if the person is globally Aphasic but perceived as Jason Bourne with tactical firepower and a drawer full of steroids.

Society is ill, perhaps irreparably when handicapped people are not taken care of.   And to me,  even criminals should not be raped by fellow inmates and murderers are not somehow heroic when they hurt the various kind of  offenders in a faux game of morality awry.

Police officers should be respectful and accommodating rather than finding trumped up charges which other officers  accept at face value.    They have a life and a home and respect and it is a power trip because that is why they arrest a jogger for jaywalking.   Campus cops.   The ultimate worst kind of parasite who arrests young ADULTS for doing what they did or their fathers and mothers did during the 60s and 70s.

So this is the season of discontent and mercy and patience have given way to a political state of anarchy where politicians and polizei are given carte blanche powers to accuse and abuse suspects.   The Miranda Rights are fudged with and lied about while good cops are not judgemental but a mutual respect transcends gung ho wife-beaters with a badge.

Port-authority-bus

There are nearly 1,100 BILLIONAIRES in the world who sweep people off the street and characterize homeless as worthless druggies.   The problem is that many make money off of them at both ends and then moralize and wonder about what house they will stay in during the weekend and whose palms need to be greased for the various PACs and the democrats are just as rich and even richer than their counterparts.   Neither party is blameless BUT their immediate task should be to provide humanity to as many as they can.

In depressed places the womanhood of a woman is like Park Place or Madison Ave if they are attractive and date rape is laughed at and kidnapping is happening with souls making money off of the pain and dehumanizing effects of human trafficking while horny rich men dip their wicks in countries where police officers make our own look like caring social workers.    It makes me mad when I hear women using misogynistic language at women who lack what they consider classy behavior,

We all need to access how we treat each other and it starts in the home and in school,  mitigating sexual abuse and educating the poor from abusing their children and including the  hymens of young girls.   This kind of savagery needs to be talked about and a real plan to deal with it.   Collectively stemming the tide of the heart break of being deemed service type people.   Classism is an issue and if we want to lead the world in morality that starts with feeding the homeless and providing shelter to the homeless during spates of especially bad weather.   I have slept in my house or car where temperatures were in the teens,  along with kitty and a few pillows and blankets.   It can happen to anyone.  The gentle and graceful find a way to make helping cool again and for the first time for many.

Silly Love Songs

The moment of awareness of sexuality comes with vistas not before imagined.    Kind of like in the Wonder Years and I was about to find my own Winnie Cooper.

.   But this process was painful and at times I felt like I was watching a show from behind a sound-proof glass.  I was in love with a few girls and a few could see behind the two-way mirrors.    Music was a way to escape and so naturally certain songs were buoyant,  light-hearted and romantic in a way that fit with my own personality.

So I cringe at terms like one-hit wonders, bubble-gum music and silly love longs.   Paul McCartney nailed it and even John Lenin and Yoko Ono proved that commercialized music may not be all that bad.    For me it was Day After Day by Bad Finger and  I pined for a cute little idealistic blond teen.  I remember that we went on a date to the Paddock Room and I stammered and stumbled and was probably incoherent but it was a date and it became news around the school.    One of her friends found out we went out on a date and said that I had the hots for her!  And I did.   I fumbled that ball a few times but years later the ball was back in my hands and I fumbled it yet again.

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

She basically told me one day long after High School  that I already found what I was looking for.   Her!   I was confused and botched that badly but she still really liked me,  just a bit concerned that I missed the obvious clues.   It was like I found the pot of gold but just stared at it and then walked away.

The old High School was a special place where we would play basketball on a court that had a shallow ceiling so you had to shoot a somewhat flat shot.  Oddly enough they used to play Varsity Basketball games on that cozy little court.  The place had the old building scent which wafted through it’s halls and hinted at love and life and where in the gutters floated love notes and old trees cried out.

MuldoonGardens-544x3911_Muldoon_Slide_4

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

One night Mom drove me to the old school and there she was in the crowd still yet coming into focus.  She was pretty as a Blue Jay and wobbly as a colt,  I saw her skating across the ice when she suddenly saw me and smiled.   It was a soft invitation and I took advantage of that opportunity to say “Hi” to her.   I was a terrible skater and was very skilled at falling down.   Noticing that she grabbed my hands and steadied me.   I was in heaven.    The warmth of her body and the prospects of something more filled my mind with curious and yet predictable emotions.

As a side note,  I did have a first love.    The kind where you smile at each other meant you were going steady…LOL

I did have a sixth grade girlfriend named Cheryl and during the fall festival and play I was a paper-machete pumpkin with a green hat that looked like a stem.    Sitting inert on the stage until my cue,  I was rather inspicuous.  Afterwards I dressed in a suit and tie we danced and for some reason it seemed that all the parents with little girls was smitten by me and I had serious game in spite of my shyness.    I had ton of pictures taken by parents and this was more fun than square dancing in gym class.

Next year I was in upstate NY in a very strange place,   where the community was named after our family Ellistown in Barton, NY outside of Waverly and on Ellistown Road.    We moved to the old Brink’s Greenhouse and their fading history replete with a caretaker’s house that become home to hundreds of wasps and other incendiary insects.   My parents found Rhubarb though I had never heard of that before.

Maj Russell Kline Trees

On my first day in homeroom class the teacher accosted poor Ann R. with a comment about the contraband in her mouth. (gum).    I think we were more perplexed about the word (contraband) and I was pondering Ann’s abject humiliation and embarrassment…..

Even at that point were the Freudian connection with her plight and my trying to remain as anonymous as possible.   Things were a bit discomfiting as I was elected to the Student Council for our homeroom.    An honor that I was both proud of and embarrassed by.    I got the feeling the election was more of a joke than an honor.

So the music does play a role in the development of our higher needs.    Merely dismissing out of hand any song because of what some people consider to be corny or not deep is ridiculous.    These songs do get overplayed but that isn’t the artist fault and sometimes the DJ’s either.    From Seasons In The Sun to Sugar Sugar by the Archies,  these iconic pops songs transcended the Rock N Roll critics scorn and embedded themselves in the psyche of our frontal lobes.   These radio voices were our muses and they live forever and a day.

I think it is funny when the rock jocks,  those middle-aged men dressed in black whine about superficial pop songs while wailing on a Fender Stratocaster as their own aging bodies and receding hairlines and pony tails are stuck in a past to be forgotten like an old Class Yearbook and High Times Magazine.     Between have Lava Lamps,  Mood Rings and Chia Pets there are far worse diversions than a Bobby Goldsboro song like Honey.    It is too sappy but Two Live Crew exploits carnal depravity.    Dude,  where’s My Viagra and remote.

or this…..

ncm_wallpaper-122-800

Black History Month & the Greatest Pitcher Ever – Bob Gibson

My favorite baseball player is almost 80 years old next November.    He is about five weeks older than my mother and regardless of the fact that he does NOT know me,   he is my role model,  my baseball idol and a man of great character.

I feel that too many times Jackie Robinson is hailed as the great trailblazer of equal rights.   But Mr. Gibson himself grew up in one of the most dangerous ghettos in America…   Cabrini Green.    His own father died about three months before Bob was born and his brother who was some 15 years older was a kind of mentor.

The song above is probably my favorite from Elvis and conveys the hard reality of disadvantage and self-destructive behaviors.     Growing up in Texas in a segregated neighborhood it seemed that integration was happening and no one had to tell us racism was wrong.   How is it little kids can figure out.   One day this black boy came across me and asked his friends,  “Who is this peckerwood?”     One of my friends from that run down place called the young black child out and told him I was his friend.

Racism was very real but the good part of that change was not a slogan or a gimmick,   we had real problems in our country.   We had Little Rock Hall and the protest of the brave young black students.    I was one year old as this cauldron was beginning to boil over and an ugly scene ensued.

This young lady was a hero and young kids of all races were angry at the over racism and Jim Crowe Laws that permeated the nation and especially  the South.    It was this that the young Cardinal star had to deal with and he did so relatively easily as was his character never to lose at anything.

Gibson had rickets and asthma as a kid and yet become a good basketball player,  averaging 22ppg as a senior in high school.   After that he went on to be an All-American  basketball player at Creighton University.    And from there the Harlem Globetrotters and finally signed with the St. Louis Cardinals.

When pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals in spring training,  black players were not allowed to stay in the hotel that was white only.    Eventually the Cardinals organization fixed that problem.    Imagine being the superstar pitcher in the second best baseball organization and then being spit at in Florida.

The rough life growing up and his competitive nature made him a force in the game and he set one record that is still a record fifty or so years later.   (1.12) over 300 strikeouts and 13 shutouts with 22 wins.    He was a prolific hitter also bashing 24 Homeruns and 144 RBIs.   During the day there were not a lot of televised games and especially the Cardinals so I would listen to KMOX in St. Louis while we were living in upstate NY.      I loved and was proud when watching him pitch and would emulate his pitching delivery.

Mr Gibson like Hank Aaron survived the rigors that racism and hate with class and strength.   One time his catcher Tim McCarver ( a really good one) came to the mound and Gibson, “told him the only thing McCarver knew about hitting was he couldn’t.”

He was known for a blistering fastball and an awesome curve.    When he retired I felt such a deep sadness on a variety of levels.    As the years have passed fans revere him as a classy human and one of the greatest pitchers and one of only a few black pitchers.      So my looking up to him is influenced by so many factors.    I refused to lose and invariably I came through in the clutch every so often.   That included beating an undefeated wrestler in a state tournament,     and an unassisted triple play.    The baseball coach told my little brother that he had large shoes to fill.

I was born in a turbulent time with wars,   bitter conflicts racial and otherwise so I take a dim view of blacks using slavery as a crutch and so do the stars,   businessmen and fathers who do the right thing and do represent the status quo,   There is a lot of work and Ferguson roiled the waters and I am not going to be political but to say,  we collectively have to see each others as valuable as ourselves if not more.

This is a condensed version of my love and respect for this great man and served as a role model to black and white kids.

BobGBGibson45BGBG2

The Monsters Among us.

GADChild

The sudden storm blew in.   The tumbleweeds rushed by and the howl of the wind pushed them like unwanted stepchildren.    I was one of those unfortunate souls,  who prayed for darkness and heavy rain.  The gloom seemed to cheer me up,  the low clouds compacted the world and the heavy snows further reduced the shrapnel of ugly words and harsher correction.

Even better was the icy and snowy weather that kept the devil at bay.    The whiteness like a signet made it official and angry ice cycles crashed from atop the roof of our house.   At night I would sleep walk,  perhaps to walk into the road or fall upon the broken glass.  One night in my dream state I decided the camper window should be a punching bag.   The echoes of anger that permeated my realm.

In my heart I cheered the removal of my anxiety.   The sound of the engine and in it’s wake a measure of relief.    On one occasion we had two cats.   For some reason that one day would harbor a death penalty for one of our cats.   With seventeen acres of land,  my father determined that one should die.

My brother took at him and with a thud,  my heart filled with pity,  anger and disillusionment.  Unbearable voices led me to the scene and the grave of soft ash an ethereal tomb.   Suddenly the Raven appeared and that poor cat with blood on it’s side to my astonishment that poor gray cat seemed to be begging,  hoping for some kind of reprieve and a tear or many fell.    My brother finished the task and that thought and an attempted or threatened murder of my mom at five,  congealed into an unholy miasma of doubt and uncertainty.

Like the gales of a winter,   this inclement weather was a well-timed respite.  Revenge against the Tsunami that always lain in wait.   A patient wraith with a two-edged bite and like a small warrior I tried to turn away that wrath,  especially for a mother whose esteem in our eyes was stunted.

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Maybe the rain was a song of sadness reaching out for love,  surely such wrath would pass but never did.  As I grew up the mixed messages closed in around me.    I made my peace with that person I called dad and seeing his own tragedy I gained perspective about him.   Unable to justify he reached out.  Forgiveness?  Without a doubt and an unlocked toolshed seemed so unimportant now.

I did not glory in his sickness but I did look back and realized the good that was hidden from plain sight.   No one can justify abuse but a humble heart finds a way.  Gasping for breath all I could do is hold his hand.   This warrior who too late for himself never really enjoyed the fruits of his ambition until the very end.

He and my sister found a common ground and her fear was not being able to be loved by him.   In all that,  that is my special moment with Dad.   The cold aloofness and rage was dulled by the medication and softness of a pillow.     As he drew his last breath,   I felt release in him,  the devils vanished in a bright light and the shadows cowered.

The lesson is never give up.   As  bad as life can be,  we can survive.  I survived a certain hell which has led to my OCDs and fear of random violence.   I have several panic attacks every day but I am learning to get well and move on.   One rung at a time.