Pistol Packing Mamas, Papas & Kiddies

H. L. Mencken said one time that nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public. I think of this every time some new twist pops up that will allow more of us to "pack heat" anytime, anywhere: bars, churches, schools. What on earth are we thinking?

No, don't tell me that the writers had this in mind when they penned the Second Amendment. If we back off a bit, take a deep breath, turn Rush off as well as the NRA propaganda machine, it seems obvious what the founders had in mind. There was no NYPD or its equivalents back then, let alone professional military. They were writing for a professionally unarmed public, saying that in this newly established free land, you have a right -- maybe even a duty -- to own a musket so that if we ever need to call up a militia the means will be there for us to do that. To interpret the second amendment, as the Bush vs. Gore Supreme Court has done, as some sort of carte blanche for every man woman and child in America to walk around armed to the teeth, just, it seems to me, strains credulity to its limits.

What really bothers me is that this "shoot 'em up" wild west society we have morphed into, plus our determination to keep juicing up the criminals that our less than perfect justice system deems worthy of death, crosses us out of the list of civilized societies and puts us on that other list where you find the likes of North Korea and Syria.

But I do not despair. I have not given up on my dreams. My hope rests on those who are coming along -- the aging Boomers and their children, the Millennials. I have hope for this country that I love, and deep in my heart I really do believe that we shall overcome some day.

Last One Standing

My high school graduating class was small; there were 44 of us. I joined the group halfway through the second grade, moving to southern Delaware from up state. Most of those in the class that I joined had started in the first grade and we all moved along together. There was just one building -- large, we thought then -- with elementary classes in one wing and junior and senior high in the other.

About half of us went off to college, but a fair number returned every five years for a class reunion. Then the school organized an alumni association and many of us came back for that annual banquet.

I "came home" to Sussex County twelve years ago and have enjoyed hanging around with those who call me "Tommy." My class gets together twice a year -- spring and fall -- at a local restaurant. There are only eighteen or twenty who show up for these mini-reunions, and that number is swelled by the spouses we bring along.

Having lived to be eighty-two means we have said good-bye to many of those with whom we walked the halls of Laurel School. We said good-bye to another this past week.

To us she was still Joanne Yerkes. She had a last name tagged on, Nagel, I think. To us, though, it's Joanne Yerkes that sticks in our heads. She was smart, friendly, a bit shy; she graduated from the University of Delaware, and taught school, receiving, along the way, an award for teacher of the year.

She also gave me a valetine in Miss Clune's sixth grade class, and, for some reason, Miss Clune chose to read it to the class -- all of it -- including the line that said "you are all the world to me." As I remember it, it did not seem a cruel thing for the teacher to have done. As I recall, it was all received in good humor.

I sat next to Dorothy Waller (Banks) at Joanne's service. Dorothy is coping rather heroically with COPD. She told me that when she went across the street to Layton Timmons' house -- another class mate -- to tell him of Joanne's death, he said that when he saw her coming he wondered who would be next.

Strange thing -- this eventide of my life -- is not a depressing time for me. My life has been rich and full. I have family who love me, and interests enough to keep me wanting to get up each day. And I am so glad I am here, able to say good bye to those with whom I spent so much time so many years ago.

I'm Back

It's been a few years since I have posted anything. But my preaching daughter, feeling, I think, that my Facebook posts were getting to be a bit long, suggested that I get back to blogging. So here I am. I miss preaching each week. Listen to the news, read the papers, and "stuff" goes on in my life, and I have no one to dump on, on anything like a regular basis. The preaching bug did get the best of me back in the early summer of 2011 and I took a town/country church over in the Millsboro area. Hickory Hill Church is a collection of good old Sussex County folks -- the likes of which I grew up with. They let me skirt over there in that progressive territory where I love to roam -- let me say some good things about the president's attempt to secure healthcare for those who don't have it; let me suggest that just maybe the Bible is not as explicit on sexual to-do's and not to-do's as some might think -- and, as far as I know, no one got bent out of shape with some of my liberal tendencies. But my daughter, Vicky, came to be the pastor here in Rehoboth Beach, and I had to be there, sitting in the pew, out in front of her each Sunday, and marvel at God's grace and goodness, and, yes, Wave (my wife) and my having done a few things right with raising our first born, and scarring her just enough so that she can preach with a sincerity and depth that seems to come only from having walked through some vallies along the way. So I said good bye to Hickory Hill the first of the year, and need someone to spout off to. So, here I am.