Dancing in the Kitchen


We were newlyweds living in a house built in the 1800’s up in the hills above Mill Valley, California. We were deeply in love, but still adjusting to each other. It was a bad day, we had argued off and on all day about silly things. He made me cry, I made him swear. It was a typical lover’s spat made worse because we were so young, both of us were still teenagers.

I went into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. As I usually did, I put on music to help me deal with the stresses of my emotions. The Everly Brothers were, and still are, one of my favorite groups. I always sing along with music I love. The song “Let It Be Me” came on the stereo. I started to sing along, when I felt my husband’s arms come around me. He turned me to face him and we started slow dancing in the kitchen. That was the first time we danced barefoot in the kitchen.

We’ve been married for 46 years, over the years we have danced barefoot in kitchens all over the world. Last week we danced in our kitchen here in Mississippi to the same song. It still makes me teary eyed to feel the deep love we still have for each other. The last dance I ever have, when we are so old a decrepit that we creak, will be dancing barefoot in the kitchen. And we will be just as in love then as we were the first time we danced barefoot in the kitchen back in 1972 in that old house on Rose Avenue in Mill Valley, California.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=everly+brothers+let+it+be+me

 

 

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I Am A Writer?


I wrote a book. Me. I like the book I wrote, but so do other people, and that surprises me. Now I am writing another story. And that surprises me even more. It’s scary to write a book, it is even scarier to let people read it. Because I am putting myself on the line, and I don’t do rejection well. Never have, probably never will. So why bother to do this?

I am 62 years old. I have led a varied and amazing life. And like everyone, I have stories to tell. Not about me, really, but about people I’ve met, things I’ve seen, places I’ve been, and the miracles that bind people together in the most amazing ways. I want to tell those stories without being specific about those people.

So like most writers, I want to tell the stories in a way that is fiction, based on facts and experiences. It is a fine line to walk, because someone might recognize themselves, or think they do, if they know me. Or maybe not. Depends on who it is and when the story takes place. Writers tend to write what they know, and some of us, (Wow, I said US!) write what we know in very different times and places. Science Fiction stories are still based on known quantities in an imaginary place. Humans are always going to act like humans. Vampires act like humans with extra abilities and sharp teeth; monsters act like humans with terrifying abilities and attitudes. Even stories about dogs and cats have situations where humans place their human behavior on the cats and dogs. I find that interesting, with varying degrees of horrified. What I don’t usually like are writers who have a formula for their stories. They tend to all have pretty much the same storyline, the same characters, and no real surprises. Boring.

I figure I have read hundreds of thousands of books over my lifetime. I started reading when I was four years old, I taught myself. The first thing I remember reading was Jack Be Nimble. I loved nursery rhymes. I’ved read every genre at one time or another, everything from earliest written books to the most modern books. Learning along the way that I hate creepy books, and the people who write them must have some deeply disturbing issues to be able to write things like that. Mr. King, you need serious therapy. I also dislike predictability in a story, and if you are going to write historically based books, please, get the facts straight about the minutia. It drives readers nuts to know you have it all wrong when it comes to things like the use of guns, martial arts, and magic. Really, speak to a modern day witch before assuming you have it right Fantasy writers.

I admire writers who have the courage to toot their own horns, doing what it takes to get their books read, even in this age of massive self publishing. I haven’t decided if I want to publish, well I do, but I don’t know if I have the courage to publish. I am really worried I will make an ass of myself, like I often do when I get in front of a crowd. Yep, me, cowardly lion here. Unless it comes to politics, family, friends, or my country then I can be brave and speak my mind.

So, I’m a writer, sort of. The stories really write themselves. I just go along and type it up for the characters. I’m having fun, and if I get rejected, I get rejected. The stories have got to be told. I’m a writer, who would have thought that would ever happen?

I’m a Mess


For the past seven days, I have been writing a story. It has taken over my life. I looked at myself in the mirror today and laughed. I was wearing my pajama bottoms and a ratty old t-shirt, a sweater three size too big, and socks. My hair was standing on end, I had no make up on, and I looked tired.

I am obsessed with my characters, who have, by the way taken over the story and are doing what they want. They made me cry twice, and they got a bit, um, racy a few times. Whew! Holy Cats!

My house is a mess, my laundry needs done, my dog wants attention, and the cat stopped talking to me. I can’t have a conversation with my husband without my mind wandering back to the story. He is cooking dinner or we are eating take away, because I keep going back to the computer every second I can. I haven’t talked to anyone, except the once a day visit to Facebook. I am a mess. And I LOVE IT!

I have made it past the magic chapter ten, all the way to sixteen. I am at 60,703 words and going strong. Happy dance! I am not ignoring my blog, well, not much. But people, I have to tell you, I haven’t had this much fun in ages. I had to force myself to stay off the computer all weekend. Me, the one who just isn’t that into being online etc.

Just wanted to check in. Gotta get back to my story. Big things are about to happen. I finally got them in the same room… never mind – its complicated. Later people.

Busy Me


I’ve neglected my blog page for the past week. I have a good reason. I am in the middle of writing a love story. Yep, anti-romance novels me. Crazy as it seems, this is the first time I have had a story take over and write itself. I have a theory.

I was taught how to write. Outlines, character analysis, lists, blocking out scenes… blah blah blah. I got bored with the project before I finished the first ten chapters every time. I thought I was just inept. Then I discovered something, I don’t write that way. I can’t, it is unnatural to me, because I was raised by story tellers, not novelists.

So, this story has been lying around gathering dust in my brain for years. I loathe most love stories, so yawningly boring. Same formula every time: Handsome man, beautiful girl, rich and poor, meet, fall madly in love, have a fight or issue that tears them apart, they get back together, have lots of sex and life is happy ever after. Yawn. Totally NOT what really happens in love stories. Well, maybe lots of sex, but that is about it. Most love stories are between average people, doing average things, living average lives. It is the people who make the story interesting. Each story is unique, and told from two perspectives, his and hers. All the other characters are background noise, necessary, but background noise.

Anyway, that’s my focus. I have written over 26,000 words in three days, after revision. I have no idea where this is going except I am excited to keep writing the story of my lovers. I hope it is a happy most of the time ever after ending. I am crazy about both of them. So far I can’t get them in the same room for more than ten minutes…. never mind, I will share later.

I haven’t been this happy writing since I first started writing eons ago. So, if I neglect the blog page for a bit, forgive me, those few who actually follow me. I have got to get back to it, something big is going to happen in the next chapter or two, I feel it.

You know, I think most women should write like this, from the heart, and to hell with outlines, mistakes can be fixed once the story is down. Ahhh, mental freedom.

Where is Walter when we need him?


When I was a kid, back in the dark ages, we had one main news source, and his name was Walter Cronkite. He was solid, and everyone knew he was trustworthy. The nightly news was a cornerstone of American culture. Times, as they say, have changed.

I pretty much loathe the people who “read” the news today. With twenty four hour news station, the broadcasters are desperate to fill hours without being boring. So they opine, gossip, argue, posture – anything for an audience. The talking heads no longer report, they tell us how we should think and what we should do. And the crazy thing is, weak minded, lazy people follow right along nodding their heads and moving their mouths in sync with the talking heads. No one thinks for themselves any longer.

Today, I was driving in my car, and a song came on the radio that tells the true story of the “news reporters” and how they see the world. It’s by the Eagles. Dirty Laundry. You can listen on YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KOzJ7gNb7Y Holy Cats! Did they ever get it right!

“Bubble headed bleach blond…” “Kick them when they’re up, kick them when they’re down…. crap is king, we need dirty laundry…..” Go on people, have a listen. The Eagles were ahead of their times, prophetic, even.

There are no longer news stations, there are only talking heads and vicious agendas designed to destroy, divide, and decimate people. Can’t trust any of them to tell you the whole truth, and they feast on the sorrow, hurt, and misfortune of everyone. Then make it even worse by twisting the knife in the back of the suffering.

If you want to know the truth, think for yourself, research, and turn off the talking head who are the “wanna be” famous. Trust me, they aren’t even in the same category as Walter was.  Where are the Walters of today when we need them most?

Do You Remember


I noticed, last time we were out to dinner, that there were a lot of couples and families around us who were sitting at the same table, but not in the same space. The adults were never looking at each other. They weren’t talking to each other. And they looked, well, alone and lonely. I have been married for 46 years to the same man. We always have things to say to each other. Sometimes they aren’t always nice things, because we do argue about stuff like all couples. But we rarely sit at the same table and ignore each other – unless we are arguing, and that never lasts past the first course. What has happened between these couples who are older? Drifting apart? Different interests or hobbies? Bored with each other? Have they forgotten why they fell in love in the first place?

I know, we all look different from our youth. Gained wight? Gained wrinkles? Slower to get around? Tired easier? Of course. But so what? Under the age, and changes, you are still the same people who, once upon a time, met, fell in love, and knew you were meant to be together.

Oh, I know, modern marriages are a mishmash of divorce, remarriage, loss and remarriage, and folks who never want to marry but are so lonely they want someone in their lives in some permanent way. I get that. But, for those of us who have stayed married, who are so much a part of each other’s lives that we understand each other without words, we are in danger of becoming strangers living in the same house.

So, let me ask you a few questions:

Do you remember the first kiss and how overwhelming it was?

Do you remember the first time you knew this person was the love of your life?

Do you remember the fear of the commitment, but how much you wanted your love to be your love forever?

Do you remember how bereft you felt when you had to leave his or her arms?

Do you remember that magic moment when the love of your love looked at you and smiled, and your knees went weak with happiness?

Do your remember where you were when you had your first fight and you knew you blew the whole relationship?

Do you remember saying the words, “I love you” and knowing you meant it with every thing in your heart and soul?

Do you remember the first love letter? Not a note, text, or email, but a real letter. On paper. Do you still have it in a treasure box somewhere?

Do you still feel that goofy feeling of joy when you see each other after being apart for a time?

Does your heart ache with emptiness when you have to be separated for long?

Do you remember the one habit drives you crazy with frustration, but you still put up with it because it is a part of who they are?

Do you remember the first time you felt like you were home when you were held in his or her arms?

Do you remember when you stopped being embarrassed to be seen less than perfect, like when you were sick or in a bad mood?

Do you remember when you knew this was forever, not just until you drifted apart?

Do you remember when you decided that you would fight for this relationship come hell or high water, because this was the only one you would ever want so much?

Do you remember saying yes to, or asking for marriage? (I know, marriage is so yesterday, but that commitment is still vital no matter what you call it.)

Can you still look at the love of your life and know that he or she is still the love of your life?

Do you let life, kids, family, work, hobbies, and technology get between you? Why?

If you are feeling distant, or as if there is no spark left, then do something about it.

Write a love letter.

Make sure to tell him or her, that you love them daily. And not just an off hand “love you” as you leave for work in the morning. Take the love of your life in your arms, share a kiss – not a peck, and say the words like you mean them.

Spend time doing something you both enjoy.

Take a long weekend – and don’t tell any of your kids where you are going.

Turn off your phone.

Make time together special – whatever that may entail. It doesn’t have to always be romantic either, just special.

Take a moment to let other people know how wonderful your love is and why.

It isn’t wrong to be madly in love with your spouse or whatever you call each other, even after years together. Let them know. Just say it. Often. When least expected.

Laugh together.

Love together.

Support each other and encourage each other.

Take time just to be together, doing nothing in particular.

And remember, one day, it will be just the two of you again. You will have to speak to each other about things other than the mundane. Talking about how much you love each other is a great topic.

One day one of you will be gone, you don’t want to have regrets because you didn’t take the time to say what you felt, thought, and how much you loved.

Taking my own advice, “I love you, Harold B. Combs. Always have, always will.”

Please Stop.


Last week, a man fulfilled horrific plans he had made over more than a few months. He stockpiled weapons, ammunition, and bomb making materials, holed up in a hotel room, and opened fire on a crowd below him who were doing nothing more than enjoying a concert. He killed 59 people, injured hundreds of others, and like the coward he was, he killed himself rather than face his crimes against humanity. Most mass killers are like that, cowards at heart who die rather than face their charges.

Seeing all of the sadness, the horror, the pain, the deep unending need to know why will overwhelm everyone who is touched by this madman and his desire to kill. How do I know this is what they are feeling? Let me tell you.

On a cold winter’s day in January 1996, my son was murdered along with his friend Ralph. It was and is a very painful event in our lives. After 20 years it is as much a part of who we are as our names. One learns to live with and through the pain, but it is ever present. A man shot my son and Ralph. I don’t blame the gun, it is just a tool, I blame the man who pulled the trigger.

For all of you who are on your high horse about how bad guns are, just stop. Stop making this about YOU and your political agenda. Stop talking, just stop. Take a minute out of your IMPERSONAL outrage, and allow those who are directly involved to talk. Listen to them. Just stop and listen! They will want to tell you about how wonderful their loved one was. How they lived, what they thought, how much they are loved. They don’t give a flying damn about your politics right now. It isn’t about YOU, or gun control, or where you were, or how oppressed you feel, or any of that.

This is about human beings who were living and laughing and having a great time up until a bullet took their lives.

So just shut up, stop talking, stop arguing, stop all of this crap that has nothing to do with the LOSS OF A LIFE of someone’s son, wife, husband, mom, dad, daughter, child, friend. Stop making about you. By all that is holy and loved in your life, have some compassion, gentleness, and love. At least let them bury their dead, mourn them, and get used to the new emptiness in their lives.

Tomorrow, you will get out of bed and go on with your daily routine. Your lives aren’t changed forever, your normal is still the same. You can go on your merry way, doing your own thing, whatever it may be. But some of those families will be burying their loved one. Some will wait minute by minute to see if they need to make funeral arraignments, or plans for a long recovery for a wounded family member, some of them will weep in sorrow and deepest despair. And the weeping will go on for the rest of their lives.

In unexpected moments, a memory will come to them that will bring them to their knees in pain. Or someone will laugh, and they are sure it was the one the lost, or they will see someone in a crowd that looks like him or her, and the pain will wash over them in waves of agony. And it will go on.

While you, in your self contained world, will natter on about political this, and demanding that because a mad man killed a bunch of people in Las Vegas, Nevada in October of 2017. Meanwhile, the urgency of the event will fade for you, become part of the history of your life, and lose its meaningfulness in furthering your agenda. Other people will die in other events, and for a few days that will grab your attention, but it will fade. And life goes on.

For those who lost someone in that horrific blood bath, it will never fade. Never. They will remember each and every second of the moment they knew they had lost someone. It will take conscious effort to remember to breathe, move, even speak at times. It will never end.

With time, they will learn to live through and with the pain and loss, if they are fortunate to have others to uphold and help them. Some will give in and stop living, some will end it all. Some will find a reason to live and some will simply survive until they can take a breath or a step without feeling like they are going to break into a million pieces like shattered glass.

I know this, because I have been in their shoes and walked that mile. If you haven’t, then shut up, sit down and listen to those who have been there. You are not qualified to know how we feel, what we think, and where our hearts and minds dwell.

Just stop, stop, stop….please.

Already? Really?


1. Jimmy Kimmil is NOT a police officer, nor is he a politician or law maker. He is NOT my conscience, I can do that all on my own. So why would anyone bother to listen to a late night host of a boring TV show? What is he to you lot, the second coming of the Savior? Not to mention, okay I will mention, that he has a hate America agenda led by his ignorance of both history and law and his sick adoration of the Clinton cow and her cronies.

2. It sure as hell didn’t take long for politicos who hate President Trump to start screaming about gun laws. Why? Because they will never let a good disaster go to waste so they can further their agenda. How about we take time to mourn and give the families a chance to mourn before you all make their loved one’s death a political football?

3. I will never give up my guns, tazer, or any other form of protection. I am highly trained with a great deal of ability when it comes to guns. I won’t miss anyone who tries to hurt me or mine, I won’t travel into a city, or on long trips without a form of protection and you won’t get that law changed no matter what you think. There are more of us who want that freedom of protection than those who want to enslave us within a wall of hate. Besides, there are other ways to commit murder. Anything can be a weapon, from your elbow to the nearest large, heavy object. Get real people.

4. WE DON’T KNOW why the successful, very wealthy, guy decided to kill people. He wasn’t crazy, crazy folks wouldn’t plan so carefully. So back off the bullshit and give the authorities time to figure out the truth. Until then, it is only gossip and speculation on why and what happened.

5. The LAWS of the states where he bought the guns cleared him to buy them. So forcing a change on the federal level won’t change a thing, except make it very profitable for gun runners and criminals to buy and sell weapons.

6. If he didn’t have guns, he had a plan B according to what was found in the houses, he was going to blow people up instead. So stop blaming guns, and start letting the cops do their job before becoming all holier than thou and political about something so painful and horrific.

Armchair politico PAOL people drive me nuts! Where the hell did you ability to be logical go, up in smoke? PAOL means perpetually aggrieved and offended liberals.

Soap Box Rant


WARNING: SOAP BOX RANT

I saw a commercial today for Little Cesar’s Pizza Company. I found it absolutely disgusting.

A little prince of a brat was sitting in a chair while his Dad brought him a pizza. He told his dad about a sale at Little Cesar’s Pizza and when his dad shamefully admitted he didn’t get that deal, bratty prince told is father to bend down and the bratty prince removed the #1 logo from the Dad’s hat and threw it over his shoulder in compete contempt for his father.

Was that supposed to be funny? Was it meant to diminish the father in importance? Was it supposed to make parents want to buy pizza for the little brat prince from a store like Little Cesar’s Pizza? Was it supposed to make the bratty prince look smarter than the dad? Was it supposed to make a statement on family dynamics? What the hell was that about?

Why would anyone who is a parent, who acts and behaves like a parent, not a peer of the bratty kid, ever buy anything from a company who has so little respect for fathers? Would they have that same role filled by a woman who was supposed to be a mother? Nope. Would the dad role be filled by a gay guy, black guy, Hispanic guy? Nope. Only a white guy can be such a schmuck. A middle aged, somewhat paunchy, white guy to boot. Why? Because we all know a middle aged white male is nothing more than a schmuck who is worthless, and the only good he does is bring home the bacon, or pizza in this case.

Subliminal messages abound in advertising, movies, television and even in books. We are all rotten parents because we don’t give our little princes and princesses exactly what they want, when they want it, and how they want on a daily basis. We are no longer #1 Dad or #1 Mom or grandparent, we are failures in the eyes of the men and women who run big business. We are failures to be mocked and insulted on a daily basis, yet it is folks like the dad in that advert who actually pay the bills and buy most things for the household and the bratty kids.

Every time I see that ad, I get ticked off. If my child had ever behaved in such a way, they would be doing chores for a month straight, and that is after being told off in no uncertain terms about how much of an ungrateful, wretched little monster they were! Makes me want to reach through the screen and smack that kid right out of the chair he is lounging in along with his hateful attitude.

It isn’t right to portray parents who are trying to feed their kids as inept imbeciles. It creates the idea in kid’s heads that their parents aren’t Number One in any way. Sure teenagers feel that way, but that is part of the whole distancing themselves from their embarrassing parents that happens to every family. By making this kid in the ad ten years old or under, the subliminal message to all kids that age who see the ad, is that Dad is just one stupid mistake from being a total failure who doesn’t deserve the kid’s respect.

Next time a commercial comes on that your child is likely to see, pay attention to the subliminal messages, as well as the context and content of the message. Kids remember what they see and hear, and many copy it as well. And folks, never, ever, buy the products that are using ads that promote division, insults, or politically correct attitudes toward parents who are adults that actually parent, or their children. They don’t deserve your money, time, or loyalty.

I am getting off the soap box now. Going to go educate my cussing corner for a minute. Have a good evening.

The Unemployable Children


I am so sick of being labeled a racists just because I look white. My DNA says differently. I am so tired of the whole hate thing the BLM crowd wants to toss around to make them feel empowered, and the uneducated, unemployable, boys and girls (because true adults don’t act like they do) who destroy their own neighborhoods and the lively hood of those who do work for a living. Because the unemployable are having a fit of pique over the legal killing of a heroin dealer who tried to kill two police officers, St. Louis burned and other unemployable children took to the streets across the country to destroy things. The thing is, not one of those unemployable children really knows what racism is at all.

As an American who lived abroad and traveled abroad for years, I know prejudice when I see it, or hear it. It can be as subtle as a look, or as loud as an argument, but Americans are constantly barraged with it. Of course, many bring it on themselves by being loud, overly aggressive, not taking the time to understand the laws, customs, or language of the country they are visiting or living in. They deserve the contempt thrown at them by the people around them. Having said that, many people in other countries simply have a deep dislike for Americans, because they seemingly have everything most folks want.

When abroad, there are rules to follow, and unlike here, if you break them, in any way, you go to jail or pay a huge fine. (Never chew gum in Singapore, for instance.) By being singled out for disobeying a rule, you are not being attacked for being an American, but keep acting like you own the world, and the laws and rules don’t apply to you, and you will end up in a very unpleasant jail for a very long time. And American tourists generally make fools of themselves enough to end up being looked at with contempt, if not laughed at behind their backs. And get this, it doesn’t matter how dark or light your skin may or may not be. It is simply that you are a rude, loud, demanding American that makes you disliked.

For instance, once we were visiting Paris on a short holiday. There was a small movie theater on the Eiffel Tower for tourists to attend to know more about the history of the tower. A large, loud, American guy was trying to find out the times for the next show. The poor clerk was trying to explain, using European 24 hour clock time (1300 hours is one P.M.). The tourist didn’t understand what she meant, and got louder, the louder he got, the quieter the clerk got. She was speaking good English, but the girl got more flustered and less clear in her language. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and stepped in to explain to the tourist guy what she was saying. The moron said, when he understood, “Well why didn’t she just tell me in plain English what time she meant.” She did but he was too much of an arrogant tourist to listen, or to learn that a lot of Europe still runs on a 24 hour clock. The clerk thanked me profusely for helping, but I can bet she hated to see rude American tourists for a long time. Had he taken a few hours before leaving home to learn about the way things are done abroad, he wouldn’t have made an ass of himself.

In Hong Kong, they have outdoor markets that sell everything from plastic bins, to silk clothing, to knock off watches for tourists. These markets are crowded, loud, and one is expected to bargain, loudly. When a tourist just accepts the price given, because it is very low etc., they are insulting the business owner or clerk. (Inside stores are different, no bargaining there, its rude.) To bargain at an open air market is against everything most Americans know when it comes to shopping. But, if you don’t, I can guarantee prices will triple and the merchants will see a patsy coming from a mile away. They will think you contemptible for coming to Hong Kong without the knowledge to bargain to make your money go farther. It is a subtle contempt, something you might miss, but it is there. So, you will be cheated, because you didn’t bother to learn the customs required before leaving home.

So, here we are, back to where I started, concerning the burning of the neighborhoods one lives in while having a tantrum over a drug dealer dying at the end of a gun fired by a police officer. The guy knew he was breaking the law, he got caught, he chose to fight arrest, he died. Look, people, it is simple, destroying what you have because you are mad that someone else has told you no, or has what you want, is acting like a two year old. Stomping your feet and shouting how much you think someone hates you, without proof or facts to back it up, and destroying your home is beyond ignorant behavior. Like foreign countries, if you don’t follow the rules and laws of the land, you will be confronted, arrested, and put in jail. Doesn’t matter what color you are, that is what will happen.

The BLM crowd of unemployable children says that blacks are targeted because they are black. No, people, they are arrested more often because of their behavior and the way they act. Hanging on the street corner, selling drugs, carrying an ILLEGAL weapon, with your pants down around your butt isn’t normal productive behavior. It generally means you are not a contributing member of your neighborhood or family, and probably up to doing multiple illegal things. Skin color has nothing to do with it, behavior does.

If you follow the law, and do as you are told when a police officer tells you to do something, you won’t be arrested or jailed, unless, of course you are doing something illegal, like drinking booze and driving. That goes for everyone.

Recently, my husband was pulled over along with a dozen other cars for a seatbelt check and alcohol check on a holiday weekend. He has a weapon carry permit, and keeps a gun in the dash board of his car.. When the officer got to his open window, my husband had both hands on the steering wheel, in plain sight, with the car turned off. He told the officer, after handing him his license and carry permit, that he did have a gun in the car and where it was. He was careful to keep his hands visible and still. The officer thanked him for letting him know, looked over his paperwork, handed back his license, and told him to have a good day. That is how you deal with a stop. My husband wasn’t doing anything wrong, followed the rules, and was back on the road in less than ten minutes.

Not so the guy who rear ended me a few years ago. He ended up in jail, not for hitting my car, but because he had no insurance, no drivers license, tried to buy me off so I wouldn’t call the police about the accident, and was found to have drugs and a lot of drug money in his car. Oh, and he wanted to argue with the officer about whether he was under the influence of a controlled substance. Really? The odor of both booze and pot was overwhelming. Yes, he was black. Yes, my husband looked white, but he is a Creek Indian. The difference wasn’t their skin color, the police officer was civil to both of them, it was in how they behaved and what laws they had broken, or not.

Envy is an ugly emotion. Using it as an excuse to destroy yourselves, however is even more ugly. Just because someone chooses not to get an education, doesn’t try to learn a trade, and blames everyone for their poverty and inability to overcome their circumstances, does not give them the right to go about destroying their neighborhoods. That is like burning down your own house because a light bulb went out and the store was closed so you couldn’t get a new one fast enough.

Blaming every white person because you are black and unemployable is based on envy. You want what they have, black or white, and if you can’t get it from the government, you will take it from someone else. If you want to be respected, not via street credibility, but real respect, act like someone who deserves it. Stop blaming everyone, stop being uneducated and unemployable, Stop blaming every white person, or any other person, for your failure to thrive. Step out of your self made ghetto and make something of yourself. If you want to be somebody, then BE somebody by proving you are worthy of respect through good acts, not violence.

Stop killing each other, stop trapping yourselves by refusing to help yourself. And don’t tell me that there isn’t a way out. Education, for those who want it and are willing to fill out the paperwork and work hard, is available for everyone who is disadvantaged. Stop making babies you can’t afford and stop disrespecting the girls around you who don’t understand that love has nothing to do with sex. Stop hurting each other with drugs, and stop disrespecting your clergy, parents, and elderly. Learn to read, write, and a trade if you don’t want to go to college. Do something, anything, instead of blaming everyone else for your current behavior and situation. Stop breaking the laws, customs, and rules of your neighborhood, city, state, and country. Learn to serve others, and stop thinking that you are the be all, end all of the world because you can carry a gun, make babies, and scam the system. In short, stop being an unemployable child, and grow up.