While I don’t go around exclaiming “Bah! Humbug!” at this time of year, there will be some after reading the following remarks that may well see me in this light. And while Scrooge did come around, Dickens was careful to not entirely avoid the miser’s legitimate complaints about the season.

Who but someone like me that comes right out and says during the Christmas season “It’s a Wonderful Life” is a poor film would write of his doubts concerning the divinity of Jesus while Christmas trees are being decorated and the colored lights are popping up everywhere. But I think the spirit of Christmas, as Dickens emphasized and the Grinch discovered, is more to the point than dogma concerning the divinity of Jesus.

Ben Franklin never read “Elmer Gantry,” but he anticipated Sinclair Lewis’ novel by the admonition to his good friend the famed preacher George Whitefield not to attempt making Franklin feel indebted for what was offered in friendship alone without any religious obligation “in the name of Jesus.” Franklin along with most of the Founding Fathers owned their debt to the influences of Christianity for good, but some like Franklin would not be bound to any particular sectarian influences. It was one thing for those like Franklin to acknowledge a higher power, but something else entirely to pledge themselves to a particular religious belief involving the doctrine of the divinity of Jesus and the pneuma or plenary verbal inspiration of the Bible.

However, a part of Franklin’s shrewdness enabled him to understand he could not question the divinity of Jesus in his newspapers, and throughout the society of his time it was a subject to avoid. All Elmer Gantry had to do was confront the Zenith newspaper with this in order to get it to fall into line.

But long before the “Da Vinci Code” appeared I had begun to write several articles based on my own reading of the “lost books of the Bible” together with many other historical books and documents. A 5,000 volume personal library of the best of Biblical scholars contributed greatly to my research, and gradually despite my fundamentalist background and studies I became convinced there was no reason to either believe the Bible to be the literal word of God or that Jesus was “divine.” And while Dan Brown’s novel held no surprises for me, the possibility that Jesus had become a victim of his own press was a subject my mind refused to address for years. Still, the question would not go away and demanded attention.

It is easy for me to dismiss Mohammad as a delusional pervert and the believers in his religion of Islam victims of believing fairytales at best. But to call the divinity of Jesus into question is to invite many attacks by otherwise civilized people, and some of the very best educated among them I have known personally. But over a very long period of time the question remained of whether Jesus had in fact become a victim of his own press, and this question nagged at me for an answer.

While we read in II Peter “For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty,” there remains the fact that the writers of the New Testament lived during an age of strongly held superstitions; and in Judea especially there was a long tradition of prophets of God speaking to people, imparting the very words of God. From the earliest history of humankind stories of miracles have been commonplace, and due to the lack of science such stories were encouraged in attempts to understand the natural world.

In a small village like Nazareth a man like Jesus with exceptional qualities might well make his mark; and for those steeped in superstitions of the time a very small thing can become quite exaggerated well beyond its actual significance and one could become a very large frog in a very small pond. But if someone should be susceptible to exaggerating their own importance out of proportion to the reality, then it is quite possible to exaggerate other things as well.

It has happened many times throughout history, where an exceptional individual has succumbed to the crowd. Such a crowd may begin with only the praise of a mother and father out of all proportion to the child’s actual endowments, but the child believing these things may forge ahead and gain a larger crowd as a result. An especially gifted child like Jesus would have no trouble calling attention to himself; but the danger is always there that such a person may actually become delusional. Wherever there is opportunity for individuals to gain prominence there is also the danger they may become victims of their own press; and nowhere is this so dangerous, for example, as the present White House that insulates itself from reality and demands strict obedience of “disciples.”

But the question of whether Jesus had become delusional because of the growing throngs seeking a messiah and shouting hosannas in his name is a legitimate one. The many stories of Jesus confronting the hypocrisy of his time, stories of overthrowing the tables of moneychangers and driving them from the Temple speak to the hearts of many today; however, was this a measure of his growing sense of power and invincibility rather than the work of God?

Unlike Sinclair Lewis, I have earned the right as a Bible scholar and one time believer and preacher of the Gospel to question the divinity of Jesus. While I credit Lewis for a great writer, while I applaud his efforts to call out hypocrites and commend his high regard for H. L. Mencken, the flaw in his novel was that of Robert Duvall in “The Apostle.” Since neither Lewis nor Duvall were ever true believers, their performance is too shallow in places that demand only true believers have a legitimate voice.

One has to experience being delivered from the tyranny of religion in order to understand the reality and depth of such tyranny. For this very reason there are far too many unqualified to address the dangers of a religion like Islam. While America has reaped the windfall of Christianity as a civilized religion despite the abuses of the past, the same cannot be said for the nations under the thrall of Islam.

Notwithstanding being a man living alone for the better part of the last twenty years without benefit of the influence of the distaff side, I have been very careful about not allowing new life forms a chance to get started in my refrigerator. I’m an organized and tidy man, a civilized man having been raised to clean and pick up after myself. Even now, you won’t find dirty dishes left in my sink or outdated foodstuffs of any kind in either pantry or refrigerator. But this does not lessen my curiosity about what might “grow” if such things are left unattended. There is much of the Dr. Frankenstein in my imagination, much of wondering what will happen if I press that button, wondering if the Fates intervene when I must decide whether to turn left or right?

Because of what some believe to be the “spark of divinity” in human beings consisting of conscience, self-awareness, imagination, creativity and curiosity among other attributes, I consider that to the untrained eye a mixture of various small seeds give no indication of what might result from the planting and tending of them. The miracle of life is that the smallest of seeds contains all the information to become a daisy or the greatest and tallest redwood. Jesus used the parable of the mustard seed as an example of faith, and it is truly miraculous small seeds hold the promise of life, and life in such diversity. And life, what it is and its origin, continues to be the great mystery it has ever been.

However, our planet may be reaching the maximum it can support of life in the form of human beings. A surplus population of billions is destroying and consuming natural resources at an alarmingly accelerating rate and even polluting our oceans. There are some that may argue the potential for disaster this surplus population portends, but there is no argument these surplus billions are not for the greater part realizing anything like what some call “life as it should be,” free of appalling ignorance and poverty.

But is humankind an aberration of Nature or part of a divine plan? Either way there is no making logical sense of our species, whether of mindless mechanistic forces or Intelligent Design, both are beyond our comprehension. The age of the universe is presently thought to be about 13.7 billion years. The earth is thought to be about 4.5 billion years. The first signs of civilization have been estimated at 75,000 years ago with bead jewelry being used, to the Sumerians of 3,500 BC where cities and writing, Cuneiform script, with a system of laws originated.

Imagine a number line showing the age of the universe, the age of the earth, then the age of Modern Man. The latter would be an infinitesimal mark on such a number line by comparison; even compared to the hundreds of millions of years when life first originated on earth, the comparison would be infinitesimal. Small wonder the Psalmist was moved while looking at the stars to question God in Psalm 8:4: What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

The same question has occurred to me each time I look at the stars, but it is a question that has remained unanswered, and while the Psalmist believed God had visited men I have had no such visitation, at least none that I am aware of. I have that kind of “knowing” within myself, but it admits of no empirical proof. Yet, the sense of wonder remains with me each time I look at the stars. But when I dwell on the two greatest mysteries that confront our species, life and death, I seem never able to reach any satisfactory conclusion. At that, science is in no better case than the philosopher concerning these two greatest mysteries of all.

It is a great source of consternation to me that the madness throughout our world, a madness rooted in religious superstitions, greed and avarice should so dominate our species that the world becomes an increasingly dangerous place for humankind, as well as all other species of life. If one were to credit the various religions the inescapable conclusion would be the gods must be crazy, at war with one another and have infected all living creatures with their madness. Not only is Nature red in tooth and claw, the same would seem to be true of too many among the human species where the stronger prey on the weaker, and people are separated and alienated from one another because of languages, geography, religion and politics. Is this the madness of an uncaring cosmos or some kind of “plan?”

But I remind myself that life is only the tiniest blip on the number line of the age of the universe, and even of our earth, and that civilization as we know it is an even tinier blip on the number line of life on earth. It is as though at some moment in the relatively near past a “decision” was made that resulted in civilization and what came to be called Modern Man in the scheme of cosmological history. And despite the astronomical possibilities, I remain of the opinion our solar system and earth remains unique in the “all” of the universe. The statistical possibilities against our solar system and earth, of life as we know it outweigh all other considerations no matter how many “feel” it just can’t be so. Not all the science presently available to us can explain life and death, and without an explanation of these all else is theory, not fact.

However, the various life forms that have appeared on earth through the millions of years seem more like the experiments of Dr. Frankenstein than those of any Intelligent Design bent on perfecting civilization and Modern Man. To view the results today is to wonder if the gods were in fact crazy, in competition, or whether by chance of some kind unknown and perhaps unknowable it all came together in a species where the wicked prosper and the innocent suffer, and despite every scientific effort life and death remain the two greatest mysteries they ever were.

The pyramids and the Sphinx, Nazca lines and giant figures only intelligible at a great altitude, so many winged creatures in stone and ancient manuscripts remain mysteries. The why of such things remain unexplained, though spawning so many theories not the least of which is extraterrestrial influences. The constellations, none of the ancients could possibly have come up with these by their unaided eyes; and in outer space only appear as a jumble of stars with no relationship to each other. But the fact that they are drawn as a “map” used by astronomers to orient those of us on earth to our galaxy and beyond has proven to be very helpful; and there remain many millions of people that still credit Astrology, so much so that many a disbeliever may sneak a look at their daily horoscope “just for fun.”

We weren’t there, so at this season of the year when that “Star of Bethlehem” and the following wise men are prominent I have cause to wonder. If the story is to be credited at all, just what was it these men saw and followed? What caused ancient astrologers to find any meaning whatsoever in stars of any kind, what was the basis of the warning to Herod that such a thing even be mentioned or credited? The modern critical and logical mind rejects such “superstitions,” but the critical and logical mind leaves room for many a question notwithstanding such superstitions; and even the greatest of skeptics must acknowledge the presence of smoke may indicate fire.

Going back to that number line of billions of years, in a blink quicker than the eye modern science leaps into view, the stars are seen through telescopes, the atom is split, men walk on the moon, the human genome is mapped and genetic engineering opens the way to “improved” human beings. But the seeming madness of it all remains, and for billions of people on earth life is something to only be endured and suffer on the way to inevitable death. The scales are tipped from madly grotesque wealth and privilege beyond imagination for a very few, to living like animals for many billions that are doomed to living in abject ignorance and poverty without hope.

As a species, given enough time science may build a better mousetrap, may deliver our species from its seemingly headlong, hell-bent rush to destruction. Yet I never think of this but what that line from the film “Gettysburg” comes to mind where General Robert E. Lee is telling Jeb Stuart: “There is no time!” And as I consider those leading nations, those posturing for the cameras attempting to gain the most powerful office in the world as President of the United States, I can be excused for believing we are running out of time. In the cosmic scheme of things this would seem of little consequence. But the great “What If?” of our species remains. What if we are unique in the universe? And if so, to what end?

Admittedly these are not the kinds of questions that tear at the fabric of sleep for many, but for those of us given to speculate about such things it is a never-ending source of consternation and confounding questions seemingly without answers. But I suppose they are the kinds of questions that must be asked if for no other reason than to give some of us pause when we are attempting to order the priorities in our lives and separate what is of importance and real value from what will only perish in the end whether one is rich or poor, seemingly favored or cursed of the gods of whatever kind.

There are many mysteries confronting us right here on planet earth; these and the mysteries of the universe are the things that in my opinion should help us mortals to keep a perspective of the priorities. The earth may be an experimental garden of the gods, and perhaps this is what it is all about in preparation for the next stage of our species. But whether or not, the future of life for our species will be determined by whether we run out of time before we reach the next stage of our development. And for now, looking at the present leaders of nations and those pandering for votes here in America, the future for our species does not look very promising.

In “First Blood” when Sheriff Teasle asks why God would ever make a creature like Rambo, Colonel Trautman answers God didn’t make Rambo; he did. If geneticists keep going the way they are Dr. Frankenstein’s mad dream may come true and there will be no need of Colonel Trautman, but Rambo Warriors will be “manufactured” in the laboratories; another SciFi dream/nightmare come true.

Since childhood it has been my dream to have Dracula’s castle and Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory, mind-expanding places where every kind of mystery could be explored to the music of wolves, “children of the night,” the crack of thunder and flashes of lightning and Tesla electrical devices. But having to face the real world and being denied my childhood dreams, I have discovered a laboratory in my mind, and far more than a laboratory an empire as Thoreau pointed out that would put all worldly tyrants and their petty states to shame. And each one of us is in possession of such an empire of the mind; but some rule this empire better than others.

For example, politicians dedicate their minds to gaining power and wealth, ruling over others, and the corrupt leaders of nations like Mexico are dedicated to providing slave populations to serve their masters. Small wonder the president of Mexico pronounces “Wherever there is a Mexican; there is Mexico!” But then, he had America in mind and isn’t sending Mexicans to places like Iraq and Afghanistan, whereas our president is trying to do so with the enticement of American citizenship. Some choice— slave labor or cannon fodder.

Unfortunately for humankind, Nature has a way of producing freaks, politicians like Bush and the Clintons and those like the president of Mexico and Iran’s mad mullah among them, but there may be help on the horizon for all the tyrants of the world; science may provide all the slave labor they want without any of the nasty side effects of having to feed and clothe the slaves. By now many of you are aware of the “Google Cloud” concept that aims to gather and connect worldwide knowledge and make this available to the most humble of pc users. One of the most daunting tasks, however, is separating the wheat from the chaff; who will be in charge of separating fact from fiction? Or will such a magnificent achievement degenerate into an Orwellian nightmare? Perhaps cyborgs or androids will emerge having access to all this knowledge, wired to use it and rule the world; the scenario of many of the earliest of SciFi writers. At that; would we be any worse off than having Congressional committees and commissions deciding what the “truth” is?

Some time ago when I first learned geneticists were working on “glow in the dark pussycats” it was an intriguing idea; now, we are being treated to pictures of the result. On the “bright side (dreadful pun intended),” it might help to keep me from tripping over the resident cat in the dark. Thinking about this, of course I could give the cat a shot of fluorescent spray paint but she would lick it off and get sick. On the other hand, a permanent genetic fix might have some undesirable side effects presently unknown.

There seems little prospect Mexico will be launching a space shuttle any time soon, but what with the growing crime and violence in America due to the invasion of millions of largely illiterate Mexican illegal aliens and our “leadership” thirsting for these millions of slave laborers to displace American workers that seem to believe they deserve a living wage rather than slave wages, things might eventually degenerate into a condition where science may provide the answer through genetic engineering. While all good card-carrying “liberals” may decry sterilization and euthanasia, perhaps science will provide a satisfactory alternative; something along the line of things like the “Stepford Wives” that so many men think a pretty good idea.

One thing seems pretty certain, science is not going to leave it to Nature to work things out; and that may be best. For example, I have always thought the dinosaurs to be diabolical creations. God may not have created Rambo, but for those that want to credit this creature to God, I have to believe it was the “god of the underworld,” Satan:

“A graduate student has identified the remains of one of the planet’s largest meat-eating dinosaurs ever found. Steve Brusatte, a paleobiologist at the University of Bristol in England, determined fossils discovered during a 1997 Nigerian expedition belong to a new breed of meat-eating dinosaur called Carcharodontosaurus iguidensis. The upright-walking creature grinned with a mouth full of banana-sized teeth, stood taller than a double-decker bus and weighed more than two standard-sized cars… C. iguidensis weighed in at 3.2 tons and extended more than 44 feet (14 meters), but was not the largest terrestrial meat-eating dinosaur ever discovered. That title belongs to Spinosaurus aegyptiacus — an 8-ton, 55-foot (17-meter) long behemoth with a sail-like back.”

Among what I consider the miracles of Modern Man arriving on the scene of history and surviving is how did our early ancestors ever make it in such a hostile world? The dinosaurs like C. iguidensis may have been long gone, but the fact remains the world was still an extremely hostile place for humankind; and continues to be so in many places throughout the world today. But with the growing billions of mouths demanding to be fed, one might be excused for thinking if science does not come up with an answer very quickly, Nature may take a hand in balancing things out.

For example, magma may be melting Greenland ice. Volcanoes have been one of Nature’s ways of working things out; as have various plagues, earthquakes, storms, and we never know when or where one or more of these things might combine to “thin the herd.” Yellowstone may be overdue and erupt any time, and there is always the prospect of another E.L.E. from space some theorize spelled doom for the dinosaurs.

Well, back to my dreams of Dracula’s castle and Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. Science may yet come to our rescue, but I have the uneasy feeling there are going to be unanticipated side effects. Glow in the dark pussycats hold some charm for me; but glow in the dark people might not prove either charming or desirable; and the morbid joke of glow in the dark people from radiation poisoning isn’t really all that funny given the prospects of nuclear accidents or acts of terrorism. But if the best we can come up with is Bush and those presently running for president, Mexico’s president, Iran’s mad mullah et al.; ah, well… maybe glow in the dark people will satisfy those that think crime and violence in America is only a matter of “racial profiling.”

It was a question I asked some years ago when America was listening to real music, not the mind-numbing noise of today. Music won’t solve the problems of growing crime and violence in America, and much of the noise that passes itself off as “music” today certainly makes its contribution to crime and violence. But there was a time when music did make a positive contribution to the softer and gentler things of the America I used to know. This is the prologue to my book “Birds With Broken Wings” and it seems more timely now than ever:

Why can’t life be more like the music? I asked.

He replied: Because people don’t listen to the music anymore.

I was in one of the dangerous parts of this city, visiting friends. Drive-by shootings, welfare and drugs were an endemic part of the culture in this community. But I was here largely because of the music.

It was late evening when I arrived. My friend’s little girl met me at the door and asked if I had brought my guitar. I told her I had more than that. I then proceeded to unload both guitars, my clarinet and tenor saxophone. Since it was fairly mild weather, I set the instruments up on the front porch of the house.

We sat together and using the acoustic guitar, I played and sang a simple song for the little girl. A couple of her little friends wandered over and sat on the grass listening.

I put the guitar in the little girl’s lap and told her to try to pick out the notes to the song. Then I played a couple of melodies on the clarinet. But it was that big, beautiful, gold and ivory tenor sax that had the attention of the children. More children and adults had gathered.

A tenor sax is a difficult instrument to mute. But the children were anxious to hear it. So I picked it up and began to play. The neighborhood could hear this. For many of my audience, this was the first time they had heard the kind of music that I had grown up playing and listening to, the music of Sammy Kaye, Russ Morgan, and Guy Lombardo.

By the time I had played two songs, I had more than a dozen children and several adults in attendance. By now both guitars were in the hands of children and I had an impromptu audience of children and adults listening to music of a by-gone era, the big band and ballad music of the 30s and 40s which I had been playing and singing in a club down South.

Country Western is a large part of my life as well. I thoroughly enjoy much of this and my voice, nearly baritone, is well suited to this kind of music, especially the slow, romantic ballads. A lot of really good music has recently fled other fields and gone Country.

Unquestionably children readily respond to music. I wish every child could have music lessons and learn to play an instrument. But I have learned that only the music of a softer and gentler time, of an age of relative innocence that promised real love and romance, clean fun and hope of a future, works in the hearts and minds of children to their good.

The young men and women who had gathered, mostly teenagers, many in gang clothes and sporting identifying tattoos, were curiously silent as I played. There was no profanity, gang signals or chatter. They were caught up in a kind of music they had never heard live before. Most of them knew me but hadn’t known of the music that was such a part of my life.

It was getting late and we had to go in the house. I hated to call an end to the magic of the music and it hurt to see the children leave. I knew what most of them were going home to. I knew the destructive noise of the kinds of so-called music they would hear in such homes, noise that accompanied violence, drugs and alcohol abuse. But thanks to the magic of a different kind of music, it would be a quieter night on this block and my friend’s little girl didn’t awaken screaming from her nightmares.

But the kind of music that both children and adults need in their lives is denied them. Few will ever have opportunity to learn to play a clarinet or saxophone, and how many might have a better chance at life if such things could be made available to them?

I have made love to many women by singing and playing music to them, by writing them love letters, by nothing more than holding hands or dancing while beautiful music played in the background. These are the softer and gentler things of romance, of the real poetry of life, the things people say they hunger for but can’t seem to find.

A very lovely lady who knows me well recently wrote and said I should spend my time writing of the evils of this world. She has read much of my writing that has been concentrated on the abuse of children, of the destruction of family and family values, of our nation’s loss of its moral bearings and the corruption and chaos that seems endemic of the leadership of our government, schools, and churches.

But sustained anger takes its toll. I needed to write a book like this in order to focus on the things that have real and eternal value, the love of family and children, the love between men and women. As the two halves of humankind, it is the relationship between men and women that predicts the future of a nation. Lacking understanding in this area all else, children especially, suffers accordingly and the loss of hope among our young people, the loss of direction for our nation is the result.

This book deals with the loss of so much in our lives, the things that contributed to real love and romance the loss of which produced a generation of young women that I came to call: Birds With Broken Wings.

Many a Christmas tree is adorned by a beautiful, winged angel; but why? Well, the “Annunciation” of course, but admitting to a minor flaw in an otherwise sterling character and artistic discernment, despite the AFI acclaim for the film and the plaudits of so many “It’s a Wonderful Life” is not on my play list; it is not one of my favorite films. Smarmy, hokey, and an immature Jimmy Stewart dreadfully overacting are some of the reasons for this dislike of the film. But the angel, Clarence, him I like.

You see, I don’t doubt there are angels, good and bad angels. Satan according to Scripture is a fallen angel, a son of God, and from the very earliest of times angels and demons have been a part of human history; but why the wings? Being able to fly has to have been the hope of the earliest humans, and despite it not being natural, as in “If God had intended people to fly he would have given them wings,” the dedication to this unnatural environment for humans has led to men actually walking on the moon.

But when it comes to angels, where is the actual evidence for these beings? The books, films, talk shows proliferate on the subject and people are entranced by the idea of angels and much credit is given to guardian angels, but much like UFOs where is the proof?

However, for the naysayers the historical record in stone and the most ancient of manuscripts gives one pause to wonder. The many stories from the most ancient of times credit angels and demons, but again I ask; why the wings? Just why would an angel require wings?

What a proud moment it was for me those many years ago to “win my wings” as a pilot, and I can relate to Clarence on that score. But being able to fly airplanes is not on the same level as the wings of angels. Whenever I was flying I knew I was in an unnatural element not designed for human beings; the risk was part of the attraction for flying but I was no angel. So I understand humans not having wings, but why should angels have them? Just where are angels going that requires they have wings? It just doesn’t make any sense when you really think about it. Yet the historical record of these beings has them with wings. Now the need for fairies having wings; that I can understand, but angels? Nope; doesn’t make any sense.

If Santa can visit every child on Christmas Eve without his needing wings, but having magic reindeer that can fly, I can buy this. But if Santa doesn’t need wings why should angels? Don’t they have the same access to flying reindeer? Or could it be that humans did at one time have wings like the birds of the air, and this accounts for the ancient stories of angels having wings and the longing of people to fly? Were Adam and Eve created with wings, but lost them as part of the curse of God for their disobedience? If so, it might account for that part of us that continues to long for wings, our attempts to overcome gravity and take flight.

There is no discounting the charm of angels having wings, and there would be very few charming stories about wingless angels notwithstanding Clarence. And it is true in many stories, including some of those in the Bible angels do not always appear with wings. But what would the “Ark of the Covenant” be without those winged angels? And when it comes to the various religions, they would be hard up without winged angels. Still the question remains; why do angels require wings, why do any of the creatures of the various myths and legends require wings?

The more I began to think about this, the more fascinating the question became. Winged creatures figure so prominently in so many of the myths and legends of antiquity I asked myself why this should be; and there seems no satisfactory answer. But some things do suggest themselves such as Adam and Eve having been created with wings and getting “clipped” as one of the consequences of The Fall.

Then there is the idea that extraterrestrials may have been described as “winged creatures,” and the ancients depicted them so. But I can’t imagine why ET would need wings. The story of Atlantis does not have winged Atlanteans, but there are legends of winged creatures abounding in many ancient stories. Still the question of the origin of such stories remains.

Now wouldn’t it be something if archeologists should discover the remains of ancient humans with wings! Granted there does not appear to be much prospect of this happening; nevertheless, somehow I wouldn’t find it all that surprising. And “On the Wings of a Dove” might take on a whole new dimension of understanding; and who knows but what God did intend for humans to fly?

Whether God, Santa Claus, or Barney Fife there are some things we simply want to believe. For me God is too big and Santa too good for me to comprehend, but Barney Fife and Mayberry; ah, these I can at least comprehend, and in most ways to my thinking these sum the best thoughts I have of God and Santa. While “The Waltons” and “Little House” showed so much of human goodness and sacrifice, I would prefer heaven to be more like Mayberry where life was simple and there weren’t so many different shades of grey between good and evil. Certainly the folks of Mayberry had to deal with some very complex issues, but the answers to such complexities were worked out by people being simply good people, and the answers generally simple and satisfactory to the great majority.

At a time when politicians are parading their “faith” for prospective votes, virtually none of us believe these pretenders could tell the truth if their lives depended on it. Well, maybe if their lives really depended on it, but even at that I would still have my doubts whether any of them after building their lives on lies would even know the truth since that has become so alien to creatures like politicians that lie to get elected and continue lying to stay elected.

Most would agree that perfection by whatever definition cannot be monotonous, and my idea of heaven allows for the many imperfections of real human beings, those like Barney Fife rather than Andy Taylor for example. While Norman Rockwell had a genius for describing the ideals of America in such an often poignant way, Barney Fife made Mayberry a picture of America in a manner everyone can relate to, a bumbling braggadocio but with a good heart, and always meaning well no matter how inept at doing well. My, oh my, how very descriptive this is of the best people I have ever been blessed to know. Forget the “perfection” of saints that intend to do me good, give me the imperfections of the Barney Fife’s and I’m content knowing I can trust them and knowing their hearts are in the right place no matter the outcome.

God, Santa, and Barney are not running for President of America. What we are facing are those that think they are God, promise to be Santa, and act like Barney without any of his redeeming virtues like a good heart or even good intentions. These charlatans parading themselves onscreen pandering for votes have no intention of doing good for America, but have every intention of doing good for themselves.

Each Christmas we are treated to the many stories of human goodness surrounding the celebration of the birth of Jesus. The Christmas trees and decorations, the colored lights and gay wrappings and bows of gifts, nativity scenes, poinsettias, mistletoe, holly, distinctive music, marvelous films and cartoon features, all with the charm of the season declaring a spirit of goodwill and hope for peace on earth. But I don’t think many of us have any realistic expectations of this coming to pass. And given those attempting to fill the Oval Office there is no realistic basis for optimism; each one of the candidates reminding me of what a beautiful woman once told me about her way of handling men: “Promise them everything and give them nothing.” Smart girl; unhappy but smart. Still, she knew if she pinned her hopes for happiness on men to be anything other than what they are she was doomed to disappointment.

Are We the People so naïve we are pinning our hopes for “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” on what is being offered us as candidates for the Presidency? I don’t think so. I believe we would settle for someone that would at least make us feel safe, but we aren’t even being offered that. And how can any candidate expect to satisfy the “Gay, Latino, Black, White,” vote? With so many tails wagging the dog, just which tail does a candidate zero in on when America is no longer a nation of We the People, but a fractured and divided nation, a grotesque “dog” with so many “tails” demanding government represent each one of them, not America?

Well, I still believe in God though I don’t comprehend, I believe Santa continues to be the representative of children, but would I really want Barney Fife as our President? Given world conditions we can’t afford anyone to be so good-hearted in the White House with their finger on the nuclear trigger. But neither can I help wishing we lived in an America and in a world where we could have Barney Fife as President.

There are so many ways in which this idea can be attacked, and I’ve gone over them in my own mind knowing how ridiculous the very idea is. Of course we don’t want a president so susceptible to the many frailties and weaknesses of a Barney Fife to be the leader of America. We want someone strong and wise, someone that can deal with the evil, the brutality and cruelty of the real world, not Mayberry. But what if God is more Barney Fife than believers are willing to credit, and what if heaven is more Mayberry than some celestial sphere of imagined “perfection?”

As whimsical as it is, given the greed and corruption that has become synonymous with government and made our leaders to appear bumbling idiots at best, falling all over themselves in their haste for power and wealth how could we do any worse than have someone who at least has the virtues of Barney Fife? And to witness what the MSM considers “news” with its insane and inane preoccupation with “celebrity” is to witness what these consider being “what Americans are; what Americans want!” What this says of the producers of such pap and the purveyors onscreen speaks more for them than it does for normal, ordinary Americans, few of us fitting the TV image being presented to the whole world as a nation of greedy, hedonistic, self-indulgent lunatics! And that aside from the impression that Americans are obsessed with and given to sex and violence as a way of life!

It’s easy to poke fun at Barney Fife, the “one-bullet” gag and so much more. And I’m not so whimsical that I wish we had the choice of a real Barney Fife for President; I actually do live in the real world and not one of whimsy. Yet, when I let whimsy have its way I do wish the world could be like Mayberry and was safe enough for leaders like Barney Fife. And please don’t attempt to demean Barney by suggesting any of the present contenders for the Oval Office even come close to his virtues. Unlike Barney, these charlatans pandering for votes are real bumbling and corrupt fools; and we seem doomed to fall into the hands of one of these rather than anyone having the virtues of Barney.

In the 1997 blockbuster “Titanic,” the elderly Rose Dawson Calvert is being shown the computer generated graphics of the sinking of the ship. She thanks the geek for the very informative presentation, but adds that to have actually experienced the sinking of that great ship was something quite different; which, of course, is why Henry Ford could rightly call so much of history “bunk.” Much of what Hollywood and the universities have portrayed of WWII following that world convulsion falls into the category of bunk for those of us like Rose of Titanic who lived the actual events. Unlike Hollywood and revisionist histories the actual experience of WWII here in America for those of us who lived that era was something quite different.

“The only good Jap is a dead Jap!” and not knowing who was a “good Jap” was the legitimate justification for Manzinar. To understand this you had to have been living at the time here in America on that “Day of Infamy” when the Japanese so totally demonized themselves by the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, you had to be listening to your radio as Roosevelt delivered that speech to Congress damning the Japanese Empire and committing America to war. You had to live the years of making sacrifices for the war effort, of Hollywood, radio, newspapers, daily announcing the atrocities of the Japanese to understand things like Manzinar. If you had gotten one of those “We regret to inform you” telegrams and hung one of those small flags with a gold star in your window you would understand Manzinar.

How easy it was for the geek to put together that computer generated graphic of the sinking of Titanic, and go on to “explain” in detail what had happened to that great ship. But as Rose pointed out, the actual experience was something quite different. Certainly I understand why a generation raised in the toxic atmosphere of political correctness would try to expiate the perception of collective American “guilt” for things like internment camps during WWII, for the dropping of those atomic bombs on Japan. But such people are guilty of the very thing of which Jesus accused the hypocrites of his time that claimed had they lived in the time of the prophets they would never have consented to torturing and killing them.

“The Battle of Monongahela” is a must in History 101. The three different accounts of the battle including that of George Washington illustrate how historical events can be skewed by the writers and their interpretation of such invents, and even the most honest attempt to be truthful and factual is often frustrated by many variables that may impact such an attempt. But the one thing more than any other that works against the facts of history is the work of revisionists, the liars that purposely change the facts to their liking, something Stalin, Hitler, and our universities together with many politically correct Hollywood and TV presentations have in common.

But the reality of the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor was my mother and so many others wearing gas masks and building bomb shelters expecting a Japanese invasion of the Hawaiian Islands, the reality was those of us here on the West Coast of America living in fear of the very same thing at the time, setting up coast watches and expecting the very worst. Immediately following that Day of Infamy there was nothing too dreadful the Japanese were not capable of doing. If you didn’t live it, you have no grounds whatsoever for criticism of how Americans reacted to the Japanese threat at that time. But it never fails there are those men that will tell women they know exactly what it feels like to be pregnant and give birth. Of such are those, both men and women that find fault with Manzinar and dropping those atomic bombs on Japan.

In writing of this over the years I realize it will only take that terrorist nuclear bomb going off at LAX to bring America into contemporary focus of what those of us still alive remember of that Day of Infamy, who recall the slogan “Remember Pearl Harbor” and all that it meant to us at the time. In an instant of time, whether it is the unexpected death of a child or other loved one, any unexpected catastrophic event changes people. That our leaders in many cases lied to us before, during, and after WWII did not change how we Americans felt about the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. It is perfectly understandable why many of us wanted revenge against the Japanese for such a thoroughly despicable act, why Doolittle’s Raid was of such vital importance and why there was a need to continue demonizing our enemies in order to galvanize an entire nation into a sole commitment to prosecute and win WWII.

The “Greatest Generation” could never and would never have fought a “politically correct war” to save the world from the Axis Powers. To think such a thing is possible now is to fly in the face of facts to the contrary. For those in the comfort of their “hindsight” to criticize those of my generation for things like Manzinar and dropping those atomic bombs on Japan it will only take a catastrophic event such as Pearl Harbor to remove them from their “comfort zone” into reality.

Certainly I damn Bush and his enablers for what I consider to be an absolute betrayal of We the People, I damn those like the Clintons and others that are patently no more than “politicians” in the very worst interpretation of the word for offering us nothing better as a choice of leadership. But I also damn an electorate that has allowed such a betraying leadership to rule America. And should this generation find itself the victim of another Pearl Harbor it will be because the lessons of that Day of Infamy have been forgotten. Tragically for America, it is easier to criticize those like me still alive to tell the story of that time than to offer any substantive hope of this generation doing better. When the same sacrifices are being demanded and made of this generation that were of mine during WWII, the “experts” that were never there, then and only then will critics of my generation and what it took to win WWII have anything of value to say.

Each year on this “Day of Infamy” I get out my mother’s scrapbook and look through it, filled with the mementos of her time in Hawaii before and immediately following the attack on Pearl Harbor during which she was nearly killed by a shell exploding in her kitchen. The photos of young people with all their hopes and dreams, some of them, the men in sailor uniforms, taken in the bars and around various parts of the islands showed the before and after of the attack. A couple of the photos show my mother and a girlfriend in their gas masks standing next to impromptu and hurriedly built bomb shelters, a sharp contrast to the beautiful lives they were enjoying before the attack.

Much of the material in mom’s scrapbook is vindication of Norman Rockwell’s America, the personal items such as love letters and so much more evidencing the hopes and dreams of a beautiful young woman who had every reason to believe life would be beautiful until those bombs began to fall and explode, and so many young people were being killed for no reason any of them knew.

In “Gone With The Wind,” Ashley was incorrect in commenting after the wars were over people forgot why they were fought. In reality, while it is too often true that liars make history what they want it to be, that as per Henry Ford much of history is “bunk,” and winners not losers write the histories of wars, nevertheless people do remember why they were fought. That is, those who lived to tell the story. But those who live to tell the story are most often shouted down by those coming after the fact with their own agendas of revisionist histories.

Yes, many of our leaders did lie to us before, during, and after WWII to serve their own evil purposes. But the reality of it all is found in my mother’s scrapbook, the kind of reality that led to Manzinar, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki.

The decisions made by those in power leading to WWII were based for the most part on the same things leading to most wars; egos, greed, corruption, the most base of human traits that put too many leaders with these base traits in power. And these most base of human traits continue as they ever have, continuing to put too many leaders in power that have achieved their imminence through ego, greed, and corruption.

These many years later, I never think of “Remember Pearl Harbor” that I do not also think about Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Yes, there was a need for Manzinar, there was a need to drop those atomic bombs thereby shortening the war and saving millions of American and Japanese lives by doing so; and only fools would believe Hitler or Tojo would not have done so. That we had the bomb first decided the issue.

But the nightmare that continues for me is the thought of those enormous blasts that snuffed out the lives of so many thousands of Japanese including so many babies and children, innocent civilians that had no idea of why their lives were being snuffed out any more than my mother and so many young people knew why those bombs were falling on Pearl Harbor.

Those my age recall when we trusted our leadership, some of us are blessed to recall Norman Rockwell’s America, and we have every reason to understand why our present leaders are not to be trusted. But we have no more reason to trust the leaders of other nations than our own. The ongoing tragedy of our species is that the majority of decent people would choose to live in peace if only they had leaders of the same mind.

However, neither Pearl Harbor nor 9/11 are aberrations, over the course of human history they have proven to be the rule rather than the exception. And as I leaf through mom’s scrapbook I realize this won’t change until the leaders of nations are held to account for the evil they do. And I also ask myself, will Bush and his enablers, will any of those presently contending for the White House ever be held accountable for the evil they have done? Is this really the best We the People have to look forward to, more betrayal of the hopes and dreams of a beautiful young woman who was my mother?

It is with real empathy for those that resort to evolution in an attempt to understand life that I offer the possibility of God simply having a bad cheese day thereby accounting for the universe and life here on earth. It’s a familiar scene in “A Christmas Carol” where Scrooge suspects he may have fallen victim to a bit of bad cheese (the early film version), and this accounts for his seeing an apparition of Marley. Had this been the case some bicarbonate and a good belch would have relieved the situation, much like Sean Connery using this cure and thereby offending the head shaman in “Medicine Man.”

We know the physics of gasses; that they expand to achieve equilibrium in the space allotted. When such gas builds up in our stomachs a good, solid burp usually relieves the situation; and there is that scene in Ben-Hur where Charlton Heston was required to do so after a meal as an expression of good manners to the sheik who has befriended him.

The bubble theory of the universe in which multiple universes might exist as bubbles floating about in the infinity of forever is fascinating, as are most theories of the universe. Early on in my own speculation of this it seemed to me a cosmic explosion as in the Big Bang would have to be spherical, and there has to be a reason for the universe favoring the spheres of stars and planets with their elliptical and circular orbits. Emerson got me to thinking about this from his treatise on “Circles.” And why should soap bubbles always be spheres, why does using that plastic gizmo dipped into a soap solution and then blowing through it always produce spherical bubbles (discounting Spongebob’s versatility)? A cosmic burp, the Big Bang would favor an expanding bubble universe and the many spherical gas giant planets throughout the universe.

But could the universe itself be the result of a cosmic burp? Was God himself the victim of a bit of bad cheese as Scrooge suspected was his case, or because of a large satisfying meal as in Ben-Hur resulting in an unimaginably huge burp; the Big Bang? The more uncharitable minds would degrade this thought by mentioning flatulence instead of a burp, but I leave that to those with an ax to grind concerning God.

My flight of fancy into this realm of the Big Burp comes down to one of two theories: Bad Cheese or Good Meal. The Bad Cheese people have only to consider the hostility of the universe toward life and the mess we live with here on earth. I only have to consider the violence of the universe, the violence involved with the birth of our planet and the diabolical life forms like dinosaurs, the ongoing violence of volcanoes, earthquakes and storms, the violence involved with Nature red in tooth and claw, of birth itself and the ongoing violence and brutality, the inhumanity we live with and death to credit the Bad Cheese theory.

Politicians, of course, fit into the Bad Cheese theory. How else to account for these creatures but the result of something really bad; though they more readily lend themselves to a flatulence theory rather than the Big Burp, and the violence, greed and corruption so prevalent would at least indicate God was having a really bad cheese day to allow all this to come into being.

The kind of religious insanity such as that of Islam that grips so many would certainly lend itself to the Bad Cheese theory. But then any that felt an obligation to satisfy some bloodthirsty deity could be called victims of bad cheese themselves. Unfortunately, most of these will not submit to the Medicine Man with his bicarbonate cure resulting in a good burp to relieve them. Like the offended shaman, the mad mullahs of Islam will have nothing in the way of a cure lest they be offended and pronounce a curse on both the Medicine Man and the bicarbonate.

It is only fancy to imagine such a thing as the Big Burp whether good or ill, but then to try to imagine the universe is to take a trip into the literally fantastic. I thoroughly enjoy the excursions into the various theories of the universe, and could listen to those like Michio Kaku for hours as they expound on the virtually limitless possibilities.

But in all seriousness there is the matter of life itself and its origin that defies all attempts to define, and without an understanding of this, without knowing what exactly life is most of what we consider while looking at the stars is educated guesswork. We don’t even know where we stand in relation to what is unknown. And without knowing the “All” of it, how can we?

I suppose this is why I go off into my own flights of fancy; I have so little use for the pretenders that attempt to pass themselves off as being privy to the secrets of God and the universe. And I believe God understands why I poke a little fun at such pretenders and is not offended by expressing my thoughts concerning the Big Burp. And should this be the case, I still hold out the hope that things will eventually come out in the end the result of a large satisfying meal rather than that of bad cheese.

The Apostle Paul has it the creature does not say to the Creator “Why have you made me so?” If I’m not to question the Creator I just have to take it he has a sense of humor and made me so. But I’m depending on the Creator having a sense of humor or I may be in big trouble as per the Big Burp. However, while I don’t expect professional religionists to have much of a sense of humor, I do believe God can take a joke and I believe he understands our attempts to make some sense out of the universe and life.

How many times have you heard political opinion from someone that includes the phrase “Now, if he, or they, was really smart…” My very close friend Joe, who happens to also be my dentist, and I were discussing the political scene when the phrase came to mind. Of course, the operant word in the phrase is “smart,” which if any of our politicians really were they wouldn’t be killing the goose, the ordinary American citizens, that lays the golden eggs. But notwithstanding the caveat, I can’t resist saying that if Caesar Bush and Company were really smart they would have followed the broad hint in “Canadian Bacon” rather than pursue an enormously expensive dead end in the Middle East.

Hollywood has too often been treacherously irresponsible toward America, but I’d be the last to fail giving the institution its proper due when deserved. Oftentimes we are treated to some marvelous insights coming out of Hollywood, and Canadian Bacon was a film offering many such insights. With a terrific cast and some great dialogue, the uproariously funny take on our government and military leaders, the film makes some sober points the MSM would do well in presenting to Americans. If the talking heads and empty suits were capable of doing so, they would be zeroing in on the present crop of presidential contenders making them answer the tough questions the film presents.

As that Hollywood producer in “The Godfather” so well said, a man in his position could not afford to be made to look ridiculous. While films like “On the Beach, Fail-Safe” and “Crimson Tide” make their ominous and all too valid points, it is a film like Canadian Bacon that brings the most important issues facing America into proper focus with an appeal to reason the dark side can’t reach. If there is any sanity to be found in politicians it is the species realizing one running for president cannot afford to be made to look ridiculous, something Caesar Bush seems totally oblivious to but those attempting to replace him had better take to heart.

We don’t know if there are any animals that have the capability of laughing at themselves, but it is of paramount importance for the sake of mental health that people do so. Once you have slapped your head and exclaimed “How could I have been so dumb!” after doing something really stupid, there is the need to laugh at yourself. It is in just this manner I long ago became my own best source of humor, an attribute of our most famous and acclaimed humorist Sam Clemens. That part of his genius was delving into the dark side in order to make his points by the use of humor. In just this way Canadian Bacon takes from the dark side veiled by humor.

The world becoming increasingly dangerous daily, we cannot afford dangerous fools like Caesar Bush and Company running/ruining America; the stakes are simply too high. It isn’t that fanatical Muslims are not dedicated to the destruction of Western Civilization, but as in Canadian Bacon the real dangers lie in our own leadership that will stop at nothing to achieve power and wealth. If there is no “clear and present danger,” then we have a leadership that will fabricate one in order to maintain their positions of power, which, of course, has evidenced itself by the wars of the White House and Congress in the Middle East and the absolute refusal to secure our own borders for the obvious sake of slave labor. And while there are clear and present dangers abounding, the most deadly foe We the People face is our very own government, in far too many ways a reflection of the film when it comes to duplicity and ineptitude on the part of disingenuous leaders throughout.

Many might say it is too late for America, that given what is offered by Hollywood and TV the entire world already sees our nation as ridiculous at the most charitable. At the worst, America is seen as a dangerous and spoiled child demanding everything while offering nothing in return. But there is a very great danger posed to America by Caesar Bush, his handlers and lackeys making themselves appear ridiculous to the entire world. Seemingly incapacitated of being able to laugh at themselves for their stupidity, they are making America a laughingstock. It is one thing for a powerful person to be made to look ridiculous, another thing entirely for a nation to be made to look ridiculous. In the end it is We the People who bear the responsibility for not allowing this to happen.

It’s that time of year again when I’m compelled to educate people about the Daisy Red Ryder Carbine. Among those things so very uniquely, distinctively American is the Daisy Red Ryder lever action Carbine BB gun; and I will once more call attention to the fact the Daisy Red Ryder Carbine WAS NOT AN AIR-RIFLE! IT WAS SPRING-POWERED!

In an age of disinformation being abused especially by politicians that would try to fool We the People into thinking any of those pandering for votes really care about us, the ordinary American citizens not insulated from cares and want by power, wealth and privilege, I’m reminded of an old political dictum that has served politicians so well: “You can fool some of the people some of the time; and that’s all that’s necessary.”

So, how does a Daisy Red Ryder spring-powered BB gun become an “air-rifle?” By the ignorant in power calling it such, and promoting the ignorance through films like “A Christmas Story (1983).”

Now I find it a charming film with some very clever dialogue and I continue to watch it with delight, but decades before the film was made I earned my genuine Daisy Red Ryder BB gun selling garden seed and Cloverine Salve door-to-door as a child in Bakersfield. This was such an important event in my life it became the focal point of my 500 page novel Donnie and Jean, an angel’s story about two twelve year old children growing up in Bakersfield, and it was the mechanism by which Donnie met Jean and how these two children changed each other’s lives.

While the book includes much of Kern County history for the period of WWII and is largely autobiographical, there are the deep subjects of religion and politics as well where angels and all good Baptists fear to tread. And not a few people that have not read the book will wonder how God could use a BB gun to bring two children like Donnie and Jean together? How can God bless a boy wanting a BB gun? Well, maybe as that last line in Sergeant York: “The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.”

But even as a young boy I knew the difference between the low velocity Red Ryder Carbine and an air-rifle. That spring-powered BB had nowhere near the velocity of a proper air-rifle, some of which can match the killing velocity of a .22 cartridge, and the better quality ones selling for up to a thousand dollars or even more for the match quality guns. When they were first developed, Napoleon thought air-rifles should never be used in warfare because of their silent killing capability.

However, I very much doubt the makers of the film were aware of any history of air-rifles and I’m sure they didn’t know the difference between a spring-powered Red Ryder BB gun and an air-rifle. Had anyone qualified bothered to check they would have noticed the Red Ryder was never advertised as an “air-rifle.” I’m sure Harper Lee knew the difference since she had Jem and Scout’s uncle giving them air-rifles, not spring-powered BB guns, and Aunt Maudie would not have been in danger from spring-powered BB guns at any distance across the street while bending over presenting a “generous target” before Atticus intervened.

But as with the fallacy of calling the Red Ryder BB gun an “air-rifle,” in just such manner on the part of the universities and their product media illegal aliens become “immigrants,” child molesters, rapists, and murderers become “gentlemen,” and Negroes become “African-Americans,” an illiterate oxymoron, while politicians seem to have forgotten about Americans and any vestige of national sovereignty, heritage, culture, language, and borders while pandering for the “Latino” vote.

However, I share Ralph’s disillusionment over his Madison Avenue discovery about “secret” messages and Ovaltine commercials. When I joined the Captain Marvel Club I felt cheated to discover the “secret code” was only the alphabet backwards. It has been many years now since I learned some of the hard lessons of childhood that things do not always turn out as advertised. Still, I can’t help wishing people would tell the truth. While I can understand ignorance, and as a classroom teacher I spent years trying to dispel ignorance, nevertheless I wish we had a leadership that would deal in the truth rather than lies, many of which unlike the “air-rifle” error in A Christmas Story are intended to deceive, take advantage and do harm.

“Yet some natures are too good to be spoiled by praise, and wherever the vein of thought reaches down into the profound, there is no danger from vanity.” Believing Emerson was correct I have learned to appreciate my “simple, rural poverty” that has no need of either lies or praise, and I cannot help wishing those that lie and scheme their ways into power did not do so. However, this is the system established by the god of this world, and those that would achieve and hold power over others work by the rules of that system. But these will never be profound for their very works proclaim how shallow their need for the praise of men, nor does it speak well for humankind that such as work within Satan’s system, in my opinion, rather than that of Jesus’ rise to power over others.

But to return to A Christmas Story and the Red Ryder Carbine, one of the things missing from the film was the genuine reaction Ralph should have had when opening that box containing it. The movie leads up to this most important segment, and due to a painfully obvious lapse fails to give it the significance it should have had. I can only suppose the script writers never experienced what it was to have dreamed of such a treasure, and then to finally have it in their hands as a boy. Since that part of the story is missing, I will tell you from my book what my reaction was, what the reaction of Ralph should have been, and perhaps would have been if the script writers had really understood, and if Ralph had earned the gun as I had:

The day finally arrived. The long, heavy, and important looking heavy cardboard box clearly said in beautiful red block lettering: One Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun.

Everyone was gathered round for a sight of the long talked about Carbine. My grandparents and great-grandmother heaped praise on me for my diligence and responsibility in fulfilling the goal; together with the essential and expected dire adult warnings of consequences should I ever misuse the weapon.

I beamed with pride at the praise of fulfilling my obligation and listened dutifully, shook my head in the right places and, in general, ignored the threats and warnings. I knew my part as the kid and I knew the part of the adults, and we all played our parts faithfully. That’s part of being family.

As everyone looked on I took my pocketknife, and being careful not to damage the box removed the heavy, copper clad staples. Holding my breath, I slowly lifted the lid. There in front of me, wrapped in thick, brown, wax paper was the Red Ryder Carbine.

I slowly exhaled at the excitement and anticipation of finally holding it in my hands. Gently lifting the magnificent Red Ryder Carbine out of the box I began to carefully unwrap the paper; I didn’t even want to tear the protective, waxed paper.

And here it was at last; in all its metallic blue and dark brown walnut glory, with genuine saddle ring and leather thong, the picture of Red Ryder mounted on Thunder, together with his name formed by his lariat clearly branded into the stock, the gun I had dreamed of and worked so hard and waited impatiently for so long.

Everyone said it was beautiful. Grandad clapped me on my shoulder and said it like man-to-man, “I’m really proud of you, son.” I almost blushed. After everyone had taken a turn admiring the marvelous treasure, I was permitted to go to Ronnie’s and my bedroom with it.

It was like I was dreaming; a gauzy, surreal scene as I held the gun in my hands, moving them all over the rich walnut of stock and forearm, touching the saddle ring and leather thong. There was Red Ryder’s picture, mounted on Thunder, with his actual signature in scrolled writing formed by his thrown lariat branded right into the wood on the beautiful, smooth walnut stock just like the pictures of the rifle that I had seen.

This was something I had dreamed of and worked hard for; something I had earned myself. It was real now; a dream realized that I held in my own hands. This was something I had earned on my own. This made it really special; something I could take deserved pride in as a personal triumph of self-discipline and perseverance.

I gazed with pleasure at the long tube under the barrel into which you poured the BBs, just like the tube on the Winchester ‘94 .30-30, a real cowboy rifle. After a few moments of enchantment I pulled the lever down, cocking the gun, and returned it to its upper position and felt it click into place: Ready to shoot!

I held it to my shoulder, pointed, sighted and pulled the trigger. Snap!

It was an authoritative sound, a sound that meant business. I was now a Rider of the Purple Sage; I was shooting it out with rustlers and bandits! I could now hold my own alongside Red Ryder, the Lone Ranger, and Hopalong Cassidy. I belonged.

I didn’t delude myself that a BB gun could compete with a .30-30. But it didn’t have to. It wasn’t meant to. It was special not because of the difference in firepower, but what it represented of the cowboy aura where only children lived, something I realized somehow grownups weren’t a part of, something that belonged to me as a boy no matter how grown up I was beginning to feel.

There was magic in that world that grownups didn’t seem to understand or had long forgotten. I couldn’t go out there in those open fields around the neighborhood of Little Oklahoma with one of the real guns. But I could go out there, wherever I might find There in my imagination, with my Red Ryder Carbine and enter into that magical world that belonged to me as a boy, no grownups allowed.

I couldn’t remember when I had lost interest in shooting marbles or playing Cowboys and Indians, I couldn’t remember when cap guns stopped being of interest to me; maybe when I first started venturing into the forest around the mining claim on my own. But for some reason, the Red Ryder Carbine seemed to be a reminder of the things that were really meaningful about being a boy, before I had started thinking more like an adult rather than just a boy. Strangely, with the Carbine in my hands, I seemed to want to go back to when things were simpler and not so confusing to me, a time when I believed I could be one of those cowboys fighting rustlers. I still wished things didn’t have to become so complicated with growing up. But with the Red Ryder Carbine finally in my hands, I could still enjoy being a boy. The grownups had their world, and I still had mine; and somehow the Red Ryder Carbine was the assurance I seemed to need that this time of my life was very special; and even though it was not a conscious thought I believe it was there that this was something that needed to always be remembered.

We all know life consists of injustices, but in many cases it has been a mystery why this is so? Well, I believe I have discovered one very important element of the mystery. As though in a vision it seemed to come to me that I have always needed someone to tell me what to do, rather than someone telling me what I should have done. My life has been plagued by those who with a vast amount of presumed prescience and expertise in dissecting all the most infinitesimal parts of human errors could tell me following some disaster, “You shouldn’t have done that.” And so, in one of my ongoing arguments with myself I wonder where is the person to tell me what to do, rather than what I should have done? Well of course, following the disaster I realized I shouldn’t have done what precipitated the disaster, but where was this person that should have been there telling me what to do before it happened; always conspicuous by their absence. But it never fails; this person always shows up after the fact telling me “You shouldn’t have done that.”

This peculiar vision has concluded the person that should have been there telling me what to do is a phantom, and only materializes after I have done something really stupid. While there are many who believe in guardian angels, often with good cause, these ethereal beings seem to be quite selective; and at times I have reason to believe may even be eccentric.

The reason I believe this about guardian angels is the many times I have done something only to have it become a disaster that left me questioning why on earth I ever believed it was a good idea at the time? We all know the various adult guidance units surrounding children are responsible for teaching them about the many dangers to which children are exposed. But having survived childhood with all its attendant dangers, shouldn’t I have outgrown doing some really stupid, life-threatening things? Apparently not; since I continue to allow curiosity to get the better of me. How many have met their demise looking at a button with the question “I wonder what that thing will do?” and then pushed the button. Boom!

Of course, such “buttons” come in all shapes and sizes. But when you have no idea what some button will do, why as though urged on by some mischievous genii do some of us insist on pushing that button? And if you survive, there is the enduring question: Why did I think it was a good idea at the time? Alas, the plaintive cry of survivors is met by stony, but seeming accusatory silence.

Intrigued as I am by the opening chapters of Genesis, one idea is Adam and Eve were the progenitors of the famed Darwin Award. Unfortunately for humankind, they survived just long enough to pass on their stupid genes to those like me who continue valiantly in their efforts to win this award. Not the least of the injustices in my life is despite my very best efforts to continually be frustrated in my seeking this award. Modesty forbids and I won’t weary the reader with my varied efforts; suffice it to say I am living proof of the eccentricities of guardian angels, or perhaps the Fates who seem to have their eccentricities as well.

For example, who or what decides this person gets one chance at doing something really stupid, and this other gets a dozen chances to survive doing really stupid things? But whether one or a dozen, you can depend on that phantom that wasn’t there to tell you what to do, but materializes afterward in the form of a wife, husband, friend, or other saying “You shouldn’t have done that.”

One needn’t look far to discover the stupid genes of Adam and Eve in the leaders of nations. How many of them seem to be contenders for a Darwin Award? Many appear to believe stupidity a virtue, and practice it at every opportunity. The mad mullahs of Islam while in a class of stupid of its own, there remains our own White House and Congress that seems determined in a direction of perfecting stupidity. And as I consider these and those presently on the campaign trail I’m left asking, notwithstanding the Darwin Award, is this the best that evolutionists can come up with to make their case? Whatever one’s beliefs, there is no doubt in my mind world leaders seem bent on winning the ultimate Darwin Award for the entire world.

What is the difference between a little girl, Grace, being beaten to death because she didn’t say “please” and the murder of those that “insult” the perverted Mohammad of Islam? No difference at all, since both are the result of sick and twisted minds. And it is sick, twisted minds that are the basis of all the violence and sexual perversion so graphically portrayed by Hollywood, TV, and found in video “games.” If one were to look for a conspiracy bent on teaching children violence and sexual perversion was “normal” behavior it would have to begin with the kind of sick people providing this material and who encourages and profits from it. The same rule applies to politics and religion.

The present crop of presidential contenders certainly does not inspire confidence they are people of sound mind; but rather people with dreadfully distorted views of what they consider “normal.” Small wonder so many of us are given to the despair the inmates are running “Asylum America” when we are presented with obvious lunatics like Caesar Bush presently running/ruining the country and those now vying to replace Caesar. Even were we to credit each of these with one or two sane solutions to the multitude of problems facing our nation, their positions on the greater number of issues would require they have sane solutions to this greater number not just one or two of them. And at that, getting a straight, honest answer to legitimate questions of these pretenders, provided any empty suits had the courage to ask such questions, is virtually impossible thereby making all so called “debates” an utter farce at best.

It is no less farcical that we have been cursed throughout history not only with politicians, but with so many charlatans in religion. The whole idea of “worship” is repugnant to me. No parent wants worship of their children, what they want is obedience since this is predicated on wanting the best for the child. This is my viewpoint of claims made for humankind being the children of God as in the story found in Genesis. Where this becomes religion and parents demand their children worship a god or gods of religion things degenerate into the systematic organization of hatreds, and no religion so exemplifies such an organization of hatreds as the hateful and perverted religion of Islam.

It is one thing to honor your parents, and despite the commandment presuming they are worthy of honor, it is another thing entirely to demand worship; and it is my belief that God does not require worship but obedience, since that serves our best interests as children of God, and if God loves his children as do earthly parents theirs.

Keeping in mind the Bible is a book written by men (no women allowed) it is not surprising it would be filled with the religious sentiment of worshipping God. But there are many passages of the Bible that put the emphasis on obedience rather than worship; for example, The Fall in Genesis the emphasis is on obedience, and disobedience brought the sentence of death upon all humankind according to the story and affirmed in the New Testament.

Here is another example of the result of disobedience: I Samuel 15: 22-26: “And Samuel said, Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the LORD, he hath also rejected thee from being king. And Saul said unto Samuel, I have sinned: for I have transgressed the commandment of the LORD, and thy words: because I feared the people, and obeyed their voice. Now therefore, I pray thee, pardon my sin, and turn again with me, that I may worship the LORD.  And Samuel said unto Saul, I will not return with thee: for thou hast rejected the word of the LORD, and the LORD hath rejected thee from being king over Israel.”

Crediting Samuel’s statement “to obey is better than sacrifice” Jesus taught it is hypocrisy for anyone to say they love God while they hate their neighbor. The Pharisees sought to justify themselves with the sophistry “Who is our neighbor?” and Jesus repudiated them with the story of the Good Samaritan. The Apostle Paul in that consummate passage on love I Corinthians chapter 13 makes the point that nothing of sacrifice avails without love, that love trumps all. The Apostle John wrote “God is love, and all those who love are of God.”

It is my fervent hope as the Scripture has it “love covers a multitude of sins.” This is my only hope of salvation, that such love will cover my own sins, my hope that loved ones and friends gone on before me will out of love forgive me even as I forgive them, that such love is the reason the Scripture has it “all tears will be wiped away.”

But while we are admonished “How can a man say he loves God and hate his neighbor?” some would foolishly try to make all of humankind “neighbors;” however, the truth refutes this sophistry as did Jesus those Pharisees. Jesus recognized there were children of the Devil as well as children of God, making the accusation against the Pharisees “Ye are of your father the Devil!”

What with women being terrorized and people in general constantly being threatened for “crimes” against Mohammad and his barbaric religion in the barbarian nations of Islam it does make me think the various gods of whatever religion are in sore straits if they have to rely on people to uphold their “honor.” For my part, any god sensitive to insults should be able to handle the situation without human intervention. But then, since I do not have any respect for any organized religion I should be the subject of the wrath of some of their gods, and if their gods can’t handle me why should I listen to the threats of mere humans?

It isn’t a matter of brave talk on my part; it is a matter of accident of birth that I was born in America rather than someplace held in the grip of Islam where they would cheerfully cut off my head for speaking out. So I am free to speak out without fear of the “protectors” of Allah and his perverted “prophet” with his perverted religion. But I can be excused for wondering just how long I will have this freedom here in America to speak so freely concerning the abominations and atrocities of Islam? Our leaders are so in bed with Muslims for the sake of wealth they don’t dare confront the crimes against humanity committed in the name of Allah. Perhaps our leaders will be encouraged to speak up when the IEDs begin going off in the shopping malls of America?

My opinion remains that of Jesus, that there are children of God and children of the Devil; that the works rather than words or any forms of “worship” distinguish between the two; or as Jesus had it “The tree is known of its fruit” and “No fountain brings forth both bitter water and sweet.” But this is known by all of sound mind, and the world including America is cursed by leaders without sound minds, and as a result the world lies in wickedness as the Devil takes care of his own while the innocent suffer as a consequence. Take away all reference to religious interpretation, whether there be a God or Devil or not and the result is the same: “Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne.”

James Russell Lowell was a very intelligent man, enough so that he rightly criticized Henry Thoreau for his baseless ego. And while Henry did in many cases “reap the windfalls from Emerson’s orchard” he was acute enough to follow Lowell’s lead in pointing out the primary fault of government: “Why does it always crucify Christ, and excommunicate Copernicus and Luther, and pronounce Washington and Franklin rebels?”

The problems of government, the problems America and the rest of the world face are neither new nor unique; they are historical and have always made for a demon-haunted world by whatever interpretation. But the nuclear power to destroy the world is a new demon that must be confronted and dealt with. Who doubts Islamic fanatics committed to unspeakable atrocities would not use this power to destroy the “infidels?” But who offers any real hope of confronting and overcoming this evil? It certainly won’t be any of the charlatans running for president that won’t even make a commitment to securing our borders; their commitment like Pharaoh of old is to slave labor thereby telling Muslim terrorists they have a free pass to destroy at will, and I anticipate this demand for slave labor will lead to the same outcome for America as that of ancient Egypt.

It’s a life known to very few even my age, but if parents want to teach their children to be responsible and self-reliant give them a gun and turn them loose in some wilderness environment to make their own way. But then I remind myself we now live in a “civilized” America where the inner cities are given over to gang violence, and the wild animals are of the two-legged variety and civilized people are not able to cope or defend themselves against these while lawmakers and the ACLU seem determined to keep giving the advantage to the wild beasts marauding at will.

Now I don’t know why grandad thought it was a good idea to turn me loose with a gun to make my own way in the Sequoia National Forest near Kernville in the 40s when I was only a very young boy. But looking back, I realized this was the way grandad had been raised and he must have thought it a good way to raise me. He knew the world was a tough place and a man had to be tough and self-reliant to make his way in it, and grandad’s idea of early childhood development meant taking on responsibility at a very young age. I would learn later he had lied about his age to get into the army while only fourteen year’s old. Being quite large and raw-boned he got away with the deception. Much like recruiters for football players the army at the time was primarily interested in big, not being fussy about paperwork.

As a boy I had an old hound, Tippy, a mongrel Collie, that we inherited with the mining claim in Boulder Gulch here in the Kern River Valley. When I would get one of the guns and take off hunting, Tippy would traipse along. Tippy was not a hunting dog, it just seemed he wanted to keep me company at times and I was usually glad to have him come with me.

One morning I had taken the old .410 single-shot hoping for a rabbit, some quail or, if I was really lucky, a nice young tree squirrel. The young ones could be fried like rabbit or chicken, the older ones became squirrel stew with dumplings.

It felt great out there in the forest among the critters; but while making my way up a hill behind the cabin, I noticed Tippy had disappeared. Suddenly, not more than fifteen feet away from me, slowly trotting around a granite boulder up the hill was a mountain lion!

The lion saw me at the same time I saw it, its large, baleful, yellow eyes staring straight at me! Its ears were laid flat back against its huge head and its tail, all fluffed out and looking about four inches in diameter and six feet long, was hung low to the ground.

Now anyone who knows anything about pussycats knows when they are irritated. And this was one very large and very irritated pussycat. And here I was, equipped with a .410 single-shot loaded with number eight birdshot. Talk about being prepared! I knew how David must have felt about that slingshot against Goliath. But at least David had the advantage of knowing God was with him. And, I’m sure; David didn’t have to worry about becoming a Philistine Hors d’oeuvre.

Much to my intense relief and surprise, the lion made an abrupt 90-degree turn to my left and continued trotting on its way. And there came Tippy right behind him! Several thoughts immediately passed through my mind at the time: abject terror, anger at the fact that I didn’t have my .270 instead of the .410, anger with Tippy for chasing up the lion and sending it my way, relief that I had sense enough to know that had I shot the lion with a load of .410 number eight birdshot I would only have succeeded in arousing its interest in me, and so forth. I settled for grabbing Tippy by the scruff of the neck and running pell-mell back to the cabin.

I regaled my grandparents and school chums with the story of my close encounter with the angel of death, and the lion grew with the telling. It was probably only your average, run of the mill mountain lion; but it was an African giant up that close.

But didn’t grandad know there were dangers like that mountain lion or bears in the forest, and didn’t he know a .410 single-shot in the hands of a young boy was not exactly well-matched against such dangers? Well, if he did it was never mentioned, and I continued to go out on my own often carrying only that small-bore shotgun. Oddly enough, my great-grandmother and grandmother did not pay it much attention either. It may have been they all thought me so very capable it didn’t overly concern them; I had proven to be a very capable, self-reliant and responsible boy in many ways and I guess they just decided to let it pass. And maybe this is one reason parents lose touch with their children; expecting more of a child than they should reasonably expect. In the worst cases, the parents simply don’t care.

Children today are facing dangers even greater than those I faced here in the forest as a boy, and in retrospect notwithstanding that lion I was always safer in the forest environment than any child forced to live with the violence of the inner cities of America. In the forest, the wild animals will usually go out of their way to avoid confrontation with humans. In too many cities of America the wild beasts look for such confrontation.

The writers’ strike reminds me that story telling in all its various forms from the most ancient to the present has its attraction in delivering people from the often harsh reality of their lives, and I was blessed by being raised among some wonderfully gifted story tellers like my maternal great-grandmother. However, the electronic age has made “virtual reality” a household phrase, but when reality becomes obscured by fiction it can lead to Pilate’s “What is truth?” Granted scholars disagree whether this was a statement or a question to Jesus, nevertheless one can understand why truth is often at a premium and one can either become increasingly cynical or earnest in the pursuit of it.

Something that helps when it comes to both philosophy and science is putting a human face on these, to discuss and present the issues in ways people can recognize something of themselves. Long ago I began to believe God is more human than religion credits, which made sense to me if we are actually children of God (or gods) made in his image. In some ways, even as adults we remain like children trying to figure out the strange actions of God even as we did of our parents and other adults around us. Eventually we may grow up and begin the attempt to figure out who we are; the self-examined life. But there remain those things that continue to elude us constituting what some call the “mysteries of life.”

For example, in the evolution of nations it is understandable I would equate our present government with the Mafia, our elected leadership together with their functionaries and supernumeraries as being only a more refined savagery under color of laws when it comes to their mode of operations. Not that the distinction between the two is not of great importance, but it is a distinction that favors those in power in government to literally get away with murder and corruption while using the power to tax as the power to destroy those that do not feed at Caesar’s table and thereby become Caesar’s dogs.

Greed and the lust for power are not that difficult to understand, but what about the power that governs the universe? The stars are beautiful, they are jewels in the heaven above sparkling like diamonds; but there is a caution to beauty that one should not examine it too closely. Once you do that, imperfections are bound to appear. A great work of art like that of Rembrandt if examined too closely with a magnifying glass appears as only daubs of paint. Closer yet with a microscope and it becomes meaningless. And the artist has probably never lived that believed they had achieved the best they could do, but are driven to keep trying. Perhaps the same thing is true of the Creator of the universe and life.

It is not plausible to me that the ancients could have discerned what are called “constellations” in the stars with only their unaided eyes. You have more success seeing shapes in cloud formations, but I would defy anyone to peer up at the stars as I have done over so many decades and see any discernable pattern to them. The IAU with its 88 “official” designations of constellations may help navigate the celestial sphere as viewed from earth; but astronomers know these groupings are essentially arbitrary, and viewed in three dimensions the stars would bear no relationship to each other in any configuration animal, vegetable, or mineral. To have described these as animals or mythical creatures by lines connecting stars seems preposterous, and the actual origins of the various “zodiacs” continue in dispute; but there is no disputing the ancients believed in stars mirroring and influencing people and events on earth. And while Astrology is accepted as the forerunner of modern Astronomy, scientists long ago left off the superstitious interpretations of the stars though references remain to various constellations, and most of us accept “the trouble is not in the stars, but in us.”

As archeologists and others attempt to determine how the several calendars and structures dedicated to a study of the stars thousands of years ago came into being one thing should be obvious; the ancients could not have come by such knowledge of the heavens without “help.” But where this help came from remains a mystery giving rise to many theories including that of extraterrestrials being responsible. As it stands, while theories abound there is no scientific, factual basis for how such knowledge of the planets and stars became known those many years ago.

Nor is it possible to understand how some of the writers of the Bible like Peter and John could describe events like the destruction of the heavens and earth in thermonuclear terminology. But much of the Old Testament contains descriptions of things and events one would place in the category of both scientific description and the paranormal, even UFOs and extraterrestrials. And long before there was a Bible as we know it, such things are found in the writings, artifacts and monuments of the most ancient cultures as they struggled to make sense of the world and the stars, of their very lives.

And so it was that various religious systems came into being; these apparently having lost the origins of the kind of scientific knowledge that may once have been available to those in the beginning of what we know as “Modern Man.” In this context, stories of Atlantis come to mind and we can only speculate what was lost of ancient knowledge by the burning of the great library of Alexandria. But there is no hard evidence to support such stories any more than that of extraterrestrial influence. We have tantalizing hints and clues in abundance; what is lacking is proof. It certainly does not help when we know those in positions of power and influence like those in government lie to us as a matter of course. Still, to what extent does this lend credibility to the various supposed conspiracies of silence surrounding things like UFOs? We don’t know.

Yet, because so many mysteries abound religions and their superstitions, the various conspiracy theories about many things continue apace and in science the origin of the “engine” that drives life and what it is remains a mystery. But this heavy burden of life we carry about in these vile mortal bodies subject to disease, death, and decay no matter how we bathe, barber, perfume, clothe and attend them, bodies filled with “worms” even while we are alive as Thoreau noted, in the end what will be the actual purpose in having lived at all? The Preacher in Ecclesiastes has it a living dog is better than a dead lion, but to what extent is this true in fact? We don’t know, and even the Preacher argues with himself over the issue. But this we know; over the thousands of years it is abundantly clear that while life has been a gift to some, for many others it is a curse and in the end all die whether the end be soft or harsh.

Still, the inevitability of death has only driven some to great achievements in efforts to give some meaning to their lives. Some with the gifts and talents for creativity have devoted their lives to the arts and sciences, some make great sacrifices on behalf of others, and many would say that to have known the love of family and friends makes it all worthwhile. But in the end none of us really knows, yet we live in hope that our lives count for something and try to live according to such hope.

A part of my own hope is the fact that there are some like me who dare think our solar system, our earth and life may be unique in the universe. If so, whatever our life consists of, perhaps the spirit of God that may be that great energy field permeating the universe, this gives impetus to the theory of our being able to change things by peering into them. But it may be, as would seem to be the case of Newton and a few others some are equipped to peer more deeply than others. There is more, I believe, to the spiritual realm of things than science can account for, but to which some scientists are drawn, more so than they are willing to admit. For example, the mention of ghosts, of specters is enough to draw derision. But in my opinion such things must have some application to reality based on the commonality of such beliefs and experiences.

A demon-haunted world may translate into a demon-haunted universe. Certainly what we know of the universe is inimical to life and the human form of life especially. Perhaps our solar system and earth are the result of forces described in the beginning chapters of Genesis.

The process of giving birth is a dangerous, painful, violent and gory business. The birth of the universe as theorized by the Big Bang was an explosive, violent process beyond imagination, as was the birth of our own planet. Given such unimaginably violent, terrifying and horrific events it is no wonder our earliest history is filled with stories and stone monuments of demons. While the survival of humankind in the face of so much violence, cruelty and savagery is a source of amazement, no less amazing out of such beginnings eventually came poets, artists, and scientists.

The New Testament declares there will be a new heaven and earth following massive destruction of the ones that now exist. The description of this destruction is like looking backward at their formation through the same process, but with the promise of a better outcome once the former things have passed away. Of course, we can’t be blamed if we believe present world leaders are going to give our planet a nudge in the direction of Armageddon no matter if there be an afterlife or not, whether there be a God, gods, or none.