Where I’m From, We Call Our Fathers Daddy

This is a re-run of a post I wrote about my Daddy. Happy Father’s Day to every Daddy out there. You are irreplaceable.

Where I’m from, we call our fathers “Daddy.”

It’s not unusual to see 60-year-old cowboys, complete with the hat, the cattle and the big belt buckle, addressing their 80-year-old fathers as “Daddy.” It’s just the way we talk.

My Daddy was what pundits condescendingly refer to as “blue collar” or “working class.” What that means is that he was a highly skilled person who could pull an engine out of a car, take it apart, rebuild it like new, put it back in the car, test drive the car to see if all was right and still be home in time for eight hours sleep before he had to get up for work the next day.

The men I grew up around never worried about being man enough. The very notion of worrying about a thing like that was as foreign to them as worrying about being American or Oklahoman enough. They worked hard as mechanics, truck drivers, machinists, butchers and carpenters. Then they came home and put in gardens and maintained their houses. No one in my neighborhood would have considered calling a plumber, roofer or any other handyman to repair their homes. If the plumbing was broke (things were never “broken”; they were “broke”) they fixed it. If the roof leaked, they would get together with the rest of the boys from thereabouts and put on a new one.

My Daddy thought nothing of  getting together with my uncle and putting up a wall, complete with texture and paint, in one day. They could turn around and take it down the same way. They built their own garages, added rooms to their houses and dug their own tornado shelters.

Not one of the men I knew as a child would consider raising a hand to a woman. A man who would hit a woman was a coward, not a man, a nothing, in their eyes. Any man stupid enough to do a thing like that was very likely to have the other men thereabouts take them out some night and “knock some sense into him.”

It never entered my mind to be afraid of anything when I was little. Whatever bad was out there, I believed my daddy would make sure it never touched me. I can not remember a time when he didn’t seem as big and safe as a fort.

I also can’t remember the first time he lifted me astride a horse. I do remember sitting behind him on his horse as we rode for hours. I was maybe four or so when he got me my first horse, a gentle fellow named Shorty.

Owning a horse meant I had to learn to brush him down before saddling him, then brush him down again after the ride. I had to make sure he had water, hay and grain and that his hooves were free of rocks and other things that might harm him. I was responsible for soft-soaping my saddle and bridle, for cleaning the bits.

I didn’t know how to do all this at four, but I learned how from my daddy who taught me by doing it with me. He also taught me to never let the horse get the best of me by getting angry with the animal, jerking him around or failing to get back up and get on when I was tossed off.

He had a contempt that he imparted to me for the kind of man who would get panicky on a horse and then take it out on the horse by yanking the bits, yelling at the animal or digging his heels into the horse’s sides.

Shorty was a kindly horse with a lot of patience for little girls but not a lot of gas in his tank. As I grew from a tiny girl into a little girl, I became increasingly impatient with his lack of go. One day when I was about seven I decided I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of him.

I saddled up and climbed on Shorty, armed with a water pistol. I rode him for a while, then stood in the stirrups, leaned forward, and squirted. Sweet, gentle Shorty broke in half. I managed to ride it out, but I certainly did get a rise out of him. It was more than I bargained for, but it was fun. I finally got Shorty quieted and looked around to see my daddy standing across the lot, staring at me.

The word we use today is “busted.” I had been caught red-handed, abusing my horse. I had no idea what Daddy was going to do, but I expected something massive. What he did instead was much more effective.

“Becky Ann, you know better than that.” he said. That was all. He didn’t yell or threaten. He didn’t even ground me from riding; just, “you know better than that.” But it was enough. I have never abused an animal again.

Years before that, when I was a pre-schooler, I stole a pack of chewing gum from a store and got caught. Daddy didn’t yell at me. He took me back to the store and made me hand the gum to the clerk and say “I stole this.” That was a long time ago, but I can still feel the humiliation of that moment. Then, to add insult to injury, he bought the gum and gave it to me.

Another lesson learned. The temptation to steal left me that day and has never returned.

Daddy was teaching more than how to ride and care for a horse, more even than not to steal. He was teaching me a whole set of values. He was also, though neither of us was aware of it, teaching me about men. There wasn’t a plan in this. I feel confident that my daddy never read a single book on how to raise kids. He didn’t make dates to “have a talk” with me or attempt to manipulate me. He just talked to me as part of our daily interactions. Like I was a person. He spent time with me. That’s how he caught me with the stolen gum, how he saw me shoot water into Shorty’s ear; he was there.

Woody Allen has said that 90% of life is showing up. I think that more than 90% of being a father is being there. You don’t have to ride horses with your kids or break down engines to be a good dad, but you do need to be there. Share the one thing that is completely yours with your children: Share yourself. Teach them about men by being a safe and reliable man in their lives. Give them the gift of security by always being the dad on the beat, ready to protect and rescue them when they need it.

My father had a lot of faults. But he was there and he loved me without question. He used to embarrass me, bragging on me to people, but I realize now that having your very own Daddy think you are the greatest thing since sliced bread is loft to your wings for your whole life. Children, boys or girls, it doesn’t matter, need their Daddys. They need them home, with their Mamas, taking care of things.

My Daddy was there. And he loved me unconditionally. I’ve never read a child-rearing advice book that just plainly said that this is what children need, but it IS what children need. Nothing else will substitute.

President Bush’ Jump. Video.

Thanks to Public Catholic reader Fredx for telling me about these videos.

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It Just Depends What Kind of Pain You Can Take (Warning: NOT for Kids.)

It just depends what kind of pain you can take.  

Photo Source: Photobucket

Ok. So what do you want for your daughter?

Law school?

A loving husband, kids and a home of her own?

How about sitting on the podium as she is sworn in as governor of a state?

Does anything you hope when you look at your little girl include whips, chains, and sado-masochism, including anal sex?

Do you want your 15-year-old daughter being counseled (at tax-payer expense, I might add) on the ins and outs of “kink.” Do you want her young mind warped to the point that she views sex as something where the question is how much pain can you take?

If you have a son, do any of your hopes for him revolve around sick relationships based on hurting his wife or girlfriend? Do you like the idea of your son in chains while a dominatrix whips him?

If the answer to these questions is “no,” then I have a couple of follow-up questions for you. Why are you sending your son or daughter to public schools where they will be taught these things in sex education classes? If you haven’t demanded to see how your Congressperson voted on funding for Planned Parenthood, why not?

The Live Action videos below show a Planned Parenthood counselor, complete with the comforting medical symbolism of scrubs and stethoscope, counseling what she thought was a 15-year-old girl. This counselor goes into detail with this young girl about how to go about engaging in sado-masochistic sexual behavior, including anal sex with her 17-year-old boyfriend. The counselor even coyly mentions the possibility of sending a friend in to a store to buy “sex toys” for these underage kids.

I’ve put three fairly graphic videos below. None of them are for kids, even though this kind of talk is routinely given to kids as “sex education” and the song is promoted and sold in the venues they watch.

The first video, which is taken from The Young Turks, begins with one member of a panel that is discussing the exposure of young girls to beating through music decrying the situation. He is promptly answered by another panel member who says that the song being quoted is by Rihanna, a singer who was beaten up by her boyfriend and is now back with him.

Frankly, I don’t see how that makes this ok. It seems to me that the fact that Rihanna was beaten up by her boyfriend pretty much puts a face to this sickness.

My indignation is struggling with my desire to make a point here. In truth, I would like to just ask people how stupid they really are to allow their children to be exposed to this trash.

I guess, despite how repulsed I feel, that is the question. We can’t keep this off the airwaves. We can’t keep it off cable television. And it appears that, no matter which political party we vote for, we can’t stop our taxes going to pay for it. Our schools aren’t doing such a hot job on basic education, but they are very successful at teaching kids to accept and “explore” sexual perversion of every type.

So, what are parents who care — as opposed to those who clearly don’t — supposed to do? I’ve already said several times that I homeschooled my kids. That is one answer, for at least some people. But it’s only part of it. As the Planned Parenthood counselor noted, porn sites are easy to find on the internet. If we want to protect our kids, we have to limit their access to the internet and cut off some of the cable channels that go to our house.

Even more important, we have to spend time with our kids. I don’t mean time spent driving them from one lesson and one activity to another. I mean time spent together as a family, just kicking back.

Look at the videos below and decide what you think.

Live Action video of Planned Parenthood counselor “teaching” a 15-year-old girl about bondage, domination, sadism, masochism and anal sex.

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Planned Parenthood video, once again teaching about “kink” sex.

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Rihanna, S&M. Rihanna is the woman in the photo at the top of this post.

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In another take on the issue, Joanne McPortland raises the question — which occurred to me as well — as to what kind of burned-out teens are we dealing with that need sex toys and “kink” to supplement their adolescent hormones in providing excitement about sex? It’s a valid question indeed.

 

Sensitivity Training for Supporters of Traditional Marriage vs Chairman Mao’s Re-education Camps. How Do They Differ?

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Americans have long deplored “thought police” and “re-education camps” in Communist regimes.

We have thumped our chests and demanded human rights for those in other climes. We have been appalled by the violations of the basic civil rights of their citizens by totalitarian states; rights that we took for granted. These governments seemed and actually were hell bent on enforcing emotional/moral/social conformity at the price of individual liberty, religious freedom and the rights of free speech and thought.

Americans have practically written the book on condemnation of such actions by other governments against their hapless citizens.

So, why are we doing the same thing to our citizens?

I’ll be first to admit that sensitivity training is less violent and draconian than marching people through the streets in front of jeering crowds and then consigning them to re-education camps for years. But the difference is a matter of degree. The underlying principle of government-enforced mind control is the same.

In fact, the re-education meetings in which people denounce one another and confess to their lack of revolutionary fervor that are conducted by these same regimes seem eerily close to sensitivity training as it’s currently being used by our courts and various “civil rights commissions.”

I started thinking about this because of the court-ordered abuse of the civil rights of Jack Phillips. Mr Phillips is the owner of what must be the only bakery in Colorado. He is also a new social and economic Christian martyr.

As so often happens with the people who turn out to be the real heroes, Mr Phillips seems an unlikely candidate for the title. He’s a small businessman, a baker by trade, just trying to make an honest living. He didn’t go out looking for trouble. He’s no grenade-throwing political activist with a vast talk-show following. He doesn’t wear $1,000 suits and he probably hasn’t had a single voice lesson to prepare him for his new life in the public sphere.

He’s a baker. He owns a bakery. He makes donuts and apple fritters and stuff.

So how did Jack Phillips the baker become a Christian martyr?

It’s simple. He refused to violate his faith.

He didn’t, mind you, bother or even try to engage anyone else. He simply followed his own beliefs by living them in his own life with his own actions. These beliefs led him to refuse to bake a cake for a gay wedding. And that made him the target of the culture cops.

Because, you see, wedding cakes are a human right. Religious freedom, not so much.

That is the question here, not wedding cakes, but religious freedom. I am not advocating for a particular position by Christians on the great cake-baking question. I am advocating for the right of free Americans to follow their faith without being forced into re-education (brain-washing) as punishment for doing so.

The cake-baking issue is distinct by virtue of the pettiness of the demands of those who want to coerce others on the one hand and the enormity of the principle involved in the actions of those who resist on the other. The extra issue of forcing people into re-education for practicing their faith is also enormous. And chilling.

I can only surmise that the offended parties couldn’t find any other baker in the whole state of Colorado to bake their cake. Why else would they drop all the lovey-dovey premarital stuff and spend their time dragging Mr Phillips into court? It’s not like he refused them service. They could have bought all the donuts and cupcakes they wanted. He refused to bake a cake for this one specific purpose, which was against his religious beliefs.

But in the brave new world of government-enforced political correctness, acting on religious beliefs by living them is not allowed. No one is allowed to believe and adhere to a morality except the group morality of the almighty politically-correct zeitgeist. It appears that violation of this bit of absolute totalitarianism is a new kind of crime, and by that I mean a literal, criminal act.

After going through all the good times that everyone who has ever been in a courtroom knows all too well, Mr Phillips found himself guilty as charged of being publicly Christian. I believe the specific legal verbiage was a tad different from that, but that’s what it amounted to.

He has been court-ordered to bake the blasted cake and — get ready for this — go to “sensitivity training,” and send his entire staff to the same training, where, presumably, they will get their brains washed out and cleaned of any remaining individual thinking. He’s also supposed to re-write his company policies to reflect the values he’s been ordered to learn to believe.

On top of that, he has to submit quarterly reports to Colorado’s “Civil Rights Commission” (which seems an odd name for this group) to prove that he’s baking up a storm for gay weddings everywhere.

How does this differ from Chairman Mao’s re-education camps? By degree. How does it differ from governments forcing people to attend re-education groups? You got me.

And, since this sort of government bullying of private citizens was unthinkable not so very long ago, I tend to regard that matter of degree as a moving dot on the line toward totalitarianism.

Mr Phillips, for his part, says he’s not going to change his company policies. “My God is bigger than any bullies they’ve got,” he said.

As for the sensitivity training designed to rehabilitate Mr Phillips into believing what the government demands he believe, that may not work out, either. “My 87-year-old mom works here, and she says she’s not going to be rehabilitated,” he said.

When quizzed about how he would respond if the Supreme Court of the United States orders him to bake the cake and get his brain washed out, he said, “There’s civil disobedience. We’ll see what happens. I’m not giving up my faith. Too many people have died for this faith to give it up that easily.”

This is left-wing-nut totalitarianism. But we can’t get away from it by a blind flight to the right. There’s plenty of right-wing-nut totalitarianism, too. Blindly empowering either one of them is going to do us in.

The real answer is up to his elbows in flour in a bakery in Colorado. Ordinary people who will not compromise their faith and are willing to take the hits involved in standing for Jesus are the answer. We have to say “no.” And by “we” I mean all of us pew-sitting Christians who’ve been going along to get along.

Because extraordinary ordinary people like Jack Phillips are the only real heroes there are.

 

The video below discusses the way that Christians are being blocked from certain professions for holding traditional Christian beliefs. It also gives us the example of another brave person who is standing for her beliefs in the face of enormous government pressure; in this case from a government-funded university.

 

Vatican: Place the Family at the Center of all Concerns

May 15 is the United Nation’s International Day of the Family.

Monsignor Vicenzo Paglia, the president of the Pontifical Council on the Family, will go to New York to address the United Nations for this event. He also had a few words to say in advance. He commented that people will say “forever” to a soccer team (or here in Oklahoma, to the Sooners) but to their own husband or wife, not so much.

The family has been sliced and diced almost out of existence by our modern culture. Now, it is being legally defined into meaninglessness. Without the family as a base, other forms of community fail alongside it.

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Benham Brothers: “If Our Faith Cost Us the Show, So Be It.”

BENHAM BROTHERS

The Benham brothers have issued a statement concerning the cancellation of their show by HGTV.

HGTV has joined the line of corporations and other enterprises which is limiting employment according to the dictates of the politically correct police. There is a tendency to label the people on the two sides of this debate as either “liberal” or “conservative” or, sometimes, as “right-wing” or “left-wing.” But in truth, these liberals are no more liberals than today’s neo-cons are conservatives.

It would be far better to use correct language to talk about them. The extreme sides of the political divide are both totalitarian liars and bullies. They are both, each in their own way, the enemies of human freedom and human dignity. They have a lot more in common with one another than they do with the rest of us.

However, the Benham brothers, who were fired for holding political and social viewpoints that run afoul of the received wisdom of a group called “Right Wing Watch,” have reacted to the situation with courage, grace and a dignity of their own.

Here is their statement (emphasis mine):

“The first and last thought on our minds as we begin and end each day is; have we shined Christ’s light today? Our faith is the fundamental calling in our lives, and the centerpiece of who we are. As Christians we are called to love our fellow man. Anyone who suggests that we hate homosexuals or people of other faiths is either misinformed or lying. Over the last decade, we’ve sold thousands of homes with the guiding principle of producing value and breathing life into each family that has crossed our path, and we do not, nor will we ever discriminate against people who do not share our views.” 

“We were saddened to hear HGTV’s decision. With all of the grotesque things that can be seen and heard on television today you would think there would be room for two twin brothers who are faithful to our families, committed to biblical principles, and dedicated professionals. If our faith costs us a television show then so be it.”

I am heartened by the Benham brother’s reaction to the unjust way in which they lost their job. McCarthyism is back and we have a new blacklist. It looks like this thing is just gathering steam. Christians in all walks of life may end up being blacklisted by the politically correct cops as time rolls forward.

For myself, I’ve now had a week with no HGTV. That’s a change for me. I’ve spent a lot of time, watching HGTV. It’s an easy channel to flip on when I have a few minutes and need to unwind. Because of the nature of its programming, I can enjoy it without committing a large block of time to it.

And, I am interested in homey stuff like what color to paint a wall.

In fact, one of my sons is going to paint a room in my house as my Mother’s Day present. So, I’ve been perusing paint colors online in my spare moments. I started out looking at Sherwin Williams. But, alas, they have a (very nice) selection of colors from HGTV.

I may be a Christian, but my money is still green. And I’m not going to spend any of my green stuff in places that partner up with HGTV. I did before. It didn’t bother me a bit that they had openly gay people doing design work. I wasn’t turned away by shows with gay couples buying houses for themselves. I don’t agree with gay marriage, but that doesn’t mean I have a hate on for gay people.

However, when HGTV gets a hate on for people like me, who don’t agree with gay marriage, my money is going someplace else.

So, bye, bye, Sherwin Williams. Hello Benjamin Moore.

Moral Argument for Raising the Minimum Wage

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Catholic News Service presents part of the moral argument for raising the minimum wage.

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Margaret Sanger Called for 10-Year Moratorium on Having Babies

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I’m not sure what to make of this.

According to The Daily Caller this interview with Margaret Sanger and someone she calls John surfaced when British Pathe, a newsreel company uploaded 85,000 of its films to YouTube. The films were originally aired between 1896 and 1976.

This particular news reel is an interview with Margaret Sanger (who the interviewer calls Mrs Sleen, or something like that) about what was evidently her call for women to cease having babies for 10 years.

I have no idea how serious she was. Was this a publicity stunt? Or did she mean it?

Nothing in this video tells us the answer.

Whatever Mrs Sanger’s purpose was in issuing this call, it appears that, at least among women in the “enlightened” West, she has been heard. Birth rates among Western Europeans are below replacement rate. The birth rate among caucasian Americans has fallen so low that they are projected to fall into minority status in a few decades.

This is ironic, considering that Mrs Sanger sold her ideas by saying that we needed to eliminate what she termed “inferiors” through “regulated birth.”

Here, for your enjoyment, is a weird little interview with Margaret Sanger.

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What’s With Our Cold-Calling Pope? I Don’t Care.

I’m sort of loggy and hung over from long days at work this week.

Maybe that’s why.

Maybe that’s not why.

Maybe it’s because of something else.

All I know is that I don’t care if Pope Francis called a woman in Argentina and told her she could take communion. If he did, ok. If he didn’t, that’s ok, too.

Whatever he said or didn’t say, it was a personal conversation between priest and person, not The Pope, speaking from the Chair of Peter and defining the faith for the entire Church.

I am all worn out from the legislative wars of this week. I am also at a loss about how to keep my mother on an even keel while I’m at work and away from her for so many hours. She is, in this in particular, like a small child. She gets separation anxiety when I’m out of sight for too long and nothing can fix it but time with me.

I’ve tried having my secretary call her every hour and remind her that I’m working and I’ll see her later. That helps, but it doesn’t fix it. I’ve asked the people at her day care to remind her that I’m at work, also. Again, it helps, but it’s not a fix.

Yesterday, I was in the middle of debate on a bill, mike in hand, giving it my best, when my phone lit up. It was Mama. When I talked to her later, she said, “I want to ask you to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?” I said.

“Forgive me for whatever I’ve done that has made you go away from me and not see me.”

I get one of those apologies (usually with tears) at least once every day.

She forgets, no matter how many times people tell her, that I’m at work. She also forgets that it’s only been a few hours since I saw her. She doesn’t believe that I’ll see her again in a little while.

I never knew before going through this with her that living in the now was such a tortuous thing. Do not make light of your short-term memory. It is a major governor on your life that keeps things steady and gives you perspective and reality about everything and everyone you encounter.

When I got up this morning — after getting home from work at about 11pm and sleeping for only a few hours — my mind was basically cottage cheese. The possibility that I would write a two-word sentence that was comprehensible was slim to none.

I did my due. Took Mama out for lunch. Took Mama to the doctor. Took Mama for a drive and her daily ice cream.

Now, she’s sleeping it off like a baby. She’ll wake up soon and she won’t remember any of it. The new story will be that she hasn’t eaten or seen me all day long.

She will call people and tell them that I’ve left her alone in the house for days and that I won’t give her food and that she’s slowly starving to death.

Then, she’ll eat supper and chill out, watching ESPN until bedtime.

Now … what was I saying about Pope Francis and the Argentine lady and communion?

Oh yeah.

I remember.

I don’t care.

Actor Kevin Sorbo’s Faith Story

Kevin Sorbo, star of God is Not Dead, shares his remarkable story of faith, including how his faith helped him through a traumatic health crisis that could have killed him or left him an invalid.

As his wife says in the video, “He’s a good guy.”

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