Ramblings of an Individual

So it's been a while.

Oh, don't get me wrong, my fingers have not lost contact with the keyboard or any such thing as that. On the contrary, I have been writing quite a bit. The format changed and none of it has been public but I have been writing just the same.

The fact is, I have sort of been writing a book. I say "sort of" as there is no guarantee that this book is going anywhere or that it will be read by anyone. And I'm ok with that. Besides, while that part of the story is pertinent to this post, it isn't what the post is about.

Something has struck me during the process of a plot thickening and characters developing as this story continues to thread itself together. And then tonight, during the Super Bowl the ad starring Clint Eastwood left something with me as well. So many things have happened lately to keep me coming back to this point. And for those that keep up with such things the beginning soundtrack of this entry is U2, Where the Streets Have No Name.

The point is individuality.

The factor that is bringing this out is thinking of the greatness of a nation. What makes that nation great? We are told stories of old - great kings and queens that led powerful nations and did great things. Inventors, explorers, soldiers, sailors, marines. But we hear about the nations - Great Britain, France, Spain, The Roman Empire and most recently, the United States. We see the fruits of the greatness - Global colonization, domination of Europe, discovery of the New World, ruling the known world and the world's lone "superpower".

Who did these things? What made the nations great? Some of it was being in the right place at the right time, But most importantly, that claim belongs to the individuals that worked to make the nation great. Governments don't create wealth and have nothing they don't take from the people. That truth is universal, regardless of the type of government system a country has.  What makes the country great is people.

In an American election year, we hear stories of every sort of group you can imagine. People lobbying for the middle class, the women vote, the black vote, the Latino vote, the union vote, the evangelical vote, the Catholic vote, etc, etc, etc. Everyone is lumped into one group or another. Usually 8 or ten, give or take a dozen. It's easy to lose track of who you are.

People look at me funny sometimes when I say something about a particular topic, as if perhaps my stance doesn't exactly fit my status in the short, blond, fireman, Southern-writer-wanna-be, Gen-X, Christian white dude with poor eyesight demographic. Most people aren't expecting me to fall in the Sam demographic - which is funny, considering that I'm Sam, regardless of any of those other things. I was still Sam when I was a 145 pound high school sophomore trying to gain weight to play football, back before a medical condition warped my corneas. I'll be Sam when my blond hair is gray and I sit on the front porch griping about how loud the neighbors kids are and talking about things "back in my day".

Rambling.

So, think of the things that made America great. The light bulb over my head is a direct descendant of the one invented by Nikola Tesla, (Yes, I know what your teacher told you but remember, Columbus' teachers told him the world was flat.) The iPod playing this Driving n Cryin beside me is a distant cousin of the radio invented by that same Serbian mastermind - he'd tell you that Marconi was a donkey. Besides Nikola, there were other great men and women, most of whom you have never heard of and probably never will. Some got up every morning and went to work on production lines. Some rode steel girders hundreds of feet into the air. Some worked as slaves in fields of cotton, rice, sugar cane and tobacco. Some came from China, Ireland and Poland only to be derided for their "identity", their demographic.

And yet, like myself, you always find someone whose political beliefs, personal goals, worldview, religious convictions, you name it, doesn't quite fit their demographic. These people have stepped out and taken a path on their own. They are not held in the pen of their demographic, they are an individual. If we are honest with ourselves, we all are. And in an age where diversity has become such a buzzword, how can we not celebrate the ultimate unit of diversity - the individual?

And yet, look at the comments on the updates from almost any group on Facebook and you'll see epithet after slur of every imaginable combination of letters and punctuation marks. We have lost our ability to reason, and on some level, to be individuals. We have chosen sides, and whether it's politics, religion, sports, or basket weaving, we're right and they're wrong and if you disagree then you are a...well, you get the picture. Let's just say it has deteriorated from logic and reason...deteriorated is not really a good choice of words...I think it is more like devolved as it has lost its humanity and only passion and ignorance remain.

I am reminded that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams shared a trait with Abraham Lincoln and Alexander H. Stephens - both pairs of men were staunch political adversaries...and close personal friends. Such things were possible back in the 18th and 19th centuries. Judging by the modern discourse these men would have each thought the other might be capable of copulating with his own mother or that his intelligence quotient was not quite 50. One might even suggest that the other enjoy a meal of excrement and then go to live with Jesus. But somehow these men could set those differences aside and allow each other to be individuals, realizing that there is humanity inside the people we disagree with just as there is in those we agree with - just as there is within ourselves.

So it goes.

I feel a little rusty at this point. It is difficult to speak your own mind after filtering it through fictional characters for such a time. But hopefully there is more to come, both here and there. Until next time...

Shades of Gray on Decoration Day

So it's been a while.


The Spring has been busy and loaded with events, travels, a few disasters and the trappings of everyday life. In the words of a hero, "so it goes".

Mentioning such a hero is a fitting way to start this entry as heroes are what make this weekend possible. For that matter, they make most everything possible. And so we set out to place men and women on tall pedestals and revere them for great works that they have done. Such great men and women walk on a plain above us. They are not susceptible to error or wrongdoing.. And if we find them guilty of wrong, we drag them from their pedestal and cast them from the ranks of demigods, back to a life as a lowly commoner...perhaps even a criminal. I won't even enter into the examples of this from the ranks of American celebrities that we drag out until they become cliche.

One of my journeys this spring carried me to a rural patch of land on the Tennessee River, where the states of Tennessee, Alabama and Mississippi all meet up. In places, it is so desolate that a man will stop and ask for directions. And so I did.

Oh, I was on the right road, the lady reassured me of that. I needed to only drive a few miles until I saw the "kwairy" which, incidentally is a hole in the ground from which rock is harvested. The lady was not the best speaker in the world, had obviously seen better days...if not years. But in that moment, she was a hero to me. She was a friendly source of practical knowledge along a poorly marked road. She probably had no advanced education of the significance of my destination, but she knew where it was and how I could find it. She saved my morning.

And so we finally found the location of Pittsburg Landing. Better known to American History as Shiloh

My son and I walked through a cemetery filled with fallen Union soldiers. We saw the  "trenches", mass graves filled with the Confederate dead. We walked around Bloody Pond, where the wounded of both armies turned the still water red.

I was almost brought to tears when we walked from the monument where Albert Sidney Johnston was shot to the the small ditch where he was carried to die. It was so far from his native Texas. He had left the US Army at 58 years old. He had been a hero in previous wars. At Shiloh, he fought his last.

In the midst of the Union Cemetery is a marker for the location of Grant's Headquarters. We also saw sites that were significant to Sherman's involvement. There was the location of Fallen Timbers, where Forrest was nearly killed but instead elevated himself to legend status.

And my mind comes back to the trenches. Family members requested safety to bury their dead. But Grant had already buried them in the trenches due to the heat of the day. And so, the mass of Confederate dead lie unmarked. Known only to God.

Heroes and villains....depending on who you talk to.

And as I shared such important time with my son, teaching him and learning with him - even learning some from him, I wondered to myself what it all meant. It can be a humbling thing to stand in such a place and have an eleven-year-old boy in a blue kepi ask you who the good guys were. I wanted to just make it short and answer "yes and no". But I knew that answer was not good enough for him. Or for me.

So, for months I have thought about it. Other events have played a role and I've come to realize that a war that is often painted, quite literally, so black and white is just not that simple. And when I look at my personal heroes, they aren't that simple. And then I have to look inside myself for the Grace to grant these people the right to maintain their humanity while still remaining heroes - the Grace to live in the mores and standards of their day - the Grace to make mistakes but still be great.

And so I hold my nose for an ATBIG first. I have to share a quote by the monster and war criminal William T. Sherman: "General Grant is a great general. I know him well. He stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk; and now, sir, we stand by each other always."

Loyalty born of Grace and a common struggle. I'd be hypocritical to recognize the evils of these two men and somehow pretend I am above them. I'd be in the wrong if I denied them the ability to be heroes to someone and pretend that everyone holds the same opinion of me that my children do. Because "hero" is a tricky word and can find itself on the oddest labels. And evils, both real and imagined, can cloud our judgement towards people, allowing us to skew their stories.

So, on the Decoration Day (the original name of Memorial Day) weekend, while swimming, eating and drinking, take time to remember heroes from all shades of gray that lie in graves and trenches while we party. Remember those that lie in graves and trenches so we can party. And, please grant Grace to those heroes. Someone, somewhere believes in them.

"Spirit"ed Sunday

Well there is a new governor in the Peach State and so far it has been...hmmm...not very different. That is to be expected when you have a term-limited governor of one party is replaced by a new man from the same party. Considering our options, we came out better than we could have. So, no complaints so far.

The only thing making the news since the transfer of power, besides the silly amounts of snow, is the unprecedented attempt by government to, and you'll have to make sure you are sitting down on this one, try to let local governments govern themselves.

The decision is setting off protests, drawing more than a share of negative attention as Atlanta tries to trust places like Marietta, Rome, Augusta, Sycamore and Folkston with a referendum that would grant these same places to hold local referendums to decide on the most controversial of subjects - whether free adults should be allowed to purchase a legal product (a good bit of which is manufactured by Georgians in Georgia) every day of the week.

Why is this so controversial? Because the product is good ol' Demon Rum.

Georgia has long held on to a blue law, archaic and silly, that states that the sale of alcohol in stores is against illegal on Sunday. There are only two groups of people that still support this law. "Bootleggers" - people that sell on Sunday illegally, gaining sales as people travel from other locales to buy the stuff. The other group is a certain large religious organization that shall remain nameless so as to prevent the threats of bodily harm I receive when I mention them. I don't think it is a military secret but I'll go so far as to say it isn't the Methodists.

I'm still dumbfounded by the claims that have left us in this outdated quagmire for so long. There is no evidence that God disapproves of the consumption of alcohol. He even went so far as to include it in one of the holiest of Old Testament rituals, one that has carried over to this day in a different form. When Jesus passed the Passover cup to that first disciple, it was not full of Welch's or Juicy Juice.

I think what baffles me the most is that, in the locations that are going to pass Sunday sales, it is already legal to buy alcohol by the drink, just not in a package. What this means is that at 12 noon (the magic hour when the group ends their meetings) a person can commence drinking at a sports bar, taking in a ball game. A few hours later this person can leave their glass and get in their car to go home. But this same person is not allowed to buy a package of beverages and go home and drink. Does that make sense to anyone?

The thing in Georgia this year is that Nathan Deal has decided that free adults should be allowed to make decisions about this on a local level where Sonny Purdue believes that all Georgians should be held to his religious standards every Sunday. So we have Constitutional individual liberty replacing the equivalent of Sharia Law in Georgia. There is hope for our future.

There are many people who would wonder how someone who loves Southern culture and tradition is so excited about the ending of an era that is labeled as "Southern". I would answer that distilling and brewing have been a part pf southern Culture since before there was such a thing as Southern Culture. The fact that the region was settled by immigrants from places like Scotland that brought rich traditions with them, including whiskey, further stamps this in our culture. And nothing could be more Southern than local control.

So raise a glass to the referendum on referendums!