Monday, August 4, 2014

Some Concrete Is Best Suited for Headstones

***Apologies now, I realize this is an old topic, but it never posted***

Moving on now.

I really am.  I'm not interested in whether anyone "believes" my position or someone else's position on any given subject.  It's obvious that I deal exclusively in facts and that hurts people's feelings sometimes.

They need to get over it.

The dude that owns the Clippers made some racist remarks.

And people....people that I KNOW?  They got all kinds of upset that people close to that old wrinkly nutsack set him up and coerced him into saying the N word.  And now we're supposed to feel BAD for him because....he has CANCER.


I digress.

I simply was trying to point out that despite anyone's shining public service, their years of planning a project, devoting time away from their family, their hours of volunteering and fundraising and whatnot....there were....rules violated along the way.  There were Idaho Open Meeting Laws that were sidestepped.  There were two sides of a fence played.  There were hands that were unclean when the table was approached.  There were statements made, on the record, then promptly denied.  There have been statements made and out there IN PRINT on the interwebz just BEGGING for someone to research for themselves that absolutely are in conflict with what is being said....but's easier to just say, "That lady is being a meanyhead and acting like a 6 year old."

Yep.  That's me.  The meanyhead who fact-finds for a living, who digs up truth, gets it on the table, and THEN formulates the best, most FAIR decision for everyone.  That's me.  I don't know any other way to do it.  I'm not in any business that forces me to sell my soul to the Devil to get ahead in life.  I'm not in sales, I don't advertise on my blog, I have like....3 readers....and I'm not out to win any popularity contests.  If you're gonna drop me as a friend for calling someone out on their bullshit, don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

I guess I got it from one of MY Grandmas...maybe because she wasn't rich...DIDN'T have a gold convertible....didn't have a car AT ALL.  But she COULD smell bullshit a mile away.

She also, likely without hesitation, fed a kid who tagged along home with my uncle, a kid who was getting the sense knocked out of him by his own grandma, his grandma who took him in when his impossibly heartbreaking parent situation left no other option.  My grandma did it up until my great grandpa heard the kid's grandma was looking for him and, that, along with his patience running thin at the already full-of-kids dinner table, ran him off one night, and I'll say it's likely her only regret was not standing up to her own father that night and keeping the kid there.

That kid didn't go home.  He hunkered down by the creek that night.  But not all night.  Hunger kicked in and he found himself, like other children of The Great Depression, a sudden burglar, breaking into the local store for something to put in his belly.  When the noise rousted the owners, events of that night turned south, and that kid cowered in a hiding place, pointed the gun borrowed from a friend's house out into the dark and squeezed, its bullet landing in the skull of the local Sheriff who'd come to check out the ruckus.

Oh, how influential we are if only by accident on shaping the path that children will follow.  How infinitely more important that influence is than any measure of self-important influence we may wish to have around our business associates or social circles.  How differently things could have been for everyone involved had one more adult been a bit more understanding, compassionate, patient.

I wasn't there, I can't imagine the hollow feeling that crept through everyone who'd had a chance to do the right thing and didn't.  But that was a different time.  Lucky for us, THIS is a different time.  We have a chance to stand up to those who don't really have the best interest of our children at heart, who have lost sight of the real cost of not taking care of our youth.  Because if we can't do that, and nobody uses that pristine chunk of concrete, it's essentially a monument, and in my book, a pristine chunk of concrete used as a monument is better known as a headstone.  It seems that those decision makers we have selected to run our show are more interested in having a facility serve as their own personal legacy landmark than they really are having it be a community spot for growth and recreation for our youth.

And if you look through history and what happens when we turn our backs on our youth, I believe the results speak for themselves.

Would it have killed you to let them have fun?

On a sidenote, if you're curious to know how things played out for that kid or you're just into local history, I really recommend you pick up a copy of The Boy Who Shot The Sheriff by Nancy Bartley.  Let me know what you thought of it, or if you've already read it, tell us what you think.  It's a great look into how our nation learned to face its deficiencies in facing youth crime and how ill-equipped we were to nurture the children they still remained despite their actions.  Anyone in the periphery of CASA, juvenile probation, foster care, or even our school system is well served to observe and learn from this piece.

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