The Story of Little Red Riding Hood:  AKA: Autumn, Part 2

28 Sep 2019 15 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

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The years before high school went by pretty fast for Autumn and her mother.  They were not without problems.  Autumn caught shoplifting.  Autumn suspended from junior high school for truancy.  Autumn caught with 20-year-old boyfriend in bed.  Autumn doing pot and possibly some ecstasy.  Autumn running away from home.  Autumn and her mother constantly fighting.  Autumn understood that she was on a slippery slope and it seemed to all head downhill.

However, she told herself that when she turned 14 and started high school that things would be really different.  She would find a nice guy to love and they would plan a life together after high school.  In addition to her dreams, it came as a happy surprise for Autumn when her mom and dad got back together again.  Her father and brothers moved back in with Autumn and her mom.  Autumn took these events as auspicious signs that things were already starting to look up.

Within the next year, Autumn started 9th grade at the local high school.  Her brothers were in the 11th and 12th grades respectively.  Autumn wasted little time in finding a new boyfriend, but they quickly parted when it seemed that all he wanted was sex and Autumn wanted more than just sex.  Autumn was quite happy to provide some of what the boy wanted but in exchange she expected to be treated as a girlfriend and not just some bimbo.

Autumn found another boyfriend and then another boyfriend.  One boyfriend followed another faster than she could count, and her relationships always followed the same pattern.  A date, sex, more sex, being taken for granted and then breaking up.  Autumn was only 14 but within months of starting high school she had acquired a reputation as an easy girl who would put out on the first date.  The more her reputation as a harlot grew, the worse her relationships with others at the school became.  The boys all gave her funny looks and smirks as she passed them in the hallways, but it was the girls that proved her real problem.

The girls at school would gossip behind her back and she would actually find comments about herself in the bathroom stalls.  Comments like “For a quick fuck, call Autumn at 520-238-6123.”  Groups of girls talking would point to her and laugh and then grow silent and snicker when she walked by.  Autumn felt that she had become a laughing stock in school and that none of the other girls wanted or dared to associate with her.  Her life grew lonelier and more and more bleak.

At home, Autumn noticed her once loving brothers becoming more and more distant.  One day she summoned up her courage and asked them what was wrong.  They told her in no uncertain terms that she was the laughing stock of the school and that all their friends made sexual comments about her.  They wanted noting to do with Autumn and they were both ashamed that she was their sister. “Keep away from us” were their parting comments.

The school year eventually ended.  The hopes for love and happiness that Autumn cherished had evaporated like a puddle of water on a hot summer day in Texas.  Autumn kept to herself most of the summer months before the next school year.  Her mother and father were both to busy working to deal with her problems and assumed it was just teenage angst and that she would grow out of it.  Autumn dreaded the coming of school but tried to convince herself that a great guy must be out there some place if she could only find him.

The new school year started.  Autumn was 15 years old and a sophomore.  Within the first two weeks of school she met a good-looking guy who was a senior and he asked her out on a date.  He seemed really nice.  He took her to dinner and a movie and even bought her flowers.  They went out on a few other dates before he wanted to go to bed with her.  She began to think that she had found true love.

The girls at school still avoided Autumn.  Comments about Autumn would still appear in the girls’ bathrooms.   Many of the boys would make insulting remarks as she walked by.  Autumn did not care though.  She finally felt that she had found the love and acceptance that she had always dreamed of.

Autumn had been going out with her new beau for several weeks when he picked her up one Friday night and took her to his house.  They had had sex there several times when his parents were not home and she did not think anything about it.  However, tonight he seemed somewhat nervous and anxious and not his usual upbeat self.  Probably just some school related problems thought Autumn.  They arrived at his house and he promptly took her into to his bedroom and shut the door.

He had undressed Autumn and they had started to make love when with a loud bang the door to the bedroom opened and one of his friends yelled out “My turn!”  Autumn’s boyfriend jumped out of bed as Autumn asked what was going on?  “Well, I told some of my friends how good you were in bed and I did not think that you would mind screwing them as well.”  As the new boy pushed Autumn back down and took his turn, Autumn said nothing.  She did not scream.  She did not yell rape.  She did not say stop, no, don’t or get off of me.  As one after another of her boyfriend’s buddies took advantage of Autumn, she quietly laid there and said nothing.

When the assaults had ceased and all of the boys had left for parts unknown, Autumn put on her clothes and said: “Take me home.”  No other words were spoken as her boyfriend drove her home and Autumn got out of his car and went into her house.  It was the worst day of Autumn’s short life and it did not seem like life could get any worse.  Autumn climbed into her bed.  The next two days went by in a sort of haze.  Her cellphone went off dozens if not hundreds of times, but she ignored it.

Monday started another day of hell at school for Autumn.  Walking around it seemed like everyone knew her secret.  The secret being that on Friday, she had been gang-banged by as many as five or six seniors at the high school.  How could everyone know though?  Word could not possibly have spread that fast.  Autumn received more phone calls and text messages but continued to ignore them.  Autumn could not wait for the end of the school day.  It seemed like forever before the bell signaling the end of the school day sounded.  Autumn walked home alone.

When Autumn arrived home, both her brothers were still out, and her father and mother were most likely at work.  Autumn went up to her room, shut the door and logged onto her computer.  She signed into her Facebook account and nearly passed out at what she saw on her home page.  There in the middle of the page was a picture that had been shared more than 300 times.  It was a picture of Autumn nude in bed with a young man situated somewhere between her splayed legs.  You could only see the boys back, but it was clear from his position that he had inserted something into Autumn.  The expression on Autumn’s face was dull and lifeless but not panicked or frightened.  Autumn now remembered that while some boys were having sex with her, others had been taking pictures on their cell phones.  She realized what must be on the hundreds of text messages that she had been ignoring.

The was the final straw.  Autumn could not, indeed would not take any more.  She got up off the bed and went downstairs to her mom’s bathroom.  She rummaged through the medicine cabinet until she found what she wanted.  At this point, she turned the water on in the bathtub and started to disrobe.  When she was fully undressed, she stepped into the tub and laid down.  She opened the vial containing her mom’s sleeping pills.  She counted only twenty inside.  She was not sure if that was enough to do the job, but she was not going to rely on pills anyway.  The pills would at best make her drowsy and the razor blade would do the rest.  She was determined not to screw this up.  She swallowed all the pills sipping some of the tub water to wash them down.   It took a few minutes, but she began to feel drowsy.  At this point, she took the razor blade and slashed both of her wrists several times.  Autumn then put her hands in the warm water and laid her head back to sleep.

About three hours or so later, her mom and two brothers all arrived home at the same time.  Mom headed into the downstairs bathroom and the two boys went upstairs to their bedrooms.  As her mother entered the bathroom, she immediately noticed a tub full of red water and Autumn laying asleep in the tub.  What, her mom thought is Autumn doing laying in a tub of red water?  Suddenly her mind filled with a single dreadful thought.  She grabbed Autumn by the shoulders and shook her violently, but Autumn would not wake up.  Her mom let out a series of screams which brought both sons running.  The oldest son looked at his mom and the bathtub and bolted for a phone to call 911.  The youngest son grabbed his mom and tried to question her over her screams.  “Mom, Mom, is Autumn dead” he asked.  “No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be,” she said.  When 911 came, they told Autumn’s mother and brothers that they were sorry but that there was nothing they could do.  Autumn had been dead for at least two hours.

Funeral preparations started in a few days.  Autumn’s mom and grandmother were discussing arrangements when grandmother suggested that Autumn be buried next to her grandfather in the cemetery.  Something snapped in mom and she grabbed grandmother and violently shook her while yelling “Not near that Son of a Bitch, not near that Son of a Bitch.”  Both women’s eyes locked onto each other’s and both accepted what each had known for a long time.  They had suspected and then known but neither had wanted to admit it.  Looking into each other’s eyes, the truth became clear.  They folded into one big hug and began crying and crying and crying.

A week or so later they held the funeral for Autumn.  The interment was conducted at a cemetery across town from where grandfather was laid to rest.  Autumn’s mother, grandmother, both brothers, father and many other relatives attended.  To the family’s great surprise, hundreds of other people showed up for the burial.  Most of them from Autumn’s high school.  Some showed up out of curiosity, a few out of grief for a lost comrade but many showed up out of guilt and shame.

Autumn’s mother had insisted on writing the script for the gravestone marker in a somewhat unusual manner.  No last name for Autumn and no date of birth.  Only the month that Autumn was born in.  The marker read:

AutumnAutumn gravemarker

October

15 years Old

A Troubled Soul

May she rest in peace now

 

One week after she was buried, her mother went to visit Autumn’s grave-site by herself.  She brought Autumn’s favorite little red hoodie with her.  She stood looking at Autumn’s grave for several minutes, but she could no longer shed any tears.  It was like there was no moisture left in her entire body.  As she draped Autumn’s little red hoodie over the gravestone, she whispered two words before turning to leave: “I’m sorry.”

The Story of Little Red Riding Hood:  AKA: Autumn, Part 1

22 Sep 2019 2 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

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Once upon a time there was a cute little five-year-old girl named Autumn.  She was given this name because she was born in the middle of a pumpkin festival that her family had gone to.  It was on this same day that her mother had gone into labor and given birth to Autumn.  Several years later though, her family and friends had all started calling her Little Red Riding Hood.  They gave here that nick name the year that her grandmother had given her a little red hoodie for a birthday present.  Autumn liked the little red hoodie so much that she would never go anywhere without it.  She wore it all around the house and would even have worn it to bed, but her mother always made her take it off at bedtime.

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Autumn was an average five-year-old girl.  She liked dolls but also video games.  She liked to read, watch TV and go to the beach and play in the sand.  She especially looked forward to going out with her two older brothers and playing soccer with them.  She was quite a good kicker for a five-year-old.  She had recently started pre-school and Autumn got along well with all the other children.

Autumn’s father was a postal worker and her mother worked part-time at Walmart.  Her father and mother were childhood sweethearts who had met in high school.  They both married shortly after leaving high school and they seemed like the perfect couple.  Before long, they had two boys and then a few years later, they had Autumn.  Sadly though, as these things go, Autumn’s mother and father began to argue more and more and eventually they decided to divorce.  Her father took custody of the two boys and Autumn went with her mother.  Autumn was now eight years old.

download (3)Autumn’s mom decided to move to El Paso where her mother and dad were living.  She needed to find full-time work to support her and Autumn and her mother (Autumn’s grandmother) offered to take care of Autumn when mom was working.  They moved into a neighborhood that was within walking distance of grandma and grandpa.  Autumn was often tasked with bringing something over to her grandparents or retrieving something from their house.

One day her mom asked Autumn to take over a package to her grandparents.  Autumn put on her red hoodie (which was now a new red hoodie a few sizes bigger than her last one) and took her well-trod route over to grandma’s house.  When she arrived, grandpa was in bed and grandma had gone out to run some errands.  Grandpa said that he was not feeling well but could Autumn sit on the bed with him.  Autumn climbed up on the bed.  Grandpa asked Autumn to read a book to him that he had on the bedside.  Autumn was proud of her reading ability and pleased to be asked.  She began to read a story to grandpa about a cowboy in old Mexico.

1FLC3464_christmas-red-hooded-cape-01_0719_001As she read to her grandpa, Autumn felt her grandfathers’ hand on her leg but at first did not think anything about it.  His hand moved up to her thigh and eventually it arrived at her most private parts.  At this point, Autumn tried to move away but her grandfather held her tightly and said.  “Don’t worry Autumn, it is all right.  I want to make you feel good.  I am your grandfather and would never hurt you.”  Autumn relaxed some but soon became more and more discomforted as her grandfather’s hand roamed over and then invaded her most private parts.  Her grandfather kept assuring her that it was all right and that he loved her very much and would never do anything to hurt her. Autumn’s invasion lasted the better part of an hour until they heard the door open and grandmother returning.  At this point, her grandfather told her to get off the bed and not say a word about anything that had happened.  He told her that no one would understand and that this would be their secret.

Autumn’s mother kept sending Autumn to her grandparents on errands and over the next two years or so, Autumn received more of the same treatment by her grandfather.  In fact, the assaults escalated to cunninglingus, fellatio and repeated rapes.  Autumn had now passed her eleventh year and increasingly felt afraid of going to her grandparents.  She invented many excuses to avoid going to visit them.  Her mother noticed the reluctance of Autumn to go to her grandparents and finally demanded to know what the problem was.  At this point, Autumn decided to tell her mother what her grandfather would do to her when she went over there.

Upon hearing Autumns story, her mom became quite incensed.  “How can you say anything like this Autumn?  You don’t have to make up stories just because you are too lazy to walk over there.  Your grandmother and grandfather have done so much to help us out and you say things like this?  You had better never repeat these stories to anyone or you will get grandfather in very much trouble.”

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Some might say, fortunately for Autumn, her grandfather’s heart condition continued to decline and a few months after Autumn’s revelations about his behavior he passed away.  Mother, grandmother, Autumns brothers and Autumn were all at the funeral.  It was a very solemn and sorrowful occasion for most who attended with the exception of Little Red Riding Hood.  Autumn could never admit it to anyone, but she was quite relieved and even happy that Grandpa had died.

The years passed:  (Continued in Part 2 – next week)

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3515 – Tuesday, September 17, 2019 — Can a Woman Be President of the USA?

16 Sep 2019 4 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

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In 1996, I predicted that the United States of America would have its first woman president no later than the year 2004.  There were a number of notable women in congress at the time and the USA was long overdue for its first woman president.  It is now 2019, and we still have not had a woman president in the USA.  We are beginning the 2020 elections and we have a number of strong intelligent women on the campaign trail for the Democratic Party Presidential candidate.   

Perhaps not surprisingly, the political pundits are saying that this election year a woman cannot beat Donald Trump for the office.  The suggestion is that a woman might be selected for the Vice Presidency but not for the Presidency.  A man can beat Trump, but you know how woman are, they just can’t take the heat. 

“I now announce myself as a candidate for the Presidency. I anticipate criticism; but however unfavorable I trust that my sincerity will not be called into question.” — Victoria Woodhull, 1872

In 1872, Victoria Woodhull became the first female presidential candidate while the former slave Frederick Douglass was her running mate.  The record shows that no one even bothered to count their votes.  It is a safe bet that women did not vote for anyone since they did not get the right to vote until June 4, 1919.  It is also a safe bet that in 1872, the KKK was doing all it could to keep African American men from voting.  Despite their efforts, the percentage of voters who were Black in 1872 was at a high-water mark that was not surpassed for many years.  In fact, after 1872, the number of Black voters declined as the Federal Government abandoned African Americans in the South and let the notorious Jim Crow laws be enacted. 

“America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future.” — Frederick Douglass

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In 2008, Hillary Clinton was the first woman to be nominated by a major political party as their presidential candidate.  During the election year, those opposed to her called her a bitch, dyke, castrator, liar, crook, hypocrite, racist, traitor, Nazi and narcissist.

“I’ve seen both candidates attacked based upon physical characteristics, both attacked based upon personality traits, both attacked based on past decisions.  The one element that separates the two is that Clinton is also attacked for being a woman, and Trump is not attacked for being a man.” — Jennifer Mercieca, a historian of American political rhetoric.

My first-born child was a girl.  She was born in 1968 and we named her Christina.  People always asked me if I was disappointed that I did not have a son.  The thought of disappointment never crossed my mind.  I was proud to have a daughter and both my wife Julia, and I were determined to give her every opportunity that we would have given a son.  When she was a young child, she received as many “boy” toys like trucks and erector sets as she did dolls and playhouses.  She was inundated with books and just as many were about science as about other subjects that might have been considered traditionally female subjects.

When she was old enough for sports, I spent time ice skating, bicycling, swimming, skiing and canoeing with her.  We once took second place in a father daughter canoe race.  When she was in high school and wanted to be a cheerleader, we also encouraged her to play some sports and not just stand on the sidelines and cheer for some boys.  I did not want to let society stereotype her, and I wanted her to believe that she could be anything she set her mind to.  Doctor or nurse.  Pilot or flight attendant.  President or President’s wife. 

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The United States of America prides itself on being the land of liberty and justice.  The home of the brave and the land of the free.  The home of democracy.  While we brag about American Exceptionalism, 101 countries have had a woman elected either as president or prime minister.  Excluding female monarchs, over 150 women since 1918 have been elected or appointed head of state.  Meanwhile in the United States of America, we have not even had an elected woman vice president. 

And of course, this year is not the right time for a woman.  We need to select a guy because only another guy can beat Trump.  It is not a woman’s role to be president, at least not in the Land of the Free.  The Democrats with several woman candidates seem to think that the best we can do is select a woman as a running mate for the male presidential candidate.  It is said to be imperative that we select a man if we really want to beat Trump.

“Of all the indignities Donald Trump has imposed on Democrats since he decided to run for president, the fact that he has convinced many of them they dare not nominate a woman to oppose him is among the worst.” —  Ed Kilgore, Intelligencer, Sept 20, 2018

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I have watched some of all three Democratic debates to date.  It is clearly my opinion that Warren is the most intelligent, coherent and poised of all the candidates.  My wife also shares that opinion with me as does a large percentage of the American electorate.  I have qualms with every one of the Democratic candidates.  Not one of them is without some problems in terms of policy or procedures.  But I will not vote for anyone just because they can beat Trump.  Neither will I vote for a candidate on the basis of race, religion, age or gender.  

Dear Daughter,

I am sorry I lied to you when you were growing up.  In America, the dream that you can be anything you want to be is for men only.  This country is terribly divided but is less divided on the issue of whether or not a woman is qualified to be president.  Most people seem sure that she is not.  I should never have set you up for failure by telling you that a woman could be President of the United States of America.  Our country is not ready for a woman president.  Maybe in another 100 years or so, we will have the intelligence and open mindedness to see that women are the equal of men in politics and many other areas of life.  Until then, please do not lie to your daughters and set them up for heartache and disappointment.  It would not be easy for them to be called a bitch, liar, hypocrite, feminazi, dyke, crook and other insults like the ones that Hillary had to endure.

Love, your father.

“When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man.  When a woman gives her opinion, she’s a bitch.” — Bette Davis

“We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man. Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.”  — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, We Should All Be Feminists

 

 

 

 

 

 

Creating a Twenty First Century Education System

15 Sep 2019 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized

Every single one of the Democratic candidates for President support higher pay for teachers. Not one realizes that higher pay will not improve our education system. Maybe someone could send my blog to them.

Dr. John Persico Jr.'s avatarAging Capriciously

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We no longer have an education system that works.  This is true for most people that need education.  A few people still find value in the current system, but it is no longer a system that works for the masses.  It is no longer a democratic education system.  It has become a school system devoid of the benefits and value that it once had.  We now are stuck with a school system designed for the nineteenth century that is expensive, inefficient and much less effective than it could be.  This is true not only in America but also for most of the world.

Times have changed.  Needs have changed.  Our education system has not changed.  It no longer meets the needs of a world economy that has gone from agriculture to industry to information.  A world that has gone from analog to digital.  Changes from the nineteenth century to the…

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3525 – Friday, September 6, 2019 — Those Were the Days My Friend!

06 Sep 2019 2 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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My blog this week is based on a song that was made popular by Mary Hopkin’s in 1968.  The original writer was Gene Raskin.   Gene added English lyrics to a Russian song called “By the long road” which was composed by Boris Fomin (1900–1948).  The song in its many manifestations had continued to be about reminiscence and youthful idealism.  In my version below, I have taken some liberties with the lyrics and have added my thoughts on age and youthful idealism.   If you care to listen to the Hopkin’s song while reading my blog, click on the following link and then return to my site. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QptZ8tYZAkE

Once upon a time we shared a dream
When we believed that we were special
And we laughed away our evenings
Thinking of the success that would bring us great esteem

I grew up loving science and mathematics.  In the late fifties and early sixties, the space age was just beginning.  I wanted to be a part of the new wave of exploration and I dreamed of becoming an astronaut.  I read books on physics and relativity and quantum theory.  I believed that knowledge was the key to achieving my dreams.  Somehow, I never thought that my desires were above my head or possibilities.

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d dream and dream forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way

When I finished high school. I knew what Harvard and Brown and Yale stood for.  If you had money or were the siblings of any alumnus, you could apply to one of them.  If your father was a postal worker and your mother a part-time clerk at Woolworth, you had neither pull nor money.  The money probably mattering only slightly more than the connections or pull one needed to get into an Ivy League school in the sixties.  Truth be told, I did not even have the money or grades to get into a state college.  Without a college education, my dreams of becoming a pilot or an astronaut were shear fantasy.

A few weeks after high school, the only real possibility I had for a future was in the United States Military.  The war in Vietnam was starting to ramp up when I graduated in 1964 and it was said that the service would take a warm body.  I applied and did very well on the military exams.  I decided that I liked the Air Force uniform better than the Navy, Army or Marine uniforms.  Up and away on my first airplane ride to Lackland AFB for basic training.

Then the busy years went rushing by me
I lost my starry notions on the way
If by chance I’d see you in the city
We’d smile at one another and we’d say

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d dream and dream forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way

I married while still in the service.  I was only 21 and my wife Julie was only 20.  Julie was several months pregnant when we married.  Somewhere along the way she became very sick and was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus.  She spent several months in the University of Minnesota hospital while pregnant with our first-born child Christina.  Christy arrived while Julie was still in the hospital and in 1968 I was ordered by a young nurse to help out in the delivery room.  Thus, I was on the forefront of the new age for fathers and husbands.  Something, I was reluctant at the time to join.

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d dream and dream forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way

The years have flown by since then.  Many friends have either passed away or orbited out of my universe.  My first marriage ended in divorce.  My daughter has not spoken to me for nearly twenty years now.  My dreams of business success have become so much flotsam in a sea of failed possibilities.  Always told how smart I was, my intelligence never seemed to add up to anything that I could put in the bank.  Dreams of greatness in some non-financial endeavor (which became my fallback position) are now floating away alongside of my business aspirations.

Just tonight I stood before my mirror
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Was that broken person really me

I am now fighting the battle of growing old.  Energy forfeiting time to naps.  Days spent in a doctor’s office.  Buying sympathy cards by the dozen.  Learning to be a caregiver.  Dealing with an ever-increasing number of aches and pains.  Muscles that do not respond or recover as quickly.  Friends that spend what seem like long hours describing medical conditions and treatments.  Loved ones that I worry about more and more.  Trying to figure out what is appropriate for the next funeral.  Wondering if there is something else besides “My condolences” that I can say.

Through the parlor door there came familiar laughter
I saw your face and heard you call my name
Oh my friend I am a great deal older but no wiser
For in my heart, the dreams are still the same

My dreams, I never gave up on you.  I substituted hard work and determination for luck and chance many years ago, but they did not prove a path to you.  You might think me shallow or that I abandoned you, but nothing could be farther from the truth.  Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think about giving you one more shot.  I ask myself if ten years is enough, for that is about what I have left.  My self-bribe is that it is never too late as long as I do not give up hope.  But is my heart really in it?  Do I want you bad enough to keep on fighting for you?  I somehow sense a certain futility, like taking another turn at bat is not going to get me a home run.  Hard to admit, but maybe I never was and never will be a home run hitter.  Is this a battle that I am going to lose in this life?

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d dream forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way

Those were the days, oh yes those were the days!

 

 

3528 – Tuesday, September 3, 2019 — Love versus Hate:  Does Hate Trump Love?

03 Sep 2019 6 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

love versus hate

God calls us to love others, just as he loves us.  We show love to others by forgiving, accepting and honoring them.  —  From a quote in a Lutheran Church Brochure

Pick up a newspaper any day of the week.  How much love do you see?  Very little I would bet.  How much hate?  Pages and pages of hate.

  • Man kills seven and injures 31 with assault rifle.
  • Woman with five DUI’s kills mother and daughter in auto crash.
  • Israeli bomb attack kills fifteen jihadists.
  • Terrorist bomb kills 35 soldiers in Iraq.
  • Trump encourages beating up protesters.

I propose that you will find at least ten times more hate in the news than you do love.  But that is not news to you or anyone else, is it?  Newspapers exist to sell advertising, and nothing sells like hate, violence, gore, mayhem and disasters.  The crème de la crème is reserved for serial killings, mass killings and family murders.  Local news is full of crime stories from places that are thousands of miles away and that no one has ever heard of.  Bad news and hate crowd out the good and love that society has.  In a way it is ironic, since so many people in the world regard themselves as Christians.  Christianity professes to follow the teachings of a man named Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ (for those of you who might be unfamiliar with him) was a big advocate of love and peace.  Jesus told his followers “A new command I give you: Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”  — John 13:34.  Jesus is also reputed to have said “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”  — Mathew 5:44.  Another irony, considering that numerous Christian churches have supported racism and hatred towards Blacks and other minorities.

One would think that particularly in those parts of the United States dominated by Christian churches, love would blossom like a million flowers.  You would expect that in the so called “Bible Belt” you would see evidence of love and not hate everywhere you look.  If any place was against prejudice, discrimination, bigotry and ill will towards their fellow human beings, it should be in the Bible Belt.  Another irony, since according to the Southern Poverty Law Center, the South has more hate groups than any other area of the United States.  Even more confusing, are the Christian ministers who preach hate and use Christs name to justify it.  This is a recent map of hate groups in the USA.

ir166-hate-map-launch

A few Sundays ago, Pastor Joe Major of Louisiana’s Faith Baptist Church gave a guest sermon at the Philippines church of Pastor Logan Robertson.  You’ll never guess what Major talked about.  In a sermon titled “Make the World Straight Again,” Major told the raucous crowd about how all homosexuals were inherently pedophiles and that’s why they deserved to be executed.  Several years past, the Rev. Steven Anderson quoted passages from the Old Testament to the congregation of his Faithful Word Baptist Church about the kinds of people God hates in Tempe Arizona.  Anderson told worshipers he interprets these passages to include Mr. Obama and that he prays for the president’s death.  Is it ironic that Anderson believes he is a Christian and promotes hate in the name of Jesus?

But enough looking at hate, what about love?  Can we find examples of love in the world?  Do we even know what love really is?  We all know the quote about “love is kind, love is patient, etc.”  But what is the difference between love and compassion or between love and mercy or between love and charity?  What about the role of forgiveness?  Can we have love without forgiveness?  Should we forgive everyone?

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noonday.  —

Isaiah, 58:9-10

Love can not exist in the dark.  Hate brings the dark.  Love is extinguished by hate. In order to have love, you must eliminate hate.  The two cannot go together.  Love opens the door.  Hate closes the door.  Love leads to mercy.  Hate leads to revenge.  Love leads to compassion.  Hate leads to scorn.  Love leads to forgiveness.  Hate leads to vendettas.  Love leads to charity.  Hate leads to greed.   If you want to bring love into the world, you must work to eliminate hate.  Love cannot blossom in a soil that is contaminated with the poison of hate.

I think we are love deprived today.  I mean real love.  Not love of things.  I love my car.  I love my new watch.  I love my blender.  This is not love.  This is idolatry.  It is a Madison avenue con that has been foisted on us to buy stuff and more stuff.  No where in the world do people own more stuff than in America.  Rich or poor in this country, we all have the disease of stuff.  We buy and sell and buy more stuff.  A t-shirt exhorts us to “shop till we drop.”  The midnight madness sales during the Holiday seasons are an ironic example of what it means to be really crazy.  Ironic, because when things matter more than people, we have a world that is truly mad and insane.  We have a world without love.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” — Martin Luther King

 

 

3535– Tuesday, August 27, 2019 — Four Young Boys Growing Up in America, Part 2

27 Aug 2019 6 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , ,

images

Twenty years have gone by since we have left our four young men.  They have now each reached their 32nd year of life.  Not one of them will see their 33rd year of life. 

Whitaker had achieved everything his parents had wanted him to.  He had gone to college, taken over the family business, got married to a beautiful young debutante and now had two young children.  The oldest, a girl, was nine years old and a boy seven years old.  Whitaker loved his wife and children very much.  Like his parents, Whitaker joined the prestigious country club and was head of the planning committee for events.  

The investment business was going very well, and his many clients were always pleased with the way that that their accounts were growing.  Whitaker seemed to have a magic touch.  Everything that was bronze or copper, he could turn into silver or gold.  His family life was also picture perfect.  Two very well-mannered children and a stay at home wife who alternated time between home and working on various local committees to help the less fortunate in the community.   

It was a beautiful Saturday morning in May.  Apple blossoms were blooming, his wife was planning a dinner that evening with some club friends and his kids had their usual Saturday morning league sports.  Whitaker had breakfast with his family and kissed each of them goodbye.  He took his golf bag and left for the country club.  There was some business to attend to with the planning committee he told everyone and if he had enough time, he might get in a round of golf. 

manual safety

Whitaker arrived at the club around 9 AM.  He greeted some friends upon arrival and then went up to an office that he kept in a private room at the club.  He entered the office and locked the door.  He walked over to his desk and sat down.  From a locked drawer in his desk, he removed a Ruger 9 mm automatic pistol.  He looked at it for a minute as though undecided but finally he flicked the safety off.   Whitaker put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.  He died instantly.  Club members hearing the loud report rushed up to the room.  They had to batter the door down and when they entered, they found Whitaker slumped over his desk and quite dead. 

Jamal was heading to the country club about the time that Whitaker decided to depart this life.  Jamal had gone to college and obtained a law degree.  He had married the woman of his dreams and now had a set of five-year-old twin girls.  Jamal was a brilliant orator and could remember facts and figures that would astonish his listeners.  His law firm had prospered, and he now had two partners and more clients than even they could handle. 

Jamal had moved from the inner city to a well-manicured upscale home in the elite section of town.  He had a swimming pool, jacuzzi, a three-car garage and two large stone fireplaces.  Although never much of an athlete, he had taken up golf and joined the most prestigious country club in the city. 

This Saturday morning, he had packed his bags in an old beater car that he kept, kissed his wife and kids goodbye and headed off for a round of golf at the country club.  Despite having a Porsche, he always felt more comfortable in the old beater.  He told himself that driving it would keep him humble and help him to remember where he had come from.  He did not want to have his newfound wealth and status go to his head. 

As he headed to the country club through the expensive homes and gardens that dominated this area of town, he soon noticed a police car following closely behind him.  Then, the lights started swirling and the sirens started blaring.  “Pull over” a voice from the police car demanded.   Jamal pulled to the curb as did the police car.  A uniformed officer came over to Jamal and asked him what he was doing in this area.  Jamal still unperturbed, replied that he was going to play golf at the country club. 

The officer had received word of a shooting at the club and seeing a black man in an old car driving through this area had raised his suspicions.  “Step out of the car please,” he asked.  This was a little too much now for Jamal.  “Sir, I am a lawyer and I belong to the local country club.  What do I need to step out for?”  “Because I told you to sir,” replied the officer. 

Jamal had not been treated this way in a long time.  He was now feeling pretty angry, not to mention the potential embarrassment at being put up against his car within one mile of his country club.   Jamal spoke “I am not getting out of this car.”  The officer now quite irritated, unbuckled and drew his 10 mm Glock.  “Get out of the car, right now,” the officer demanded.

glock

Jamal swung the car door open, stepped out and started to walk away.  The officer shouted “Stop, Stop, Stop.”  Jamal either not hearing or not caring continued on walking down the street.   Suddenly, three loud blasts echoed throughout the neighborhood as the officer pulled the trigger of his pistol three times.  Each shot hit Jamal squarely in the back.  The first shot was enough though since it went through Jamal’s scapula, then his heart and lodged against a rib.  The next two shots were superfluous as Jamal was already dead when he hit the ground.  

Robert was fed up with life.  Nothing had gone right for him.  He had flunked out of high school and then got kicked out of the Army because of some asshole with more stripes than he had.  He had got married and had three children.  He came home early one day from a construction job and found his wife in bed with his best friend.  She took the kids and left.  Truth be told, he did not really give a dam.  His wife was an asshole, his best friend was a jerk and his kids were a pain in the butt. 

Things were looking up though.  It was Saturday.  The weather was fine, and he had the day off from his new job at the nearby cement plant.  The outdoor rifle range had opened.  Robert had bought a new rifle and was excited about taking it to the range and trying it out.  It was a Kel-Tec RDB 5.56 Bullpup.  Robert had purchased an optional fifty round magazine and one thousand rounds of ammunition.  He thought it would be more than enough ammo for a fun morning at the firing range. 

Robert arrived at the range and found that all twenty-four firing lanes were already occupied.  He looked around for the Range Master to see if he might have any idea when a lane would be opened.  It was a new Range Master, whom Robert did not know.  He was surly and brusque and replied that he did not have the slightest idea when a firing lane would open.  His manner really pissed Robert off.  Robert told him “I have been a member of this range for ten years; you should be more respectful to members.”  The Range Master laughed and told Robert that as far as he was concerned, he could take his business elsewhere. 

Something snapped at that moment in Robert.  Everywhere he turned, people treated him with disrespect and like he was dirt.  This was the final straw.  He would show the world that he was somebody and that no one could push him around.  Robert packed up his rifle and ammo and left.  He had made a decision that would change his life forever.

bullpup

Robert drove to the large indoor shopping mall just a few miles from where he lived.  He knew it would be packed on a Saturday morning.  He arrived and parked in a handicapped parking lot.  “Fuck, them too” he thought as he walked away and left the keys in the car.  He entered the mall through a side door and proceeded to take an escalator to the top floor.  Upon getting up to the second level, he took the gun off of his shoulder and surveyed the tableau in front of him.  Lots of kids with their moms.  Mothers pushing strollers.  Fathers walking holding their young children.  Teenagers hanging out with their friends and their ever-present cell phones.  “Fuck them all,” reflected Robert as he aimed his rifle at a nearby couple on the first floor and started pulling the trigger.

As soon as the first shots rang out, pandemonium reined.  Parents screamed and kids were running everywhere.  Robert kept aiming and firing, rather heedless of whom he was firing at.  Fortunately, security guards were close to where Robert sat and seeing him, they quickly opened fire.  Robert had already killed six people and wounded at least twenty-five others.  He knew his time was up, but he reflected, he would go out on his own terms.  He put the Bullpup under his chin and pulled the trigger.  The rifle blew the top of his skull off and Robert died instantly. 

Jack woke up this beautiful Saturday morning thinking how wonderful life was.  He had a great wife and a young five-year-old son.  His career since finishing college had gone very well.  He worked for a successful computer firm and had recently been promoted to a district manager position.  He lived in a nice house in a modest suburban neighborhood, not far from where he had grown up. 

He was making a list of chores to do this Saturday when his wife asked him if he could run a few errands for her.  She had the job of doing the Sunday fellowship snacks for their local church and was going to be busy doing some baking this day.  Would Jack get some more sugar and eggs at the local grocery store?  “Sure” Jack said.  He started to get his keys when his young son began to shout “Daddy, daddy, can I go with you.”  “Of course,” replied Jack. “Get your coat and let’s go.”

They climbed in the car and drove to the supermarket where Jack quickly found the sugar and eggs and some other food items.  Upon heading back to the car, Jack told his son: “Lets go to the mall and we will find a nice birthday gift for your mom since her birthday is next week.  You can help me to pick it out.”  His young son thought that was a fun idea and both dad and son headed for the nearby mall.

Upon arriving at the mall, they walked down a large open aisle looking in store windows along the way.  Jack requested his son to keep his eyes open for something that he thought his mom would like.   A loud sound like thunder broke the thoughts going through Jacks’ head.  Jack quickly realized that the echoing sounds were the sounds of gunfire.  He pushed his young son down on the floor and threw his body over his son. 

556

That was the last effort that Jack ever took in this life.  A 5.56 caliber bullet entered Jack’s front chest and penetrated his heart.  His young son felt the life go out of his father and started crying.  When the medics arrived, Jack had been dead for ten minutes. 

  • More than 38,000 men, women, and children are killed with guns each year in the United States.
  • Over 85,000 people are injured every year.
  • More than half of all gun deaths are suicides.
  • Among high-income countries, the United States accounts for 80 percent of all gun deaths in the world, 86 percent of all women killed by guns, and 87 percent of all children younger than 14 who are killed by guns.

  Giffords-Stats-Page-Breakdown

 

3539– Friday, August 23, 2019 — Four Young Boys Growing Up in America, Part 1

23 Aug 2019 8 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized

images

Once upon a time, there were four boys.  Their names were Jack, Whitaker, Jamal and Robert.  They were born and growing up in the United States of America.  The land of the free and the home of the brave.   Each boy was now entering his twelfth year of life.  Each boy lived within ten miles of the other boys.

Jack was a white boy.  His mother was of Italian heritage and his father’s descendants were from Ireland.  Both of Jack’s parents were Catholic.  Jack’s mother worked as a cook in a small little bakery in the town where they lived.  Their town was actually now a suburb as the nearby city had grown large enough to encompass most of what had once been a small town.  Jack’s father was a computer systems analyst working in the nearby city.  He had gone to a local community college where he finished a two-year program in IT. 

Jack went to a public school close to his home.  Most of his school population was white but there were a few black students at the school.  Jack was a friendly kid who never started fights or picked on anyone.  Jack was an average student and seldom got A’s on any subjects.  On the whole, Jack was just another average white boy in a school full of other average white boys.  His parents were hopeful that he would go to college and find a career with good prospects.  His parents had already started a college fund for Jack and believed that with some scholarships and loans, Jack would be able to afford the local public college. 

Jack was taught that he would be successful if he worked hard, was honest and got a good education.  Jack was taught to respect all people and that he should never judge anyone by the color of their skin but only by what was inside of them.  Jack grew up with a modest number of toys and once in a while even had a few designer clothes to wear. 

Whitaker was a white boy.  His mother was Scottish, and his father was English.  It was said that his parents could both trace their heritage to some of the original Mayflower colonists.  His parents were Presbyterian.  Whitaker’s mother was a lawyer in a large law firm in the city.  Whitaker’s father was a wealthy investor and a business owner in the city.  They lived in an exclusive gated community within the same small town as Jack and his parents.  Though their paths never crossed. 

Whitaker went to a private school in a nearby suburb.  Whitaker was a rather moody boy, but he excelled in sports and was on the A list for most of his subjects in school.  His parents shopped at an expensive supermarket and at the high-end retail stores in the city.  Both parents drove Porsches and belonged to an exclusive private country club.  They believed that wealth had its privileges and they had many influential friends.  They had no doubt that when it came time for Whitaker to go to college (There was never any question of whether or not he would go) that they could get him into either Yale or Harvard. 

Whitaker was taught that people got what they deserved in life.  If you worked hard and smart than you would get ahead.  If you did get ahead, it was because you earned it and you should never be ashamed of taking the lead or getting more of the good life.  Whitaker was taught that life was on the whole fair and that people should not be judged by what color they were but what they had achieved in life.  It was up to each individual to forge their own destiny.  He did not worry about clothes or toys since he simply needed to ask for what he wanted, and he would get it. 

Jamal was a black boy.  His mother and father had both grown up in the same city where they now lived.  Jamal’s grandparents had grown up in the deep south and it was said that his great-grandparents had worked as slaves on some plantation in Georgia.  Jamal’s mother and father belonged to an African Episcopal Methodist church in the city.  Jamal’s mother worked as a licensed practical nurse (LPN) in the local hospital.  Jamal’s father was an electrician in the same hospital and a member of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers (IBEW).

Jamal went to a public school in the city which was forty percent black, ten percent Latino, five percent Asian and forty-five percent white.  Jamal was well liked in school and looked forward to going to school each morning.  Jamal had friends from many different backgrounds.  He was an exceptional student.  He loved math and science.  He was good in sports but would rather hang out with the nerds than with the jocks.  Jamal dreamed of going to college and was hopeful that someday he would be able to get into college. 

Jamal was taught to be courteous to all people and that in the final result it was what was in someone’s heart and not what they wore or the color of their skin that mattered.  He was also taught that life was not fair.  He was cautioned to be careful when around white people especially white police officers.  Jamal learned that black people were not always treated like white people but that he should not let this discourage him.  He could still make something of himself in the world, but it would take more effort on his part.  

Robert was a white boy.  Robert did not know much about his father.  He left when Robert was still a baby.  Robert grew up with a stepfather who told him that his birth father was a loser and a boozer.   Robert’s stepfather was a construction worker in the city.  He worked a great deal and when he wasn’t working, he mostly listened to football and baseball games.  Once in a while, he would take Robert to the shooting range with him.  He told Robert that it was very important to learn how to shoot so that he could protect himself. 

Roberts mother was a recovering alcoholic.  She worked part-time as a nurse-aide in a local assisted living center.  She thought that her genealogy was a mixture of French, German, Irish and even some Native American heritage although she was not certain of the amounts.  She loved her son very much but was usually working when he came home from school.  She would have liked to help him more with his school work, but her shift work made that very difficult.  Robert’s parents were hard working individuals but neither of them had much education or love for learning.  They did belong to a local evangelical church where they took Robert every Sunday. 

Robert went to a public school in the city.  It was the same school that Jamal attended.  Robert stayed with mostly the white boys.  He loved sports but did not have much use for any of the academic subjects.  He was typically disruptive in his classes, usually because he was bored.  He saw little relevance in the academic subjects that he could apply to his life.  He knew his mother wanted him to go to college.  Robert thought that he would really like to be a pro football player and that perhaps he could get into college on a sports scholarship and play football.  If not, he might go into the United States Army. 

Robert was taught not to take any shit from anyone.  He was taught that people will take advantage of you if you let them.  He learned in church school that Christians had built America and that immigrants were people who wanted something for nothing.  Robert was taught to be careful about what he said about other people because the government was politically correct, and it was not OK to say the truth about women and minorities.  Saying the truth could result in people looking down on you.  Thus, it was best to keep your mouth shut unless you were with other god-fearing Christian white people. 

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO NEXT WEEK:

 

3543– Monday, August 19, 2019 — Muhammad and the Christian Money Lender

19 Aug 2019 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

koran

My name is Muhammad.  I was born in 570 CE.  My father died the year before I was born.  My mother died when I was only six years old.  I was raised by a succession of family members until I was in my teens.  I was then sent to live with my uncle Abu Talib.  My uncle was a merchant and it was hoped that I could learn a commercial trade from him.   We traveled far and wide over many of the trading routes between the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea.  When I was eighteen, I decided that I had learned enough from my uncle and that it was time to go out on my own.  This story is about how I became an independent trader.

arabic rugs

It was a beautiful sunny morning in early March.  I had decided to walk to the market place in Jeddah near where I was staying to see what wares and goods were for sale.  It had become my intention to buy and sell rugs.  I loved the beauty and craftsmanship that went into an Arabian rug.  I could always feel proud that these were my products and that I was making the world a more beautiful place by sharing these fine Arabian rugs with others.  I never lied to my clients and I never made false or exaggerated claims to any people.  I was given the nickname “al-Amin” meaning faithful or trustworthy.

I was walking around the market place perusing the various wares of the other merchants.  In one of the alley ways I noticed a booth with a sign that read: “المال للإقراض “ or “Money for Lending.”  Suddenly, I had an idea.  If I could borrow some money, I could afford to buy a few more rugs.  Typically, I was short of money to buy enough rugs for a trip.  It would be much more worthwhile going on a caravan with enough rugs for my potential buyers.

The_Moorish

I walked up to the booth and greeted the merchant.  “Ahlan wa Sahlan”, I said.   He replied: “Ahlan wa Sahlan, my name is Musa.  I am a Christian money lender and I am happy to make your acquaintance.  How can I help you?”

I thought about his question for a brief second.  “I would like to borrow some money to help finance my rug business.  I can only afford a few rugs now but if I had more money, I could buy some extra rugs.”

The money lender looked at me very carefully and then answered: “It will take two things before I can give you some money.  The first is the collateral for the money that you need.”

“I am not familiar with the term collateral Sir,” I responded. “What is collateral?”

“Well, it is something that you give me so that if you fail to pay me back the money that I lend you, I will be able to sell your collateral and recover my money.  It might be some jewelry or gold or rugs that you will provide me to keep until you repay me.”

“Mr. Musa, I do not have any collateral that I can give you.  I only have my good name.  I am known far and wide as an honest merchant who never cheats anyone.  I always ask a fair price for my goods.  People call me ‘al Amin’ because I always pay my debts and I am very trustworthy.”

“Hmm” said Mr. Musa.  “I guess I can ignore the first requirement for my money since you have such a good honest reputation.  Now all we need to agree on is the interest that you will pay me for the loan.  Would you agree to pay me back at five percent per month of the total amount that I lend you?

“Mr. Musa, I do not understand this interest. What is the interest for?”

“It is my profit or commission for helping you with my money.”

“Sir, did you not say that you are a Christian and are not Christians followers of Jesus Christ?”

“Yes, young man, I am a Christian and I am a believer in Jesus.  But what does Jesus have to do with us doing business.”

“Well sir, I thought Jesus taught his followers to help the poor and needy.  Did he not say, ‘Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back?’ Then why Mr. Musa would you want to take money from me for helping me?”

“Young man, you do not understand the ways of the world.  Many things are spoken by the prophets, but one does not always live by their words.  In a perfect world, I suppose one could follow the path trod by Jesus, but Jesus did not live in our times.  If you do not feel that my terms are fair, then you do not have to borrow my money.  Truth be told, there are not many other money lenders in this bazaar who will lend you money at any better rates.”

“Mr. Musa, I am very disappointed in the Christianity that you profess.  I think that this idea of interest is very unneighborly and even seems to me to be greedy.  I think a religion should not allow such greed to exist.  If I were establishing a religion, I would make it a sin to charge interest to help others.”

“O ye who believe! Devour not usury, doubling and quadrupling (the sum lent). Observe your duty to Allah, that ye may be successful.”  — Qur’an (3:130

Muhammad went on his way and left the merchant looking puzzled and scratching his head.  “There goes a man who will never amount to anything” thought Mr. Musa.

“The invention of money opened a new field to human avarice by giving rise to usury and the practice of lending money at interest while the owner passes a life of idleness.” — Pliny the Elder

“It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” — Mark 10-25

 

3547– Thursday, August 15, 2019 — Buddha and the Duck   

15 Aug 2019 14 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , ,

buddha

My name is Siddhartha Gautama.  I was born into a rich family.  I was living a life of privilege with servants and maids to cater to my every whim.  I had no need to work to earn money since we had more gold than we knew what to do with.  My days were full of eating, drinking, playing and indulging my whims.  As I grew older, I could see that my life was going nowhere.  It had no meaning or purpose beyond my daily pleasures.  I soon decided that I must leave home to find out what life was really about.  I left home when I turned twenty.  My goal was to find the true meaning and purpose of my life.

It was a sweltering day in July, and I was trudging down yet another long dusty road somewhere between China and India.  I had been walking unnamed roads for many months now.  The only meaning I was finding was the dust and sweat covering my skin from my exertions on these unpaved rural roads.  I was getting more and more depressed as my journey now seemed fruitless.  I was about to conclude that life was hopeless and that I would never find my meaning or purpose.

As I came over a rise in the road, I saw a duck waddling across the road.  I called out in jest “Hey, Mr. Duck why are you crossing the road?”  I started to laugh when all of a sudden, I thought I heard the duck say, “Why do you think stupid?”  Clearly taken aback, I looked around to see where the voice had come from.  “What are you looking for dummy?”  This time I was sure that the duck was talking, and it was looking directly at me.  I began to think that the summer sun was addling my brain.  I spoke “Ducks cannot talk.  You are an illusion.”  “Well, now” said the duck, “another human who thinks they know everything.”

duck on road

“Okay, just supposing that you really are able to talk, why are you talking to me.”  “Well, you asked me your dumb question, so I thought that I would reply to you.  Most of the time, it is not worth bothering talking to humans since their only thoughts are about sex, food, drink and money.”

“I am not like everyone else.  I am traveling in search of the meaning and purpose of life and particularly my own life.  I do not care about sex, food, drink or money.”

“Ha” said the duck.  “You think that you are so special that you have a meaning or purpose ordained by the gods for your existence.”

“Well, you raise an interesting point Mr. Duck.  I simply assumed that we all had a purpose for existence.”

“You humans are always assuming things.  You think that the world and everything in it are made for your purposes.  You believe that you are the center of the universe and everything revolves around you.”

“I think instead of crossing this road, I will also journey down the road and look for the meaning and purpose of my life” said the duck with a funny cackling laugh.

“You are making fun of me” I replied.

“Why is it funny to think of ducks looking for the purpose and meaning of their lives?  Should it be any funnier than humans looking for the purpose and meaning of their lives?”

“You humans are all the same.  You think that you are so important.”

“But what,” I replied, “If there is no purpose or meaning to anyone’s life?”

“Maybe, there would be no worry, no power trips, no greed, no lust, no hate, no war” replied the duck.

“Are you saying that the problems humans have come from a search for meaning and purpose?”

“I am not saying anything.  I am only walking to the other side of the road.  I will be on my way again.  I hope you have a good day.”

“Good day to you as well Mr. Duck.”

The duck continued on his way across the road and through the brush until he was no longer visible to me.  His last question had left me in a quandary.  What if all of my discomfort and unhappiness came because I was searching for meaning and purpose?  What if these were truly irrelevant concepts to the universe?  What if I stopped this search and could simply BE as the duck was?  Eat when I was hungry.  Sleep when I was tired.  Walk when I felt like it.  What would a life without purpose and meaning be like?

Free the mind from disturbances.  Get rid of entanglements.  To simply be.

“Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.” — Buddha

“Life has no meaning.  Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life.  It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer.”  — Joseph Campbell

 

 

 

 

 

 

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