Dirty Old Men & Sweet Young Things

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I had an unpleasant experience recently which brought back memories of years ago when I had poofy blond hair, wore mini skirts, white high heeled boots with fringe, pitch black eye makeup, pale (almost white) lipstick, huge dangly earrings, and fake fur jackets. I was in my twenties and I lived in San Francisco. Along with this stunning fashion statement I possessed a friendly, outgoing, and exuberant personality. I was adorable.

As I went through daily life I spoke to everyone and anyone I encountered. I engaged people in conversation in lines, on the bus, at the sandwich shop, at work, in the elevator, and anywhere else where people congregated. One day an older female coworker asked me to go on a coffee break. I was thrilled because we hadn’t socialized much at work and she was a respected member of our team.

We walked to the corner coffee shop and sat down at a little table and as I prepared to launch into my usual charming self she interrupted with, “I need to warn you about something.”

What? Warn me? Was I about to be fired? Tears welled up and she realized what I must have thought and she immediately patted my hand and said, “Oh, no, no, no. It’s nothing bad. I just need to tell you something.” I waited.

As she proceeded she paused countless times. So many times I couldn’t be sure what it was she was warning me about. I was so horrified that to this day I don't remember the actual conversation but here’s the gist of it: she informed me I was in danger of being attacked by men because of my outrageous personality. I was too friendly. Men were taking it the wrong way at work and were talking. The talk had finally gotten around and she had just learned about it.

I was speechless. I wasn’t some kid off the farm with corn silk stuck in my ears. I had lived in and around urban areas most of my twenty something life and I read newspapers and magazines and books and was wise beyond my years. Sort of.

We discussed my behavior a bit longer and soon we had to return to work. We decided to have lunch the next day to further explore my “problem.” I must admit that the rest of the day was a blur. I could hardly speak to anyone and could not speak at all to any of the men. When I got on the bus to head home that night I stuck my head in a book and never looked up until I got to my stop. I literally ran home (not easy in white high heeled boots with fringe) and locked myself in and cried for several hours.

Prior to the conversation with the older female coworker I thought I had the world by the tail. I was happy. I loved my work. I loved my friends. I loved living in the city. I loved my clothes. I loved my apartment. I loved it all. Learning I was some sort of social predator/pariah was devastating.

I met with the woman for lunch as planned and she defined my “condition” more narrowly. She had determined that though she didn’t believe I was flirting with the men, it is what they believed. She observed that I was friendly to the women and the men in the same way. The men, however, thought I was coming on to them. That wasn’t the term she used back then but that’s essentially what she thought was the problem.

I began to understand what she meant because I had often been the recipient of over-the-top and unwanted attention from some of the men I met but had learned how to deal with them. When I made it clear to the men I wasn’t interested I was sometimes called unflattering names. The word “tease” was used with accompanying descriptive body parts connected to the word “tease” such as p---k tease, c---t tease, etc. Usually, but not always, these nasty encounters were with older men. Much older men. Though the younger men were probably equally as eager to jump me they were not as desperate as the older men. I did not, however, realize my behavior was in any way responsible for these encounters until that fateful coffee break and subsequent lunch. 

I told her that I had never flirted with boys or men in my entire life. In fact, I felt deficient in my flirting capabilities. I tried to behave towards the boys and men in my life the way my friends did, batting lashes, coy and cunningly sweet, but I couldn’t pull it off. At some point I decided to not flirt and to just be myself. My own mother told me it was best to be myself when meeting boys and men since I was constantly sobbing to her with my frustration at their lack of interest in me. Apparently, being myself meant I unleashed a monster. I didn’t need to flirt. I was a natural born hooker. At least that’s what the men must have thought.

I liked this woman a lot. She was kind and friendly and I had no reason to believe she was trying to hurt me. Indeed, I thought she was trying to help me. One part of her advice, however, placed a tiny seed of doubt into my poor brain: she addressed my clothing choices as being part of my “problem.”

Women are often warned about clothing. We certainly do see bizarre clothing but women have been stigmatized with troubles that befall them because of their clothing forever. In fact, in some countries women must cover themselves completely to avoid men gazing upon their bodies in more informal attire thereby inciting the men to rape and molest the women. Do we have such a low opinion of men? Granted, some men deserve our scorn but the men in my family and friends circle are not raging rapists. I’ve always hated when women are blamed for being raped because of their clothing. Come on. Women are raped in nursing homes. Were they wearing seductive hospital gowns? No. Rape isn’t about sexual appeal. It’s about brutality and control and insanity. There’s a huge gap between overly aggressive men scoping out a subject for a potential roll in the hay versus a rapist.  

In the sixties, there were two distinct dress styles. I wore them both. On the weekends I dressed like a hippy and during the workweek I wore mini skirts, boots, and the aforementioned hair and makeup. Me and thousands of other women office workers in cities throughout the United States. In fact, the world. As I mentioned before, reading newspapers and magazines I saw the very clothing I wore every day. I looked at my older wiser coworker and realized “older” was the key to the little seed of doubt I developed. I was young and cheerful and happy and looked adorable. She was old and glum and serious and did not look adorable. She was probably pushing forty.

Still, I did start looking at the men differently when I talked to them and I’ll be damned--I saw lechery that I hadn’t noticed before. When I started toning down with them they changed toward me. Some changed so much they no longer sought me out. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was right insofar as my personality disorder. So though I didn’t change my attire, just changing the way I communicated with men made a huge difference. Behavior in life is key to all encounters.

Those years passed, I married, had children, and got divorced. (Not all at once.) When I found myself in the world again after the divorce I was now pushing forty (like my former coworker) with two little kids and thirty pounds of pregnancy fat. The last thing I thought about or cared about was romance. I spent the next years just raising my kids and surviving. It was tremendously rewarding but I did live an inward existence and didn’t date or care to date and my previous youthful exuberance had definitely left the building so I entered a period of just being a normal every day person who preferred to be home rather than anywhere else on the planet. I just worked and raised kids. Period.

Years after that I hit my sixties then retirement. A funny thing happened on my way to retirement and after retirement. I started getting unwelcome advances from men again similar to the attention I got in my twenties. This time, they were much more direct and much more aggressive. I didn’t recognize it at first (it had been a long time) so I was shocked. Once or twice when out with friends they laughed when some guy would make advances towards me, sometimes at a table full of women. I could not believe this was happening—again—in my sixties.

So more recently it happened at a craft fair. A man locked onto me after I asked him a question, a simple question, and I had one hell of a time extracting myself from him. When I finally gave him a firm brush off he made a rude comment and marched off. Then it hit me. I had my exuberance back. I was retired, happy, my kids were grown and educated and doing well, and my happy continence returned and once again men feel it’s an invitation to dalliance. It is not. I just like having fun and being happy and talking to people. Screw ‘em. (Pun intended.)

Most of the men in this category are a lot older than I am. A lot. Just as before. To them I am a younger woman (at 65). Am I their last ditch effort for a romp? Is this where the term “dirty old men” comes from? Do I have just enough age on me for them to think I won’t call the police because they can’t behave this way with a thirty-year-old? Do they think I should be grateful? What is this? I don't care. This time I’m not changing my personality. I am happy and exuberant and friendly. But I’m also not going to put up with some jerk’s desperate attempt to get me by coercion and blaming me for being a tease. Baloney. Bring it on. (I wonder where I put those boots? They also had pointy toes.)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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COLONOSCOPY SCREENINGS: The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly!

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The Good: Colonoscopy Screenings Save Lives (Very, very good.)

Routine medical screenings have saved millions of lives. There are many tests we can take each year or every other year or every three months or whatever that will literally save our lives when our health care providers examine the results. Some of the tests are uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassing but we march to the testing rooms knowing we must do this to live long healthy lives. Sometimes the tests reveal the worst: cancer.

Recently a friend went to her routine mammogram and the mammography revealed early breast cancer. They believe they caught it in time and she has now received treatment and has gone through some difficult months but her doctor believes her prognosis is good. Another friend went to her doctor for a routine annual exam and merely mentioned she had a tummy ache off and on for a while. She had pancreatic cancer and died six months later. She had no symptoms whatsoever other than the slight tummy ache.

Apparently by the time the patient “feels” something it’s already too late with pancreatic cancer. Better routine screening for early detection of that disease is under development because current screenings do not protect us. They just tell us how bad it is. The pancreatic cancer screenings for people with hereditary predispositions are a must but are not adequate (nor are they for the rest of us). Even if found early survival rates are poor. Same with ovarian cancer. It can certainly be detected but sometimes too late for a cure. Not so with colon cancer. We have a genuine lifesaving test with the colonoscopy.

When I turned 50 my doctor looked at his computer and exclaimed, “Oh, I see it’s time for your first colonoscopy!” It was all I could do to not jump off the table and run screaming from the examining room. Instead, I said, “Oh, sure, okay. Fine. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” I lied.

I rarely go to the doctor except for routine screenings because I’m a healthy person. Each year after that particular visit he urged me to make the colonoscopy appointment and each year I lied. As the years went by (twelve of them) he began pointing out the value of the test. Not only did he become more persistent but also a colonoscopy craze was developing throughout the country and on TV. Everyone was having them and we could even watch them performed on the evening news. I halfway began to think I might be invited to a colonoscopy party like a Tupperware party or a Botox party. No polyps, win a prize.

I argued with my doctor that I didn’t believe I was a candidate for such an invasive procedure. I’ve been a vegetarian for many years, eat a healthy diet, exercise, and I don't have any nasty addiction habits. Other than chocolate binging. But he pointed out that though that was admirable I could not be sure that my gene pool provided me with protection from that particular affliction. Not only that, he explained, what about the environment? Did I live in a bubble? What about the food I purchased? Did it contain anything that may contribute to colon cancer? Each time I visited he provided more evidence that though I was practically a saint in my lifestyle choices I was still living in the world and no one knows for sure what exactly happens in the colon without a little peek.

At 62 I finally gave in. I must confess it was for monetary purposes and not because I was brave. I was about to retire and wanted the procedure done on my company insurance so I set the appointment. I don't really know why it took me so long but I truly did not feel I was a candidate for colon cancer. I clung tightly to my belief in a pristine diet.

I had four polyps. (But read on because that’s “good.”)

The Bad: “Cleansing” The Digestive Tract (Bad and ugly.)

Prior to a colonoscopy there are a variety of methods used to cleanse the digestive tract so that the doctor’s camera can see anything of a suspicious nature lurking in the feces-free colon. None of the cleansing procedures are pleasant. My health care provider gave me a diet and two enemas to be used over a three- and two-day period. The diet was easy and in fact I lost six pounds in three days. The day before the screening I used the first enema bottle. The only word to describe what happened shortly thereafter is “explosion.” On the morning of the colonoscopy I had to use the final enema and by that time I could barely walk. Let me put this as delicately as possible: We could light a BBQ pit with the flames shooting out of my butt after two days of cleansing. When I arrived at the hospital I told the nurse immediately because I was sure they would have to cancel the appointment and rush me to the emergency room for anus surgery. Perhaps anus replacement. They did not.

The colonoscopy appointment is handled very much like a surgical procedure. I was given a gown and led to a bed where they set up an I.V. that would drip Valium to relax me. Some colonoscopy providers knock patients out. Mine just relaxed me. I must have mentioned my burning and inflamed anus about twenty times when finally a nurse took a peek. She was alarmed and ran to get the doctor. He took a look and said, “Oh, yeah. Whew!” I was ready to hop out of bed and head home but he informed me that he sees it a lot and he told me to buy some Preparation H on my way home and it would be fine in a couple of days. I was speechless. I couldn’t believe he was going through with the procedure with my butt on fire but indeed he did.

By this time the nurses were wheeling me into the small operating room and I noticed a team standing by. I didn’t expect an audience. I was surprised that this was such a big deal because the news reports all made it sound like it was no worse than getting a filling at the dentist’s office. Everyone was quite peppy and they started moving me around and before I knew it I was on my side facing a small TV. A color TV. The doctor explained what he was going to do and at this point I didn’t care about the colonoscopy, I was only worried my anus flames might ignite the operating room. At this point I realized I didn’t feel the Valium at all so I mentioned that and I think someone may have cranked it up. (I didn’t feel the Valium until I returned to my car with my son after the colonoscopy. He was my driver. The procedure cannot be done without a driver because of the sedation, even though I was not sedated until I got back in the car after the procedure.)

The Ugly: Discovering Four Polyps (Ugly but good.)

The doctor said (and I’m not kidding) “here we go” and off he went. I felt nothing. I was fascinated with viewing a part of my body I never thought I’d see and I watched the entire process. It was amazing and it did not hurt at all. Not even the aforementioned inflammation problem. At times I felt a teeny bit of pressure but it was absolutely nothing. As we marched along through my colon he informed me he found a polyp. I could see it too so he removed it in a little flurry of cutting and I think some air or something to remove blood and liquid and then he continued on his journey with his little camera. He complimented me on my colon cleansing effort because he could see clearly without any flotsam and jetsam* getting in the way. The procedure was painless. Soon he found another. He did the same thing with this polyp and before I knew it we were moving on. When we rounded a corner I saw the third polyp and shouted in an exuberant voice as though I had won the lottery, “Oh, there’s another one!” Everyone laughed.

Not long after that the final polyp was destroyed and the rest of the trip was polyp free. Soon the camera was reversing and the procedure was over. I couldn’t believe I had been so worried about this procedure because it truly was a big nothing. And the fact they found those four nasty little potential cancer-producing polyps was outstanding. A few days later I received a letter telling me my polyps were benign but because they found them I would be on schedule for colonoscopies every five years and that my children should have colonoscopies at age forty. That was it. I broke my big toe once and including childbirth, breaking the toe was the worst physical pain I have ever experienced. With the toe being a pain level ten the colonoscopy was a zero. No pain at all. None. (Childbirth was a nine.)

My son and I walked to the car and I felt absolutely normal. We drove to the drug store where I planned to buy a gallon of Preparation H and when we parked my son discovered I had passed out. Must have been that extra crank of Valium that didn’t work when I asked for it. My son got my beloved tubes and woke me up when we got home. I went directly to bed (after slathering on one entire tube of Prep H) and slept for two hours. When I got up I was starving so we went out to eat dinner. I chose a light meal for obvious reasons. I was not going to have a spicy meal with the burning condition of my waste removal apparatus. I felt absolutely rested and fine and with the contents of another tube of Preparation H placed where it would do its magic before bed, I had no pain. I was worried about the inevitable first bowel movement given the inflammation but since my digestive tract had been purged of food for the procedure the amount I had for dinner and other very light meals did not make it through my system for two days and by that time my red hot rear was healed. Remember: the anus inflammation and discomfort was from the cleansing and not the procedure. Just want to make that clear. I’m getting different cleansing materials the next time.

I don't believe this posting will convince anyone to get a colonoscopy if they feel like I did originally. I was wrong. It may have saved my life, and more importantly, it may save my children’s lives, and it was no worse or no better than a Pap smear. Any time someone is slipping tools or hands inside our bodies it’s going to be weird and there’s a certain amount of dignity lost. But I prefer living to loss of dignity. I have two years to go before my next procedure. This time I’m going to request a different enema and more Valium and will purchase a dozen tubes of Prep H beforehand just in case. Other than that, I’m good to go—again and again and again. The more times I have the procedure the more years I live to have it again. At least as far as colon cancer is concerned. Our bodies are ticking time bombs so we must be brave and have screenings whenever recommended by our doctors for all parts of our bodies. Even though they can be a pain in the butt.

*the remains of a shipwreck still floating in water

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Remembering 9/11

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This is another in a series of what I intend to be my annual dedication to the events of 9/11. Nothing in my lifetime has affected me the way the events of 9/11 have. We have all certainly experienced horrific events since then like the devastation of Katrina and the earthquake in Haiti and many others and I know those places and people are not fully recovered. I’m working on updates for those events as well but I can’t seem to “move on” and I can’t “get over” the events of 9/11. Yes, I live my daily life and I participate in society but I’m never ever going to get over it. Party because it was unbelievable and partly because we still don't understand what happened.  And mostly because it keeps on giving. The amount of hate generated by that event is at the critical meltdown level. It made us lose our perspective on what it means to be citizens of the earth. We’re all in this together.

When my kids were in college I would drive to visit them around this time each September because my mother and son have birthdays one day apart, the 12^th and 13^th, respectively. But I always started with my daughter who was at CSU Chico and she would give me gifts to transport to her grandmother and brother.  After a few days with her I’d drive to Ukiah to visit my parents for mom’s September 12^th birthday, then I’d drive to my son’s place at CSU Sacramento for his birthday on September 13^th. I’d take a week or so off to relax with my family and drive around northern California during that special week.

On the morning of 9/11, having spent a relaxing few days visiting with my daughter, I planned to leave her place to head for Ukiah for mom’s birthday on the 12^th. My daughter and I planned to sleep in on the 11^th then go out to breakfast before she went to classes and then later to work and then as usual I would drive to mom’s. However, the phone started ringing very early. My daughter’s friend was literally screaming for us to get up and turn on the TV. I remember my daughter was annoyed because she so seldom had a chance to sleep in and we had planned a relaxing morning. She also didn’t have cable so we were limited to antenna TV channels.

It is my foggy recollection that she didn’t catch what he told her, just that we had to immediately get up and turn on the TV. By this time I was on my feet headed to the living room but she continued to whine about the intrusion and went back to bed. It was a small apartment so she heard sounds coming from the TV and correctly assumed it was an airplane crash. She asked me questions about the crash from the bedroom but I was speechless so she got up. I was groggy and stunned at what I was seeing and literally could not put it all together. I don’t think many of us did at first. I actually never have.

After a few minutes I started to comprehend a bit what we were watching. My daughter stood in the corner of the room for a very long time and I switched the TV from fuzzy channel to fuzzy channel trying to soak up the latest information from every news source I could find. They were all reporting almost the same information and no one seemed to have an edge so I settled on CBS and left it there because that was the one channel that wasn’t as fuzzy as the others.

Like millions of others we then saw the second plane hit the second tower. It was at this moment that I believed we were under attack by a foreign country. I was literally paralyzed. When news came about another plane hitting the Pentagon and a plane crash in Pennsylvania, I absolutely knew it had to be an attack by a foreign country and I fully anticipated reports coming from Chicago, San Francisco, and all other major cities. I called my mother and told her to turn on her TV then I called my son and told him to turn on his radio or to get online. (He did not, and still does not, have cable. His TV is only connected to a DVD player.  Because of 9/11 he called his cable company and had it installed for a period of about a year then once again had it disconnected. He did this purely for escape route information.)

There are many more details of my personal memory of the 9/11 events that unfolded but that is the gist of it. It was scary but the news reporters were doing their very best to calm an entire country and in fact the entire world. We all know what can happen if we lose our grip. There are so many nuclear warheads in existence that we could easily obliterate our entire world population in an afternoon. That of course was my initial thought, that this was the beginning of the nuclear holocaust we had all been dreading. I had no idea what to do or where to go. My family and friends were spread out all over the country and I was miles away from my own home. So many of us were stuck somewhere away from home during that event. People on vacations, people on business trips, people in other parts of the world, far far away from “home.”

Over the following months and years people in the news media urged us to move on, to put it all behind us, to remember those who lost their lives and to be brave and pay attention to those around us.  Life had gone back to almost normal it seemed. We had to show the evil planners of this horrific event that Americans were strong and could continue with life no matter what they threw at us. We had to pay a price for this event with the loss of some of our civil liberties as they relate to privacy and the government soon began clandestine investigations of anyone and everyone all under the umbrella of the newly formed Homeland Security Act of 2002. Few complained then but since then more intrusions have taken place and now people are beginning to think we may have lost too much and we may not get it back again.  

I watch old movies and occasionally see the Twin Towers in many of those movies. The moment I see them I am filled with sadness. When I see the Pentagon on the news I feel a little catch in my stomach. If I even hear the word Pennsylvania in any report I catch my breath. 9/11 has affected me in much the same way Pearl Harbor affected my parents. My mother has never forgotten Pearl Harbor and I can’t seem to move on from 9/11. Each year as the formerly happy period of the month approaches a small cloud follows me around until this very day, September 11. The day before my mom’s birthday, and two days before my son’s birthday. I can’t move on.  Just sitting here writing about it should be helpful and cathartic but instead it’s dredging up profound feelings of sadness for the loss and confusion about the truth. I do not believe we know the truth. Maybe that’s why I can’t “move on.”

There are hundreds of conspiracy theories about the events of 9/11. I do believe Osama bin Laden was the figurehead and a major player but perhaps with help from Iran or Libya or Yemen or Lebanon or all of them and more--and let us not forget that 15 of the murderers were renegades from Saudi Arabia, our “friends.”

I’ve spent way too much time reading the theories and some are simply ludicrous and some have science behind them. Some conspiracy theorists claim the buildings did not collapse just because of the crashing planes but were further demolished through the use of explosives (planted weeks or months prior to the plane attacks) much like we sometimes see when old buildings are demolished. I once viewed a Twin Tower video where the narrator highlighted each explosion on each floor about halfway down in the buildings. But this theory is rejected by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and by the American Society of Civil Engineers who both concluded that the jets filled with fuel and flying at high speeds and the subsequent fires were solely responsible for the total demolition of the buildings. Not all of the engineers agree with the official conclusion. In fact, people in the know regarding technology and explosives have continuing doubts.

Then there are theories and official conclusions that state our security agencies knew “something” was going to happen (see 9/11 Commission Report below in its entirety) of an enormous magnitude but the when, where and how of it escaped them. Security agencies in the world are aware if we flush our toilets so I don’t believe that for a minute. I don’t know why they didn’t move into action to prevent the disaster but as we all know, government moves in mysterious ways, and frequently binds up and doesn’t move at all. There are even theories that aliens from outer space directed bin Laden. There are theories that it was the beginning of the Biblical Armageddon.  

Sometimes I wish I was a fanatical conspiracy theorist. That way I could devote my life to ferreting out others like myself and live in a fog of mystery and fear. But I’m not. I’m too analytical to believe in almost anything. If I can’t comprehend a fact, a hardcore scientific fact, I don't rest. That’s what I want and that’s not happening.

There are also many “coincidences,” perhaps as many coincidences as there are conspiracy theories. One is that Al-Qaeda’s Mohammed Atta’s luggage (actual physical leader of the attack) didn’t make it to his flight and papers were later “discovered” listing all of the murderers. It’s a fantastic neat little coincidence that this found luggage provided “factual information” on who was behind this atrocity.  Sort of wrapped it all up in a nice tidy bow. Lost his luggage, his luggage had the list of who did it, case closed. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Who would believe that? That sounds like the script of a bad spy movie. I don't doubt it was found but I do doubt its creation.

The FBI investigation into the attacks was the largest and most complex investigation in the history of the FBI. Because of interrogations of U.S.S. Cole bombing suspects in Yemen, the FBI linked the hijackers to al-Qaeda. They determined that al-Qaeda, and Osama bin Laden, had sole responsibility for the attacks. Author Laurie Milroy in an article in the conservative political magazine The American Spectator in 2006 theorized that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and his family are the primary architects of 9/11.

The Inspector General of the CIA reviewed the CIA's pre-9/11 performance and stated CIA officials did not do enough to monitor increasing threats of terrorism, including failing to stop two of the 9/11 hijackers, Nawaf al-Hazmi and Khalid al-Mihdhar, as they entered the United States. Everyone knew those two were up to no good. There are or were teens in Guantanamo who may or may not know anything about the past, present, or future, but for all the scandal coming from Gitmo very little concrete information has ever been divulged to the public. We have only learned about methods of interrogation and more theories about how those methods do or do not work.

And on it goes. If we spend even one hour researching the events of 9/11 it becomes clear immediately that something just isn’t right and there is no real conclusion other than the true story is fragmented and lacking and not conclusive. Even if we read and view only the agenda based media they truly don’t have manageable conspiracy theories on all that happened before, during, and after the catastrophe. Or what lies ahead. Usually they just make things up to suit their causes but they have never come up with much of a theory either. Except that going to Iraq would solve the entire matter and we all know how that has worked out. What did Iraq have to do with 9/11? Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. We were in a feeding frenzy and lashed out at Iraq, our old thorn in the side.

On 9/11 over 3,000 people lost their lives, and over 6,000 were injured. Many of the dead and injured were heroes trying to help suffering people in the buildings and on the streets and each other as they succumbed to fumes, falling debris, fire, and were trapped in stairways. That’s over 9,000 people and each person had a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a daughter, a son, a husband, a wife, an aunt, an uncle, a cousin, a niece, a nephew, a friend, a pet. The loss is unfathomable and I for one am not going to get over it and I’ll never stop feeling sadness and pain for everyone lost on and after September 11 and also for all the lives that are being lost in Iraq (over 4,000 U.S. deaths) and Afghanistan (U.S. deaths 1275) every day chasing the elusive Osama bin Laden, one cog in a huge unknown wheel. I, for one, just do not believe that’s all there is to it.

http://www.9-11commission.gov/report/911Report.pdf

(You’ll need really strong coffee or hard liquor to get through it, but give it a try. I read it once a year.)

Muslims shouldn’t be living in daily hell with hate directed at them everywhere they go. Muslims didn’t do this. Evil men did this and they used their sacred religion to justify murdering innocent people and causing hate and fear in the world. Throughout the history of humanity people have used their religions to justify their evil ideas and deeds. Religion is powerful and easy for people to use and abuse—and to be used. We cannot allow that to happen by giving in to hate. We can’t blame an entire religion or people for the acts of murderers and fanatics. We need to remember the Spanish Inquisition, the Crusades, continuing ethnic cleansing and purging (often within the same faith, faction against faction), and let us not forget the Nazis who killed millions of Jews and Christians and anyone else they hated. Hating entire groups of people because of their religion can lead to cleansing. That isn’t who we are.  

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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MY American Values!

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Recently Glenn Beck, a popular media host, held an “American Values” gathering in D.C. There are many opinions about his gathering but I don't think he did anything wrong. Having a large gathering in D.C. is the appropriate place for large demonstrations on a variety of topics and as Americans we accept that people have diverse opinions. So the fact he had this gathering is okay with me. (I would have picked a different day for the event but I’m sure he selected that date to honor Martin Luther King, Jr., and not to diminish Dr. King’s famous day of long ago. I hope.) It’s his topic I’m confused about. What are American Values?

Almost every cause, every group, and every politician bandies about American Values, especially during elections. In fact, they spend a lot of their advertising budgets telling us what American Values are not by blasting their opponents.  I don't believe we have developed a formal set of American Values, however, so I have decided to set forth my own personal American Values in this posting, but first I’ll need to study the options. It’s confusing and I’m not sure which way to address this controversy. And it certainly is a pickle because your American Values may not be my American Values. Shall we explore?

American Values are attributed to our forefathers and many of us believe what we learned in elementary school:  our forefathers were saints and created this country with saint-like intentions. I think as adults we all know how the world really works. They came here to create wealth and to keep it and not give most of it back to the King. They acquired land by the zillion acres. The land of opportunity.

All those first families who came here and found themselves developing democracy and our Constitution and our laws of the land were smart people (and rich and powerful so we are lucky they had democracy in mind otherwise we would be bowing low today) and they wanted to rid themselves of the monarchy and they did a great job creating the U S of A.  King George, III, however, demanded his large share of the loot. A large share as well as control of the land of plenty.  Hence, the American Revolution commenced and here we are today.

Along with breaking away from the British Empire for monetary gain was access to other freedoms denied them by the aforementioned King. Freedom of religion was next on that list--right after getting rich. Because of the passion of these families, most of them (but not all) Christian, spirituality was intertwined throughout our forming documents providing guidance as we grew into a great nation.  A democratic form of government and religious freedom for all (religion and government being separate entities) were of paramount importance (except for Native Americans and slaves).

Keeping religion and government separate was a must since the King kept them bound together and we know how that turned out. Our spirituality enhanced our government doctrines but did not rule them. In some countries today religious leaders rule governments. We don't like that form of government. We like separation of church and state. The reason we don't like religion and government mixing is because if we had, say, a Christian-ruled government with, say, the Pope ruling our country, a whole bunch of people would riot. Then another group could fight for control and before you know it we could have the Ayatollah of Iran or David Koresh’s brother (if he had a brother). Safer to keep them separate.

Today, some folks who profess to have what they believe to be our forefathers’ American Values say or repeat the most hateful things. Sometimes what they say is not only hateful but incorrect and certainly not Christian. When I receive an email with a hate slur passed off as humor (and as truth) I immediately look it up and sure enough the comments are taken out of context and then spun into an agenda. Often the people with the agenda then declare that their view is for or against “our” American Values. Hey, they are not MY American Values. I do not spew hate and slurs. And while on the topic of my American Values let me point out my ancestry. Talk about an American. (Unless you’re a Native American and then you trump my puny ancestry.)

My first family member in the new world arrived here before the American Revolution. My family still has the original family property in Virginia and has deep roots in this country. I’m actually very proud of my long lineage and can only imagine what lives my ancestors lived. Slaves also came here early on so many African Americans have long lineage, longer than most Ellis Island come-latelys. The fact that they were forced from their native homes, leaving their “values” behind, and were then forced to take our values, our religion, our way of dress and our language (the King’s English, not Apache or Cherokee or Comanche, etc.), is mind boggling. Did we have American Slave Values? No, indeed we did not. Only monetary values. Slaves were valuable. When searching for African American lineage people find their ancestors on property lists along with the cows and chickens.

Curiously, when I grew up I didn’t realize God hated so many people and I certainly never thought Jesus did. I know the Old Testament has some heavy stuff in it but the New Testament is all about love and Jesus died on the cross for our sins and I’m just so confused. So when a soldier dies in one of our current war zones, certain Christian groups protest the soldiers’ funerals with large protest signs, shouting, spraying pepper spray, and flinging hate, because they believe, and I quote, “God is punishing our soldiers and killing them on purpose because our country is tolerant of homosexuality.” I’m not making that up. Check it out. Do they represent “our” American Values? These groups most certainly have a right to do this but do the soldiers’ families have rights to have funerals for their children without hate mongers raging outside during this profound time of sadness? I think dead soldiers represent American Values and religious fanatics do not.  Wonder what our forefathers would think of those protestors? And, you know, doesn’t that type of anti-American protesting sound sort of, well, anti-American?

Some American Values are religious values that have morphed into “American” Values for everyone. One size fits all? Nope.  So then do we have Catholic American Values, Mormon American Values, Jehovah’s American Values, Hindu American Values, Baptist American Values, Scientology American Values, Church of God American Values, Presbyterian American Values, Evangelical American Values, Muslim American Values, Methodist American Values, Lutheran American Values, Latter Day Saints American Values, or whatever? The list is staggering. American values regarding home and family are widely different as well. Do we have Divorced American Values, Married-60-Years-But-Miserable American Values, Having 20 kids American Values, Vegetarian American Values, Environmentalist American Values, Losing My Job Due To Corporate Greed and Outsourcing American Values, Losing My home Due to Criminal Conduct in the Mortgage Industry American Values, Living on the Street Due to Our Failed Mental Health System American Values? See where I’m going? In fact, it’s fortunate that Jews, Christians, and Muslims all share the same God because they can share the same American Values thereby fostering peace and goodwill for one and all. [heh heh heh]

[While doing a little research for this blog I found the following link. It gave me a headache:]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Christian_denominations

So here is the short list of my American Values. Each one has a sub part but for this post I’ll stick to the core.

First and foremost, take care of my family.

Second, honor my country and when someone tries to screw it up or messes with our Bill of Rights or our Constitution--stop them [power of the pen].

Third, keep prejudice, hate, and intolerance out of my life.

Fourth, respect all non-spiritual and spiritual belief systems, supernatural or otherwise.

Fifth, work hard, maintain a simple lifestyle, and tread lightly through the environment.

Sixth, obey the laws of the land.

Seventh, practice civility.

Eighth, educate myself to prevent saying or doing stupid things.

Ninth, review this list daily.

Tenth, each morning chant my mantra:  “I’m not better than you are.”

I guess there are many more but mostly when it comes to American Values the true meaning is that we are a country of free thoughts and ideas, freedom to come and go as we like, free to say what we want, when we want, where we want, free to live how we want. We can do that under God, if we choose to, and we can pick any God we want including a God with thousands of interpretations to suit our needs some of which are scary (Jim Jones comes to mind). We just have to follow our laws. For those who don't it just means they do not have values. They actually do think they are better than everyone else because they can just run around breaking laws.

We are the land of the free, and the home of the brave. One for all and all for one. Oh, wait. That last part is from the Three Musketeers. It’s French. Les Trois Mousquetaires, by Alexandre Dumas. But I like it. It fits so well for Americans. I have to add that to my personal American Values when I finish this. Whew! (By the way, we should say they are our North American Values and not Central American Values or South American Values; right? I mean, which American Values are we talking about? Now I’m confused again because we aren’t the only “Americans” in this part of the world. More correctly, then, we should say “United States of America Values.” Gee, I thought I had it all figured out.)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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