Posted on 12/18/2001 12:17:27 AM PST by Mercuria
Several weeks ago I took my sons to see that (noncontroversial) children's hit flick, Monsters, Inc., at a United Artists theater. We settled into our seats, my eldest navigating his posterior and the popcorn, I juggling the toddling one and the root beer and perusing the trailers for appropriate subject matter for the next family excursion.
And then, for the first time in my life, I saw a propaganda piece. Live.
Seeing as this is my first war as a (still only) resident of America it was inspiring, "uniting". I thought of Rosie the Riveter and all the "Go, USA!" I had missed out on during wars past, and felt a hearkening back to a history of a nation united for "Right".
My five-year old and I unconsciously held hands and surreptitiously sang along as multi-landscapes, multi-ethnicities and a booming tenor filled the theater. Sing along, please, as we did:
Notice something missing? We did. My son, sweet innocent that he is, thought, no doubt, as he hurried to catch up to the lead, that he had screwed up the words. I knew I hadn't. But somewhere, someone had decided to. On purpose.
I arrived at home ready to stomp my own sour grapes and began to make some calls to find out who had authorized this "inclusive" deletion. Katherine Lee Bates, the pen of the prose, may be deceased, I thought, but I'm most decidedly not and I am mad, as hell, and I don't feel like taking this PC-crap anymore. "Just pick another freakin' song, then!", I was going to yell. And "You offended ME, get it? Someone's STILL offended!" Or how about "God. GodGodGodGodGod." Oh, how the imaginary diatribe flowed angry and articulate through my noggin as I looked up numbers. Ooh yeah, and I was going to record it all and play it on my radio show, and show someone, boy.
But I couldn't get beyond theater location recordings and voice mails and it was time to make dinner and fold laundry and plan a Christmas Pageant and change a diaper. When it comes to my whine I guess I'm a nouveau beaujolais, I ain't got the time to fer-, er, foment. At least not on my own.
I've become really comfortable publicly remonstrating things in groups. From the "armed conflict" in Kosovo to the Million (sic) Moms, the dumping of Elian and the continued presence of Dan (Rather) Biased, there's been a comfort in numbers and the sharing of Marks-A-Lots. Not to mention the fact that egg rolls and cabernet post-protest are so much more fun when its some more than one. It makes me think of that evangelical tune, "Though we are many, we are one body" and I've learned in life that I can't do it all by myself. But by the unmentionable grace of that unmentionable God I had found freerepublic.com. Their slogan? "You are not alone."
And that's not to say I won't do anything solo. Just because the Left Angeles Slimes won't print any of my letters doesn't mean I don't write them.
In fact, I once dragged my (poor) family around the country -- nine thousand miles in seven weeks -- to talk to a lot of these "lone (free) rangers". They had been labelled a "vast right wing conspiracy". I went out looking for this network of schemers but I had, in turn, found dreamers, supermarket managers, war veterans, aspiring writers, moms, misfits and readytobe minutemen. Mostly, though, what they had in common were real jobs and not enough time to make their activism a full-time gig.
I looked for the highest profile ones. The "successes". Not necessarily members of the website but the instillers and livers of the ideals. Okay, so several are in battles with the IRS, one was detained for incendiary bumper stickers, one's now dead. Should I be dissuaded just 'cause the PTB doesn't like the company I had somehow begun to keep? Even a guy I filmed just weeks ago has made the front pages of every paper as a potential terrorist. And he's a Jew. I mean, is it me? Maybe I'm just on the wrong side.
Until, of course, I look upon the side that's usually on the other side of the street.
Gloria Allred, for instance, is a lawyer who's always getting the desired face time. She's currently working with an American Airlines flight attendant who's upset that her employer's insurance policy won't cover her $17,000 worth of (voluntary) fertility treatments. She wanted a baby, couldn't have one, decided to try all that science has come up with to help her and now wants someone else to pay the bill. The last time I saw Allred (what an almost ludicrously appropriate surname), she was fighting for the mother of a three-year old (among other children) who now, faced with a pile o' bills, wanted to sue her former doctor for not having enabled her to abort said child. Allred's not picky, I surmised, why should I be?
The ACLU is chomping at the bit to defend any Muslim who might be currently unfairly targeted by the Feds for an interview in regards to the terrorist cells most definitely open for business here in the homeland. I hate to sound the bigot but what is it about this culture that one would strive so hard to preserve, why do they deserve the free representation thousands of other unfairly targeted Amricans would want.
I read in the Slimes today this fantastic line in an article titled "14,000 Muslims Turn Out for Celebration in Orange County":
Sunday began with an early group prayer. Thousands of Muslims, divided by gender -- men in one area, women in another -- knelt shoulder to shoulder at the fairgrounds as a symbol of unity.
I guess it all depends on what standards one wishes to uphold, I suppose. Or what unity means, for that matter. The ACLU is just continuing their fight against America's archaic traditions and value system in order to uphold someone, anyone, else's. Archaic system, that is. Like there's ever anything new. Whatever by common sensibility Americans seek to uphold, the ACLU seeks, it seems, to tear it down. These are, after all, NAMBLA's lawyers, too, right? Nope, don't want to hang out with them.
Or maybe I should join up with the watermelons, those green on the outside, red on the inside usurpers of private property and snowmobiling and beachgoing enjoyment of the masses. (Not to mention the livelihood of farmers, hunters, loggers and ranchers.) They can get away with all sorts of criminal activity and, through real terrorist activity, effect real change. Besides, I see ads in the classifieds for more of them. They get paid, fer goodness' sake. The people I've been covering get busted for political leaflets, and "arsenals" of dust-collecting rifles, and stickers that say "The Kingdom Cometh". Wackos and extremists no more, but often much less, than the ELFs and the ALFs, they're just not the currently in vogue type.
My favorite whine, post-9/11, was the uproar over the scrawled "spontaneous act of penmanship" (as a Naval high-ranker called it -- 'cause he had nothing better to do at the time) on a missile that said "HIGH JACK THIS FAGS", especially since it wasn't a complaint from the English Department but rather some bellyaching homosexual rights groups that felt insulted. When the bomb's coming your way, get upset, guys, okay? It's a BOMB. It is going to BLOW UP. It will be illegible shortly. Nope, their rant lasted longer than the trajectory of that missile, or its target, of that I'm sure.
No, I don't want to join any of them.
I hadn't felt fear since I found the internet and like-minded individuals. Safety in numbers, and all that. Although I did hesitate before I first signed up (well, at least for a few minutes).
But now I find myself feeling it again. Maybe just a little. I picked the Right side, 'cause I didn't want to be wrong, but the wrong side seems to get the press and the kudos and has well-manicured nails. And they get away with criminal activity, time and time again even when those I tend to catch on tape convincingly have Truth and Justice in their most basic forms on their side. They don't burn down ski lifts or send themselves hatemail or mutter "Die, Yankee infidel scum" as they drive their duped wives to PTA meetings for the sake of appearances. They just get treated as if they do. Most of the time, I find, they just want to be left the hell alone.
It seemed like it might be a vintage year for the often ignored cries of the Right, but now, somehow, I'm not so sure. Even with "our" President in Da House, and an AG for the 2A in charge at the DOJ, time is tick tocking and the BATF's no-knocking and Jesse J's still shilling and the ride is thrilling but sometimes I want to get off and start chilling and put the Marks-A-Lot away for another far off day...
But I guess it can't be done. Because while a Kentucky militia leader is losing his Second Amendment rights over a decades old shoplifting charge our government's dropping tons of cake on Afghanistan. And as they fight to preserve our image as a free Republic on the outside we have to continue working and writing and calling and fighting to keep it free from the inside first. Because if I were to give up and someone else were to give up then someday someone might be back to marking up their posterboard all alone. And maybe our leaders on the Hill might be singing Gaia Bless America the next time someone thinks to whack us, because the whines of the other side would be the banner crop of the year.
No, best to remember I'm not alone and best to just tell a heap of folks how lame United Artists is and keep buying permanent ink and Bristol board in bulk and sharing war stories and glory over cabernet and crispy deep fried things. The press may not cover us but the effort never really goes unheeded. We have our occasional victories but they just don't print their losses on the front page. At least never in a way that admits their moments of defeat.
And even when we lose we still have each other and we're wiser and ready for the next battle. In the meantime though the boss wants results and the shirts need to be ironed and the gas bill has to be paid and the children need to be fed.
"You'll rest when you're dead."
Mercurial Times exclusive commentary. All reprints must credit the author and Mercurial Times.
I would like to share a story, if I may? It's not Frost, by any means, but as I just discovered, it did garner an honorable mention for short stories here. Cool, huh? Merry Christmas to me! (Maybe I'll be a "winner" next year?!)
Toothless Grin
I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping in a toy store and decided to look at Barbie dolls for my nieces.
A nicely-dressed little girl was excitedly looking through the Barbie dolls as well, with a roll of money clamped tightly in her little hand. When she came upon a Barbie she liked, she would turn and ask her father if she had enough money to buy it. He usually said "yes," but she would keep looking and keep going through their ritual of "do I have enough?"
As she was looking, a little boy wandered in across the aisle and started sorting through the Pokemon toys. He was dressed neatly, but in clothes that were obviously rather worn, and wearing a jacket that was probably a couple of sizes too small. He, too, had money in his hand, but it looked to be no more than five dollars or so, at the most.
He was with his father as well, and kept picking up the Pokemon video toys. Each time he picked one up and looked at his father, his father shook his head, "no."
The little girl had apparently chosen her Barbie, a beautifully-dressed, glamorous doll that would have been the envy of every little girl on the block. However, she had stopped and was watching the interchange between the little boy and his father.
Rather dejectedly, the boy had given up on the video games and had chosen what looked like a book of stickers instead. He and his father then started walking through another aisle of the store.
The little girl put her Barbie back on the shelf, and ran over to the Pokemon games. She excitedly picked up one that was lying on top of the other toys, and raced toward the check-out, after speaking with her father. I picked up my purchases and got in line behind them. Then, much to the little girl's obvious delight, the little boy and his father got in line behind me.
After the toy was paid for and bagged, the little girl handed it back to the cashier and whispered something in her ear. The cashier smiled and put the package under the counter.
I paid for my purchases and was rearranging things in my purse when the little boy came up to the cashier. The cashier rang up his purchases and then said, "Congratulations, you are my hundredth customer today, and you win a prize!"
With that, she handed the little boy the Pokemon game, and he could only stare in disbelief. It was, he said, exactly what he had wanted!
The little girl and her father had been standing at the doorway during all of this, and I saw the biggest, prettiest, toothless grin on that little girl that I have ever seen in my life. Then they walked out the door, and I followed, close behind them.
As I walked back to my car, in amazement over what I had just witnessed, I heard the father ask his daughter why she had done that. I'll never forget what she said to him.
"Daddy, didn't Nana and PawPaw want me to buy something that would make me happy?"
He said, "Of course they did, honey."
To which the little girl replied, "Well, I just did!"
With that, she giggled and started skipping toward their car.
Apparently, she had decided on the answer to her own question of, "do I have enough?"
I feel very privileged to have witnessed the true spirit of Christmas in that toy store, in the form of a little girl who understands more about the reason for the season than most adults I know!
May God bless her and her parents, just as she blessed that little boy, and me, that day!
by Sharon Palmer, Tennessee (Yup -- that's me! *G*)
I hope you all enjoyed reading it. It was an amazing act to witness; I know that. Even if this story had never been published, I know I could never forget it! (It has been published in several books, as well as being recounted in newspaper articles, and it's all over the web. It was probably the defining moment in my writing career! I have been hoping that this little girl, or her father, would stumble upon the story and get in touch with me. That would be the icing on the cake!)
God's blessings upon you all, and
God Jul,
Sharon
i'm pretty well speechless (and that does not often happen).
btw, love your dogs... i have two rotties that see me off every morning
and greet me every afternoon. unconditional love. both ways.
Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Thanks you so much for your flag to the posting! May I pass it around?
It would be excellent if the girl came across it. :-)
And thanks for including me in the post of your sweet card. Piper and Wilson strike quite a ferocious pose. *LOL* Tell me, do they like watching Brit Hume??
Blessings to you, too, Sharon!
Intact infinitives are highly overrated! (Use the "artistic license" rule; it comes in very handy!) *G* Thank you so much for your kind words! I am honored that you would use my story in your bedtime reading for your daughter. That is the ultimate in compliments!
I am physically unable to have children, so Piper and Wilson are my children. They are spoiled. Rotten! *G* But they deserve it!
May God richly bless you and yours, and I wish you all the best for the coming year as well! ;-}
God Jul!
You are so sweet!! Thank you! And of course you may pass it around! One of the reasons I wrote this story was because I felt that I simply had to! It was simply too precious not to share. I nearly fell apart when I got in the car; tears were streaming down my face and I couldn't see to drive! I just had to sit there for a while, until it decided to stop. One of my deepest wishes, now, is to hear from that little girl or someone in her family. It would make my entire year!
I will tell Piper and Wilson that you send your regards! *VBG* They do watch FOX News all the time, BTW! (They have no choice, of course, but they DO actually, literally watch!!) They stay downstairs a lot, on the couch and loveseat, and Bob said that he walked in one time and found them sitting up on the couch, leaning on each other, and watching FOX News! He said it looked like they were having a date! LOL!! (Those ARE my babies! *G*) Funny you should ask that! ;-}
Thank you, again, for your extremely kind words. If I have managed to convey the feeling that was in that store, thanks to that little girl, then I have done what I set out to do! I can't ask for any better or higher praise than that.
May God's blessings shine upon you and your loved ones this holiday season! And may a Happy New Year follow!
God Jul!
Sharon
My first reply #21 was not intended to be posted to this thread. It was supposed to be on another thread that was complaining about our loss of rights since the 9/11 attack.
I have no idea what happened, but I think I might of had one two many windows, or beers , open at one time.
I didn't go back and read the article that you wrote when I was responding to Mecuria et al, I was just responding to what they had written to my reply, and thought I was was on the "loss of rights" thread.
What I wanted to say to you, and to Mercuria, what you saw in that theater is not what I saw at our local school Christmas show. God was there in the voices of those children, and in the music they sang. One solo in particular sung by a young lady was met with a overwhelming ovation, both for her talent, and for the message, O Come, All Ye Faithful.
I appologize to you all for my error.
I hope you will except my appology.
Being called honey isn't too bad, I've been called worse, like sugar.
Thank you so much!!
Thank you so much!!
Shucks, Merc, twasn't nothin'! Since I can't give anyone anything but an internet present, I'm just glad that what I could give was adequate! Compared to the many gifts I get from you, AnnaZ, and all of FR -- I still owe ya!! ;-}
Big Christmas hugs to ya! Snookie-burger! *VBG*
(Couldn't resist!!)
;-}
This CHRISTmas vs Last CHRISTmas
Last Christmas we were thinking about all the things we didn't have;
This Christmas we are thinking about all the things we do have.
Last Christmas we were placing wreaths on the doors of our homes.
This Christmas we are placing wreaths on the graves of our heroes.
Last Christmas we were counting our money;
This Christmas we are counting our blessings.
Last Christmas we paid lip service to the real meaning of the holidays;
This Christmas we are paying homage to it.
Last Christmas we were lighting candles to decorate;
This Christmas we are lighting candles to commemorate.
Last Christmas we were digging deep into our bank accounts to find the money to fly home for the holidays;
This Christmas we are digging deep into our souls to find the courage to do so.
Last Christmas we were trying not to let annoying relatives get the best of us;
This Christmas we are trying to give the best of ourselves to them.
Last Christmas we thought it was enough to celebrate the holidays;
This Christmas we know we must also find ways to consecrate them.
Last Christmas we thought a man who could rush down a football field was a hero;
This Christmas we know a man who rushes into a burning building is the real one.
Last Christmas we were thinking about the madness of the holidays;
This Christmas we are thinking about the meaning of them.
Last Christmas we were getting on one another's nerves;
This Christmas we are getting on our knees.
Last Christmas we were giving thanks for gifts from stores;
This Christmas we are giving thanks for gifts from God.
Last Christmas we were wondering how to give our children all the things that money can buy -- the hottest toys, the latest fashions, the newest gadgets;
This Christmas we are wondering how to give them all the things it can't -- a sense of security, safety, peace.
Last Christmas we were thinking about all the pressure we are under at the office;
This Christmas we are thinking about all the people who no longer have an office to go to.
Last Christmas we were singing carols;
This Christmas we are singing anthems.
Last Christmas we were thinking how good it would feel to be affluent.
This Christmas we are thinking how good it feels to be alive.
Last Christmas we thought angels were in heaven;
This Christmas we know some are right here on earth.
Last Christmas we were contemplating all the changes we wanted to make in the New Year;
This Christmas we are contemplating all the changes we will have to make in this new reality.
Last Christmas we believed in the power of the pocketbook;
This Christmas we believe in the power of prayer.
Last Christmas we were sharing/spreading/listening to gossip;
This Christmas we are sharing/spreading/listening to the Gospel.
Last Christmas we were complaining about how much of our earning went to pay taxes;
This Christmas we comprehend that freedom isn't free.
Last Christmas we valued things that were costly;
This Christmas we value things that are holy.
Last Christmas the people we idolized wore football, basketball and baseball uniforms;
This Christmas the people we idolize wear police, firefighters and military uniforms.
Last Christmas "peace on earth" is something we prayed for on Sunday mornings;
Now it is something we pray for every day.
Author Unknown
I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas.
BTW, I always put the seat back down, it's the floor you have to worry about.
In Michigan, the city of Dearborn owns a camp in Milford, MI (about 45 min drive from Dearborn - in the country).
Dearborn now has a large middle-eastern community, one of the largest in the country, if not the largest.
Dearborn is also the home of the Ford World Headquarters. Many Ford families lived in Dearborn in the 50's and 60's and a yearly trip to spend a week at Camp Dearborn was a tradition with employees (and residents) of Dearborn. My husband's family went every year for 25 years! The whole extended family would go together, aunts, uncles, cousins.
To be fair to them, I have to say, the group of middle-easterners we camped next to were new to the country and camping together as an extended family the way my husband's family used to do. Their community was just starting to grow in Dearborn and so it was a new experience for us!
We moved, (camp is only for Dearborn residents) and so we never did return to the camp, even though we had hoped to raise our kids in the week-a-year tradition there.
Little Nicholas, was in kindergarten and it was an exciting time. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." Mom didn't have the heart to tell him she'd be working the night of the production.
Unwilling to miss the program, Mom spoke with the teacher and was assured there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, Mom filed in 10 minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, several other parents quietly scampered to their seats. As they waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas", Mom didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment — songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when her son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love", Mom was slightly taken aback by its bold title.
Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.
Those in the front row, center stage, held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is for Christmas", a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy", and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love" .The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, everybody noticed her, a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down. She was totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little girl's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W". Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and then everyone saw it together.
A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, they understood the reason why we celebrate the holiday. And why even in the chaos, there is a purpose for our festivities.
For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: CHRIST WAS LOVE.
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