There was a time, long ago before my eyes starting going bad and when foolishness was that bit of mischief all of us get into whether someone is there to see it or not, and that our parents secretly laugh about because it was the same stuff they did.
I was Bat Masterson, Billy the Kid or Wyatt Earp with my bb-gun. No, I didn’t have a Red Rider, I had a Crossman! And, I was a wiz, the terror of chipmunks everywhere. And, of course, me and my friend Benny had bb-gun fights, but we had a rule: no shooting in the face.
Some of you who have read my past writings are not surprised by this, but some of you may for the first time realize that yes, the boy is that dumb. And you have also recognized that this is, yes, another post on the demise of Charlie Kirk by someone who mistakenly believed a gun would solve his problems.
As I grew older I advanced my gun ownership advanced to a Marlin 22, then later to an older 30-06. I liked guns – until one day I realized that gun could solve all my problems, all my days of hatred, loneliness, my want to be different than what I was. One simple pull of one simple finger…
Dad talks of a time when he was in school and was part of an after-school gun club. He would get on the school bus with his gun and take it to school for his after hours activities. I remember when I took my hunter safety courses as a kid. Guns then were a tool; it was how we went hunting, sport targets, and in extreme moments perhaps, personal safety. Somehow they have gone beyond this. Now there are magazines by the truck-load telling us how we need a personal protection weapon as they peddle fear. Our politicians aren’t talking about how we need to deal with the issues that people think they need a gun to help them, but how they have the right to guns and how great and cool guns are.
I guess I’m a horrible person, because I just couldn’t really care less that Kirk is gone. He wasn’t an innocent by any stretch of the word. He advocated hate, he advocated second-class citizenry for those he didn’t like, he advocated for the right of the government to limit the rights of others that he didn’t like, and he even advocated for the loss of life so the importance of keeping his gun rights could be underscored. He advocated for the very scenerio that took his life, in a crushing bit of sad irony.
Who I do care about are those small children in that Catholic School who were shot while praying. No one flew them home on Air Force 2. I didn’t see Cenk Uygur crying for them! I didn’t the sitting republican party politicians calling out in outrage. I didn’t see fucking drumpf demanding retribution for the victims of the Colorado High School that happened that very same day! Somehow seeing one of their own shot was a bridge too far and little innocent children was not. And now, seeing that the shooter was a cis white male maga son of a cop, there went their favorite scape-goat that he was a plant of the Democrats.
But, evidently the nra checks cleared because I’m not seeing any hopeful measures to limit guns to ANYONE! Oh, let me take that back – drumpf wants to limit guns to the Trans community. Haven’t heard from the nra about the atrocity of such a statement yet…?
I once asked myself just what it would take before our children and young people became more important than our guns. I wondered what would it finally be to get people to demand that there be no more. Then I realized that the fear, the anger, the hatred that has been generated has just made us all tense and numb to it all; we are forlorn to the realization that it will never change because those in power are all too willing to sacrifice everything we care deeply about and even one of their corrupt mouthpieces to the money and power that death brings them.
I’m not sure how to begin this tale. It seems like a fruitless endeavor, a constant push that yields little result but loss. I’ve watched the company I came to as an opportunity for a new start some five years ago slowly dwindle through decreasing ups and increasing downs to the point that I find myself frustrated with an inability to keep up with the disappointments.
These images I use are meant to be hyperbolic, nonetheless, they do well to express this lament, my own and others in this country, that I’m losing the fight.
The past weeks have seen our shop lose half of our workers due to layoffs, and more to leaving the fight to better opportunities elsewhere even as I am also dealing with reduced pay.
I thought I would learn so much at this job, and I have – though not quite the way I’d hoped, and not the things I’d hoped. And, now… Now I find that I am faced with a decision to fight the good fight and do what I can to save this floundering vessel, or am I committing slow suicide riding a sinking ship.
I am faced with the question of who is owed my loyalty? When the stone reaches the tipping point, do I push harder or do I get out of the impact zone? Our jobs are more than a way to put beans on the table; it is our identity, our productivity, our impetus to face the day and the very slings and arrows of life. I’ve sacrificed blood, sweat, tears, agility, health and a great deal of my sanity. Now I wonder if I’m too old, too broken down and jaded to begin anew.
These are the thoughts that have ravaged my spirit these past weeks. Some days reality sucks, the sky is dark and storms rage, but does that define my life or does it just describe my moment?
So, now, here I sit. A generally frugal nature and a number of blessings in my life has allowed me to realize some things: I’m not going to starve, I’m not going to be homeless, I’m just going to have a bit more time. The horror of being forced to deal with many of the things I just didn’t have the time or energy for earlier!!! So, no, I’m not worried for me. And, if I am so fortunate to ride out this storm I will be better for the opportunity to care for the things I’ve allowed to wallow in neglect. But, I very much do worry for those who will truly suffer under our Dear Leader.
-randy
Scottie's Playtime 