Mike and I discuss current events constantly. He always puts an interesting spin on most topics because he has been a voracious student of history for most of his life. As a boy he read the encyclopedia for fun. His tastes evolved to a study of the social sciences and finally to a concentration on the stories of our past. We have both been distraught over the events of the past week in Charleston, South Carolina. Even as an educator who has seen some very sad cases of young people who have gone off of the rails it is still incomprehensible to me as to how someone becomes so filled with hate that he becomes capable of murdering innocent people based solely on race. I asked Mike what he thought was the root cause of such horrific behavior and his response was interesting, measured, and in keeping with his background in Sociology, his major in college and graduate school. Continue reading “Attacking Ignorance”
Certain symbols make us flinch. A few years back when a group camping near me and Mike displayed a white supremacist flag I was immediately taken aback. When they called their dog “Negro” and they were not Hispanic I became even more upset. I joked about it at the time but my true feelings were a sense of internal rage that they would be clinging to such hateful imagery. I was quite happy when they left even though the campsite where they had been was abandoned in such a messy state that vultures came to eat up all of the trash. My single thought was that the birds had missed a feast on the biggest garbage of all. 
It was Wednesday night and nine lovely people of faith had gathered together for Bible study in perhaps the most historic Black church in all of the United States. They were all remarkable individuals who had done so much with their lives and yet they often paused to learn about the Lord Whom they so loved above all else. They were pillars of their community of Charleston, South Carolina, filled with such kindness that when a stranger appeared they welcomed him into their circle. They had no fear. This was God’s house, a place of safety and refuge. 
We often herald individuals who are willing to enter a fray to help someone who is in distress but the reality is that it can in fact be dangerous to render aid without knowing the full situation. My grandfather loved to speak of his experiences as a young man. One oft told tale was about a time that he was in a bar. Grandpa eventually became a teetotaler but in his youth he liked to imbibe after a long day of construction work. He didn’t marry until he was in his forties so going out for a little bit of the hair of the dog was a way to scare away his loneliness. He often sat by himself just enjoying the company of strangers and observing the goings on. 
I hear a number of people complaining that life is just not as good as it once was in the United States of America. The grumbling comes from liberals and conservatives alike. Some worry about the economic state of the average person and others are more concerned with the state of health of our laws. Still others ponder the moral fabric of society and see things that frighten them. I sometimes feel as though we all doth protest too much. I’ve been around for sixty six years and for the most part I think that we have never been better. We tend to stretch our concerns way out of proportion as though these are the worst of times. History tells a very different story.
