Call my younger son “Buster.” It’s a name that fits him, trust me.
“Buster” works part time in a church rectory, answering phones and what-not. While he’s not an overtly religious person, he also is not shy to mention that he is a Christian.
He also goes to a public high school, a very good one which – as older “teachers” begin to retire and newly indoctrinated “educators” start replacing them – is just now beginning to dip a big toe into politically correct nonsense.
Actually, it took a baby step in that direction two years ago, with daily morning “talks about tolerance” over the PA system.
While no one would mistake our district for a “red” (as in Bushie) zone, the kids had no tolerance for the tolerance message – they were fed up with it. As the “diversity counselor” would drone on and on with the same platitudes the students had been hearing since they were two year old Sesame Street addicts, they would throw their books, their backpacks, their headphones at the loudspeaker. They would play their trumpets or simply cry out, in various tones of rage, “you’re not my mother!” And, “can we start learning, now? Please? ” or (this being New York) “hey, I gotcha tolerance right here!”
In an ironic twist which the “diversity counselor” probably could never comprehend, more than a few upperclassmen began calling it the Two Minutes Hate, and eventually the idea was dropped.
Last year, Buster wore a tee shirt bearing an image of St. Michael the Archangel, and one teacher nervously wondered outloud if she needed to send him home to change shirts. Buster, who is a coy little charmer when he wants to be, smiled at her with a raised eyebrow and replied, “now, you really don’t want to do that do you? You know you’ll just bring my mother down here and none of us want that…”
No one ever mentioned the tee shirt again, and Buster wore it often.
I bring it up because Buster is suddenly on a tear. He has noticed the conspicuous reluctance of everyday people to dare uttering that offensive word: Christmas.
“I have no problem with Hannukah,” Buster says, “I think it’s a cool story and worth celebrating, and Kwanzaa – hey, if people want to celebrate, God bless them, but this idea that we cannot also observe the birth of the Christ because somebody’s little feelings are going to be hurt makes no sense. My little feelings are not hurt because of Hannukah or Kwanzaa – if someone else’s little feelings are hurt then they need to get tolerant and get over it.”
God bless him. He’s making a point of saying Merry Christ-mas whenever he can. Not Christmas, mind you. Christ-mas.
Yes, he is a Buster.
UPDATE: In England, you can cuss and mock the Lord, but you’d better not speak about any other holy person in less than glowing terms.
I am sad for what is happening to England, a country I’ve loved.
Buster would not do well there, I don’t think.