Monthly Archives: June 2015

The Greatest Generation And The Dirt Road

Anyone who knows me knows I venerate (all you public school graduates will simply have to look up the meaning of the word) my grandparents. I especially venerate my grandfather. He was in many ways as much my father as my dad was. My dad served in the U.S Army his entire adult life. He died in a car accident with 24 years of service. A tour in Vietnam, numerous other assignments and a sincere devotion to drink kept him from a normal family life. My grandfather, may he rest in peace, willingly stepped into the role of substitute father. He was truly part of the greatest generation.

At the tender age of four he began tending crops with his parents, owners of a small farm in east Texas. When he was old enough he joined the Navy. Because of extreme seasickness he was transferred to the Army where he served in the field artillery. When the Army formed the Army Air Corp he got himself transferred into the predecessor of the U.S. Air Force. He went with the Army Air Corp when it became the Air Force and retired from the USAF with 23 years total service.

In my family grandpas world war two service (the first four years in the Pacific then transferred to Germany in Jan 1945 where he stayed through the Berlin airlift) was something talked about quietly when he was not around. In the innocence of youth I had always thought of WWII as some kind of job. Get up, shower, eat breakfast, go to war, have lunch, go back to war for awhile then go home. I had no idea what a war was. It wasn’t until we studied WWII in history that I learned the truth about the second world war. Then, in my innocence I pictured my grandpa, rifle in hand, charging at the enemy who turned tail and ran away in fear. After all, this was the man who chopped of the heads of the rattlesnakes that always seemed to be living under the riding lawnmower. It was my chore to mow the lawn and I cannot ever remember a time I didn’t have to call on grandpa first.

Later my curiosity finally got the better of me. I think I was twelve, I asked Paul (my grandpas name) what he did in the war. At first I thought he might not answer me. He finally told me he had been a crew chief. I had no idea what a crew chief was but since he was a chief I figured he had to be in charge of something. I probed some more. “Well,” he offered “it was my job to make sure my plane was fixed and ready to go when it was needed.” He smiled a little then added, “B-17, B-29, B-25, even some fighters, there was nothing I couldn’t fix.” His smile suddenly faded as he added, “Well, almost nothing I couldn’t fix.”

The almost nothing comment grabbed a hold of my curiosity and would not let go. “What was it you couldn’t fix, grandpa,” I asked full of childish naivete. I remember to this day the look of sadness that overtook his nearly always joyful demeanor. I didn’t understand it at the time but I think I do now. In that moment, he had gone back to those dark days. He was there, reliving something he had worked long and hard to forget. In the quietest voice I had ever heard him use he said only, “I could never clean up the blood.” He put his hand on my skinny little shoulder, looked at me for a minute and then went into his room. Unsure what had just transpired but knowing I had been dismissed I went into the living room and sat down. A few minutes later grandma came out and said it would be best if we didn’t ask grandpa anymore war questions. The look on her face made it more like a royal commandment. It was a request I would honor for the next 25 years.

Sitting on the couch, neck deep in my blessed youthful ignorance I was thinking of some poor guy getting cut on a piece of metal and bleeding a bit on the floor of the bomber. I could not square that image with my grandpas remark. After all, when I had crashed my bike and slid halfway down Red Wreck hill, losing most of the skin on my left side, it was grandpa that carried me into the bathroom and cleaned and dressed my wounds. I had bled a lot that day as he pulled out pebbles and blacktop from my open wounds and grandpa never flinched. It wasn’t until much later that I learned many wounded airmen were allowed to bleed out and die in order to save another plane with less fuel by allowing it to land first. A crew of thirteen men can leave a lot of blood on the floor.

When grandpa retired he got a job as a jet engine mechanic in Dallas. It was a great job that had the advantages of paying well enough for him to live out in his beloved country and being something that he loved to do. On the downside it was a ninety-mile commute, one way. Still, there was one co-worker who lived even farther out than grandpa. To minimize expenses he would drive to grandpas house and ride to work with grandpa. Grandpa would pick up two others on the way in to work. To make the whole thing work he would get up at three am. Unable to contemplate three am as a child (I hated getting up at six am for school) I once asked him how in the world he could get up so early. “Whether I like to get up so early or not is not important,” he said, “it needs to be done so I do it.” Classic grandpa.

The man who taught me how to drive at age twelve (much to grandmas frustration) also mislead me on how to buy a car. As grandpa nearly always worked six days a week and sometimes seven days a week he put a lot of miles on his cars. Every year he would buy a new car. He took me with him once. We drove to the Chevrolet dealer in the small town ten miles down the road. As grandpa pulled into the parking lot a man came out to greet him. “Hello Paul,” he said as grandpa handed him the keys to his car. “Time for a new car?” Grandpa said yes and the man told him to look around, when he found what he wanted, just let him know. A few minutes later grandpa settled on a four door Impla. We went inside and the man gave him the keys to the new car, said the paperwork would be ready tomorrow and asked if that would be okay. Grandpa said yes and we drove off in a shiny new car. For longer than I will admit to that is how I thought people bought cars.

Whether it was making sure I had fed the cows before school or done my homework grandpa was always there. A lifelong practitioner of self-reliance, every moment was a teachable moment. If something broke you fixed it. If you couldn’t fix it then you hired the best man for the job and paid him a fair price. One of the things he excelled at was patience. He often took me and my brothers swimming at the local lake. Once he gave me four quarters for the juke box. At three songs per quarter I picked Bostons “More Than A Feeling” 12 times. Thinking he might not appreciate that I only chose the one song I asked him if he was okay with that. Smiling at me he asked, “Is it the best song in there?” I piped up right away, it was (and still is) the best song ever. “Then you did good.” I felt like a million bucks right then. The fact is grandpa was a big band fan. I suspect the music blaring across the lake that day meant nothing to him and was probably quite annoying but you would have never known it by looking at him.

I remember him making me come inside from playing on the day of the Apollo moon landing. We watched it on a 13 inch black and white tv set. He was so proud of what America had just accomplished. I remember sitting with him on Sundays and watching grandpas “Cowboys” play football. While I don’t know if he ever played football he would explain the game to me. I played in high school and Tom Landry is still one of my heroes.

The first time I heard the song I knew Grandpa had journeyed through his life on Sawyer Browns famous “Dirt Road.” He taught us to respect our elders, study diligently (not hard, there is a difference), stay out of trouble, work hard when required, work smart always and do it right the first time. While he never went to church he had a vast knowledge of scripture and would sometimes quote a passage or bible story to illustrate a point. He taught me to never confuse what is easy with what was right. One of the most valuable lessons I learned from him was that some things are wrong simply because they are wrong. He helped me develop my love of history, reading, football (I am still a Cowboys fan) and coffee. Although he managed to make and save a lot of money he never became enamored of it. Instead of living the high life he preferred to go fishing with us kids, sit in his easy chair with a good book, go for walks on the country road he lived on (our nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away) or have a cup of coffee on the porch in the morning and feed/watch the birds.

As I look back on my fifty some years I realize there is a lot of him in me. I too have spent my life on that dirt road and that is fine with me. Despite my best efforts with my kids and grandkids I can’t help but feel like a pale imitation of my grandpa. Todays silicon valley addled, five second attention span, politically correct indoctrinated young people have no idea what they have lost or how far they have fallen. The humble, character building dirt road has been replaced by the slickly marketed electronic superhighway of instant gratification, electronic anonymity and basement dwelling zombieism. I find that to be truly tragic and, more than anything, I miss my grandpa.

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The Cult Of Islam

I recently came across an article that confirmed a long held suspicion of mine. The article titled Characteristics Associated with Cultic Groups – Revised, by Janja Lalich, Ph.D. & Michael D. Langone, Ph.D. is revealing to those willing to see islam as it really is, a death worshipping cult. What a minute I hear you saying, what do you mean as it really is? Islam is a religion of peace, the Kenyan has deemed it so, so what could be wrong there? Ah Grasshopper, again the pebble eludes you.

I have made some studies of islam. I do not claim expert status but expert status is not needed to understand what the practitioners of islam are saying. It certainly does not require expert status to understand islams predilection for persecution and murder. After reading the islamic holy book which I will not give the dignity of a name, it is clear that hate and persecution are the stock in trade of islam. Strip away all the “thees and thous” from islam and you are left with a combination street gang/cult.

Lalich and Langone state that they consider the patterns listed in their paper as analytical tools rather than diagnostic tools. I think these patterns diagnose cults quite well. They add that, “many members, former members, and supporters of cults are not fully aware of the extent to which members may have been manipulated, exploited, even abused.” That describes nearly every defender of islam I have ever heard. I except from that last sentence the many alleged muslim “leadership” and “rights” groups, they know about the manipulation, torture, rape and murder but pretty much don’t care.

So, lets compare the patterns listed by Lalich and Langone to islam.

The first pattern listed says, “The group displays excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its leader and (whether he is alive or dead) regards his belief system, ideology, and practices as the Truth, as law.” Is there any doubt that this is a foundation of islam? Is not the killing of those who draw cartoons excessively zealous? How about murdering rape victims for having sex outside of marriage? Is that unquestioning commitment?

The second pattern listed says, “Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.” Change the should be punished to must be punished and you have islamic law. This brings to mind the story of the islamist mother who killed her seven year old son because he didn’t progress in his islamic studies as fast as she wanted him to. Islam does not allow dissent in any form, ever.

The third pattern listed says, “Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, and debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader(s).” Sitting in quiet contemplation (meditation) is not a function of islam. The islamic school focuses virtually no attention on what we in the west would consider education. You don’t need to know how to read or write to detonate a bomb vest. The Madrasa’s function is to initiate its students into the world of hate and violence. Chanting and denunciation sessions they have down to a science.

The fourth pattern listed says, “The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (for example, members must get permission to date, change jobs, marry—or leaders prescribe what types of clothes to wear, where to live, whether or not to have children, how to discipline children, and so forth).” Really? Do I have to explain this one? Can you say, burkas, dietary restrictions, muslim only zones, rules on how to beat your wife. All this evil and more is known as Sharia law.

The fifth pattern listed says, “The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s) and members (for example, the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar—or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).” Allah and his henchman Mohammed are so exalted that their authority is not allowed to be questioned, ever. The devout muslim has a religious duty to spread islam at any cost and by any means. Can you say Caliphate?

The sixth pattern says, “The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.” I will let the islamist respond to this one, “Kill all the Jews and non-believers.” What other “mainstream” religion do you know that teaches their children how to kill people?

The seventh pattern listed says, “The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).” When is the last time you heard about a mullah, imam or jihadi being prosecuted under islamic law for theft, assault, child abuse, rape, torture or murder? I thought not. In fact, under islamic law doing any of these things in the furtherance of islam is deemed praiseworthy. Can anyone remember the rape gangs that operated unopposed in England for fourteen years? (And don’t talk to me about the one or two people who may end up in jail over this. Thousands of muslims and their British enablers in the government will go scott free. The victims may never recover.)

The eighth pattern listed says, “The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deems necessary. This may result in members’ participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before joining the group (for example, lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).” Can you say Taqiyya? For those do not know, Taqiyya is the islamic approved doctrine/process that allows a muslim to lie, cheat, steal and even deny his faith in his effort to infiltrate a group/country and further the spread of islam. The Kenyan little Barry is Americas foremost practitioner of Taqiyya.

The ninth pattern listed says, “The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and/or control members. Often, this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.” Can you say honor killings? How about the death sentence for apostasy? Are you a homosexual, death is the only option under islam. What about chopping off the hands of a thief? Rape is a preferred method of intimidation and control. Islam is not a cult of subtlety.

The tenth pattern listed says, “Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.” The foundational tenant of islam is not that the individual should perfect himself and help his family to do the same so that they can be together in the afterlife, it is that the believer must advance islam by any means necessary. This includes sacrificing himself and his family should the opportunity present it self.

The eleventh pattern listed says, “The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.” The islamists tell you straight up, everyone must convert to islam. For those who refuse to convert islamic law provides only two options, slavery or death.

The twelfth pattern listed says, “The group is preoccupied with making money.” This is the best disguised tenant of islam. No imam or ayatollah would subject himself to the poverty he forces those under him to endure.

The thirteenth pattern listed says, “Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.” Islam doesn’t require an inordinate amount of time, it demands all of your time.

The fourteenth pattern listed says, “Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.” This basic tenant of islam is making a gruesome comeback. Islamists are torturing, raping and killing tens of thousands of men, women and children for no other reason than these poor souls are not muslim. This also applies to things. The muslims are destroying thousands of years of history because it is not muslim history.

The fifteenth pattern listed says, “The most loyal members (the “true believers”) feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, and often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave (or even consider leaving) the group.” This reminds me of the story I read not to long ago about a palistinian child who had received medical treatment in an Israeli hospital. The mother of the child said in an interview that she was glad her child had been saved and could not wait for the day when her child would strap on a bomb and kill Jews. She considers herself to be a devout muslim. I consider her mentally ill.

Sadly, all these tenants of islam have been successfully imported into the USA under the guise of tolerance. Dearborn, MI is well on its way to becoming a mini Iran within our borders. Why anyone should tolerate such behavior and attitudes is beyond me. Only the twisted intellectual gymnastics of your average liberal could justify the tolerance of such abhorrent behavior. Then again, liberals like muslims, are a culture of death, but that’s another article.

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