To live and let live in Dixie

Main Street in Columbia from the State House stepsOn the morning of Sunday, June 17, 1979 -- Father's Day -- TG and I walked across Citadel Square in Charleston from the Francis Marion Hotel, to attend services at Citadel Square Baptist Church.

We had been married for twenty hours.

The next time we visited Citadel Square Baptist Church was Sunday, January 18, 2015. We were in Charleston for the weekend and decided to take a mosey down memory lane.

As services let out around noon, one step into the abundant sunshine revealed that it was the sort of balmy, clear day typical of Charleston -- one of the most beautiful cities in America -- in January.

While I waited for TG to retrieve the car and fetch me so that we could go and find lunch, I stood in the parking lot and, using my phone, took pictures of the soaring steeple that adorned the church next door.

It was only this week that I realized that steeple rested atop the Emanuel AME Church.

And I further realized that the first full day of our honeymoon had been exactly thirty-six years before the unspeakable atrocities that would occur within its walls on June 17, 2015.

I don't suppose a whole lot remains to be spoken or written on this subject that hasn't already been expressed in ten thousand different ways. But still, I have a need to share a few thoughts and I hope you'll bear with me.

The reason being, so much of what has been said and done over the past week has been cruel and hurtful, as all hateful falsehoods, and actions based on intentional prevarication, tend to be.

And what is being injected nonstop into the collective global consciousness by America-hating liberals everywhere, using every medium available to them, are exceptionally malicious lies.

Monument to Confederate Women :: South Carolina State House, Columbia

I refer to the near-constant denigration of the American South in general and of South Carolina in particular, along with its citizens, our traditions, and our cherished symbols, since the murders of nine innocents by a demented young man -- acting alone -- a week ago Wednesday.

Included in the instant and violent fallout were demands -- from all over the world -- for South Carolina to remove the Confederate battle flag from the flagpole where it resides on our State House grounds here in Columbia, next to the Confederate Monument on the Gervais Street side.

According to the liberals of the world, whose primary function is bullying others into submission to their leftist agenda, this piece of cloth is the ultimate symbol of hate and racism, equal to or perhaps even surpassing the Nazi swastika in its purely evil, white supremacist, death-dealing meaning and intent.

Never mind that on our immaculate Capitol grounds, the flag stands approximately 50 yards from a too-big-to-miss African-American History Monument installed and dedicated 14 years ago.

Nobody's thought to mention that.

I'll bet you a Moon Pie that the professional protesters shipped in by MoveOn dot org -- you didn't think those were all Columbians, or even South Carolinians, did you? -- to mill and throng and chant and moan and kvetch in protest around the flagpole last week, waving their signs of faux-outraged righteous indignation, didn't even know about that other monument.

And it's for dead sure that if they had, they wouldn't have cared.

They didn't know (or care) either that the late Reverend Pinckney himself, from his seat in the South Carolina State Senate in 2000, voted to put that Confederate flag on the flagpole where it is today.

Look. None of this manufactured brouhaha is about people, folks. People of any color. It's even less about historical facts -- whichever version you choose to believe. This is about control.

It's about the systematic dismantling of America, along with the (ever-decreasing) freedoms specifically designed for and long enjoyed by her people.

Sunset at the South Carolina State House :: Columbia

I believe that, from our president on down, far-left ideologues across this nation and the world were secretly thrilled about what happened in Charleston. I don't say they were happy that each of those nine people died, or died in that horrible way. But they are overjoyed to have such an event to use for their nefarious purposes.

How do I know that? Because before the bodies of those nine innocent victims were cold, the race hustlers were stepping over the corpses to make their ludicrous and patently false liberal points about ongoing pernicious "racial subjugation" rampant in American society, and plotting to use those decomposing corpses even more to fuel their relentless attack on our Second Amendment rights.

But hey -- Never let a cadaver go to waste. Isn't that what Rahm Emanuel said? No? Close enough.

Of course, a long time ago, white people in America owned slaves. It was what it was: a dark time in our history. No one is disputing that.

Fun fact: Blacks in America were slave owners too. A significant number of blacks in the antebellum South were free, having been released from slavery only to acquire slaves -- and great wealth -- of their own.

And please don't forget -- if you even knew -- that many northerners, including such notables as Union Generals Sherman and Grant, owned slaves. Bygones.

The main thing to remember here is that it has been one hundred fifty years since anyone in America owned a slave. Nobody is alive who owned a slave. Nobody is alive who remembers when folks owned slaves.

I have never owned a slave. I have never done anything to a black person, and I have no plans to ever wrong a black person. Or a white person. And yet according to black activists, I owe reparations to blacks.

I harbor no animosity in my heart toward anyone of any color who wants to live and work in the United States of America, as long as they respect America and are legal citizens or in the process of becoming legal, or are otherwise here legally, and if they obey our laws and do no harm to either me or my loved ones, or my property.

Only -- please speak English. It is our language. Gracias.

Wrought iron fence surrounding Fair Monument :: First Presbyterian Church Cemetery, Columbia

I have several awesome black friends and even black neighbors. I love them and I would defend them from someone seeking to do them harm, if I knew about it and if it was in my power to do so.

Nearly everywhere I go, I interact with black folks. Within the last two weeks I've had at least four happy, joyous, interesting, laughter-filled conversations with random black people I met as I went about my business.

One of those people, a lady near my own age, hugged me twice and made me promise to stay in touch, which I did promise and which I plan to do. She is traveling by plane in July to visit beloved relatives she hasn't seen in a decade. I intend to buy her a gift to open and enjoy on her trip.

Our chance meeting took place on TG's and my wedding anniversary, the day before the Charleston murders.

In Columbia, South Carolina, where I have lived for 13 years, all I can say is, it's my experience that blacks and whites get along. I always make an effort to smile and be nice, and almost always, people are kind in return.

In the United States of America, 13 percent of the population is black. Every one of those people are free to live anywhere in this country that they please. I guess it's lost on the world's liberals that, according to the US Census, 55 percent of America's black people live in the South.

The South! Where full-blown white supremacy is accepted as a matter of fact and practiced as a matter of course. Where lynchings take place eight nights a week. Where crosses are routinely burned in front yards and nooses hang from every other tree.

Where food, medical care, decent schooling, jobs, and adequate housing are denied to people because of their race. Where little children of color are encouraged to starve. Where black folks are arrested and thrown into jail for simply walking down the street.

Where discrimination is virtually everywhere you look, embraced openly and done in secret as well. Jim Crow alive and well 24/7, 365. Flourishing unabated.

If you believe the lying libs, that is -- which I hope you don't.

Detail: South side of South Carolina State House, Columbia

Because it simply isn't true. Black people live here for a lot of reasons, one of them being that it's a nice place to live. A good place to live. They have the option of relocating to the Democrat-designed stronghold of Detroit, but they don't. And it's not just because of the winters.

But no matter where they live, when people are given everything, they tend to appreciate nothing. And no matter how much you do for them, it is never enough. Never. They always want more.

A case in point is our president himself, and his wife. He is nearing the end of his second four-year term as the leader of the free world. He and his family -- including his mother-in-law -- live in breathtaking luxury in our White House. Barack Obama is wealthy, surrounded by servants and sycophants, catered to day in and day out.

He'll be rich, privileged, and protected for the rest of his life because of the incredible opportunity he was given to lead, even though his accomplishments and qualifications were all but nil. And still are.

All he had to be was black.

And yet he and his wife appear, even to the casual observer -- if they are being honest -- to be angry, unhappy, resentful people. People with a perpetual axe to grind. Everywhere they look, they see hate and racism blooming on the landscape like poison flowers. I wonder why.

I have never, in all these years, heard Barack Obama allude -- even vaguely, obliquely -- to either himself or his family being grateful for the absurd amount of privilege they have freely enjoyed, and for the honor it has been for them to serve this great nation.

But I've heard a lot about white privilege. And none of it good. Except, it's A-OK to be rich in America -- even if you're white -- as long as you're a liberal. Not one of those pesky free-market capitalists. You know -- the kind that create jobs.

At the funeral for Reverend Clementa Pinckney our president fiercely asserted that racism is rampant in America, that in particular the low country of South Carolina is a place still racked by poverty and inadequate schools, a place where children can still go hungry and the sick can go without treatment.

According to ChildrensDefense, of the nearly 5,000,000 people who live in South Carolina, about 1,100,000 of them are children. According to Spotlight on Poverty, 372,000 of them receive food stamps (SNAP) and 627,000 of them receive Medicaid and CHIP (Children's Health Insurance Program).

George Washington on the South Carolina State House steps :: Columbia

Those two statistics account for only a few of the myriad State- and Federally-funded entitlements available to South Carolina's poor children.

Grownups get a lot of stuff for "free" too.

The only cost? Stay on the government plantation. Don't question. Don't speak a syllable against the liberal machine. Don't try to escape those slave shackles, just as real as the iron ones used two centuries ago, by people who long since have gone to God with the deeds done in their flesh.

After claiming that church has always been the center of African-American life, President Obama characterized black churches as places where children are loved and fed and kept out of harm's way and told that they are beautiful and smart and taught that they matter.

And I'm sure that's true for children (of every color) who, together with their parents or other loving relatives, are actually faithful to attend church.

But according to BlackGenocide, the 13 percent of women in America who are black account for 36 percent of annual abortions. Conservative estimates are that since 1973, 16,000,000 unborn black children have been murdered.

Maybe more church attendance and less hip hop, gangsta rap, booze, drugs, gang violence, and fornication would be helpful. Maybe a little less Beyonce and Jay-Z and a little more Bible and Jesus. It's just a thought.

I don't know how much more evidence the world needs that liberal ideology tends not to enhance life, but to engender death. And my friends, lest you doubt, trust me: The grave is never satisfied.

Too bad those 16,000,000 black babies never had a chance to see the light of day, much less go to church, the center of African-American life, to be loved and fed and kept out of harm's way and told that they are beautiful and smart and that they matter.

But according to Barack Obama, all social, philosophical, educational, moral, spiritual, domestic, and economic failures with regard to the black race everywhere, but especially in the South, are the fault of white supremacists whose ubiquity in modern-day America is evidenced by the flying of the Confederate flag in Columbia.

Not for nothing but I think it's interesting that the man putting all this down for the world to pick up at a funeral, not only was not with his own children on Father's Day, but instead of going to church, played golf.

South side of the South Carolina State House :: Columbia

As the remains of Reverend Pinckney and the eight slain along with him were consigned to coolers waiting for the president to sign his scorecard, have one more beer with the guys, and travel back east on Air Force One to deliver the politically-charged eulogy in Charleston, no church saw the whites of Barack Obama's eyes on the intervening Sunday.

President Obama intoned in that eulogy that taking down the Confederate flag throughout the South and putting it in a museum would be an expression of God's grace -- something of which he claims to know a great deal.

(If you haven't already, you should read the whole speech. It's a classic propagandist setpiece for sure. Make you a nice big glass of ice-cold sweet tea first.)

I wonder, as Confederate flags and merchandise were being yanked from shelves real and virtual -- leaving, at least in the case of ebay and Amazon, plenty of Nazi and Communist memorabilia to choose from -- why it was okay that on Friday, those hideous rainbow flags billowed from capitol buildings across America.

And our White House itself -- together with the Empire State Building, Niagara Falls, and Cinderella's Castle at Disney World -- was floodlit with rainbow-colored lights as darkness fell over Washington DC and the land.

Yes, God is a God of grace. And He is longsuffering. But He is holy, and He demands that we too be holy. I assure you, He is not jumping for joy -- as certain liberal commentators have insisted He's doing -- over the Supreme Court ruling which on Friday obliterated traditional marriage in favor of government-sanctioned perversion.

That same God, the only righteous judge, will definitely sort it all out in the end. He is not mocked.

Still not convinced? Allow me to make one more itsy-bitsy point.

Further incriminating evidence against both black and white liberals is the extent to which they loathe black conservatives who write or blog or -- heaven forfend -- run for office. The leftists plot against these good people in private and verbally eviscerate them in public. In that heinous behavior, they more than show their hand.

Tell you what. Let a qualified black conservative of either gender run for president, and see if they don't handily win South Carolina and the South. Because to the vast majority of us who have the good fortune to live in red states, it's not color that matters. It's conservatism that matters.

In fact, that's precisely why the left hates us so, and why they routinely attack us.

The American South represents the last geographical bastion of conservative traditional faith-based values in the world. The liberal ideologues want it destroyed right down to the Confederate Jasmine roots and ten days ago, they got an early Christmas present.

Circular Congregational Church Graveyard :: Charleston

On January 18, 2015, as the golden hour suffused the sweet southern air with gentle light and I reverently photographed tombstones at the Circular Congregational Church graveyard in Charleston, the bells of many churches began ringing. I wrote about that experience here.

There's a rule in Charleston: buildings may not be built higher than the church steeples. God and His eternal truth, His merciful love, His matchless justice, still matter to many citizens of Charleston as they matter throughout South Carolina. We are not perfect but speaking for me and mine, we are perfectly content.

And we don't appreciate the lies being told. It's offensive. I'd be most grateful if you'd take that into consideration the next time you read or hear one, or prepare to repeat it.

Because make no mistake: Liberal lies matter.

God Bless America and protect her from enemies both foreign and domestic. Especially domestic. And may God continue to bless the Sovereign State of South Carolina, and preserve both her many charms and what remains of her precious freedoms.

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Happy Weekend

From day one

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Dagny Clare turned one year old on Sunday.

We celebrated all weekend.

And I guess I'm getting too advanced in age for the surplus of emotional expenditure, because three days later I'm still worn out.

And today is TG's and my thirty-sixth wedding anniversary.

I'm going for a deluxe pedicure and a spot of shopping.

I'll tell you about the birthday party and share more pictures in a day or two.

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Happy Tuesday

To air is human

Airman Andrew :: San Antonio, Texas :: circa 2007

Andrew is on his way to the Middle East for a four-month deployment. 

After flying through the night last night, he texted me this morning from RAF Mildenhall, Suffolk, United Kingdom, where he and his unit are enjoying a brief layover.

It's cold and rainy, he said. Everything you imagine England being.

You'll get your fill of hot sunny dry where you're going, I said.

That's a fact, he texted back.

By tomorrow, as we all go about our day, he will be settling in at Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar, a tiny country in the Persian Gulf, on the far-eastern side of Saudi Arabia.

And I will begin counting the minutes until October sixth.

That business concluded, if all goes as planned, our son will turn his attention to Officer Training School and the USAF pilot training program.

Having been encouraged by many in his unit, Andrew has decided his logical next step is learning to fly the KC-135 Stratotanker and similar heavy aircraft.

A week or so ago he made his first solo flight in a tiny light plane, cruising high over Knoxville, practicing his landings and takeoffs as his instructor looked on from below.

I love airplaines. They are fascinating.

But I hate to fly. The thought of it fills me with morbidity.

So I'll have to train my own mind to not imagine my son being borne along at 30,000 feet over enemy territory, refueling fighter jets while in flight, even as I pray fervently -- as millions of mothers have done before me -- for his safe return to God-blessed America.

Meanwhile here in South Carolina we are gearing up for Dagny's first birthday party, on Saturday. Her actual birthday is on Sunday, June fourteenth.

That should keep me busy for the immediate future.

In related news: The pool is open! Come see me.

While at home for a barely-48-hour-visit last week, Andrew continued the work TG has been doing in his spare time, to get the water sparkling.

Good lad. I miss him already.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

Children belong in cemeteries

It's happened again.

A child has been killed by a falling tombstone. In a cemetery.

The four-year-old boy died just over three weeks ago, while visiting a Texas cemetery with his parents.

Although I was not there, I know what happened.

The monuments look eternal, as if they will stand in place forever. In truth, many are eroded and unstable.

The stone in question was mounted on not one but two separate plinths, one on top of the other, with a total height of about five feet. It was the topmost part -- the actual headstone -- that toppled onto the tot, killing him.

But I don't believe he was simply walking by the stone when it decided to fall over onto the little boy. Something presaged the tragedy: most likely the unsupervised child climbing and/or pushing on the stone.

I've written about this subject several times. I am passionate about cemeteries and I believe children should be exposed to them at a young age.

To me, it is analogous to what I have been told is the proper way to teach table manners: not as an actual meal is in progress (as I tried to do with my own children), but rather during a "staged" meal that takes place strictly for the purpose of training.

The reason being, mealtimes should be pleasant experiences, not fraught with tension as mother incessantly corrects infractions such as chewing with the mouth open, forgetting to use a napkin, or worse.

The same holds true with cemeteries. Sooner or later, just about everyone will find themselves obligated to attend a funeral and/or graveside service. And often, funeral attendees are small children.

To remove the fear of the unknown, and to provide training on proper decorum at a funeral or in a cemetery, children should be taught ahead of time what to expect and what is expected of them while in a place set aside for burials.

They should be schooled on the ins and outs of cemeteries, as it were.

A few years back, in the autumn, Erica and I took Melanie and Allissa to a cemetery on a beautiful day, to walk and enjoy nature.

The girls live in North Carolina, and we were there for a visit.

The cemetery in question, Belleview, is located just steps from downtown Lenoir. It is sprawling and hilly, with smooth paved roads providing easy access to nearly four thousand graves.

As we parked and prepared to walk, I drew Allissa -- then an energetic five-year-old -- aside and laid down the law.

I told her that for the whole time we were in the cemetery, she was not allowed to run, shout, or stray more than a few feet from either me or Aunt Erica.

And I promised that I had no intention of reminding her of all those things over and over again.

"You must control yourself," I said. "Or we'll go home."

Allissa said she understood. And for the next two hours as we walked and roamed the beautiful graveyard, her behavior was model in every respect.

Later, back at the house, I praised Allissa to her mother. I made sure she knew how proud I was of her for obeying the first time. Because I knew that what I'd asked of her, while not out of the ordinary, presented a challenge to so young a child.

Most importantly, in addition to being respectful of those families represented by the graves, the conduct I insisted she adhere to while in the cemetery was for her own safety and welfare.

So it was that on this past Memorial Day, when we'd visited and eaten and celebrated and it was nearly time for Stephanie's family to start for home, we all headed out to pay our respects at Fort Jackson National Cemetery here in Columbia.

When we arrived, I asked Allissa if she remembered what I'd told her the last time we were together in a cemetery.

And she did. She repeated almost word-for-word my mandate that prohibited running, playing, laughing, talking loudly, or in any way disturbing either the peace or a grave marker, for the entirety of our visit.

The children's behavior was exemplary in every respect and I was glad they were able to see the pure-white marble stones stretching for acres in every direction, each one decorated with an American flag.

Cemeteries were made for the living to visit, spend time, and remember. They are not scary places unless you have an irrational fear of the inevitable.

Children can benefit greatly from being taught about the traditions and symbolism, the art and the nature, the opportunities to read and learn, in just about any cemetery.

If you take a child to a cemetery, make sure they understand that their obedience at all times is necessary to ensure they leave the graveyard as alive as they were when they went in.

Because one of the most effective places to teach a child about life, is a place where we pay respects to those whose lives are over.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday