The Rise Of Nazi America

No, I’m not engaging in hype. Nor is the title a joke. In truth, this has been coming for a long time.

I read an article. Does anyone remember the SCORPION Unit? The Memphis Police Department 40-man unit accused this January of beating Tyre Nichols to death? The “SCORPION 5” were the five officers of the MPD unit involved in the death. The unit was disbanded. The fallout was inevitable. Under pressure, MPD buried the SCORPION.

But there’s a problem. It’s two-fold: crimes and the public fear they generate, and a police department unable to handle it with no more fallout. How can such a balance be possible?

There is no way. It’s gone too far. So when talk of a new, smaller unit to calm the youth crime problems reached the public, well….

Let’s just start at the beginning.

When SCORPION was involved and held responsible for beating Nichols so severely that he died, there were some who didn’t care, and of course that’s always true in any case of injustice. But questions had to be asked: how many police “special units” had done this type of thing? How did special units always seem to devolve into something less than what they were intended to be? How many times had people been killed by special units, especially in urban, high-crime areas, such as the ones SCORPION was charged with patrolling?

Those kinds of questions don’t get much in the way of answers, but we know the root cause. That is, if you give any military or police unit a designated task and the area of operations is open to attack or is in high crime or free-fire zones, all hell breaks loose. Most people know that power corrupts. The more power given, the more corrupt the empowered become.

Given specific designations, then placed in areas where soldiers or police are under extraordinary stress for almost the entirety of their tour or shift, everything necessary for extreme conflict is in place. You know what happens next.

The few men and women with law enforcement or military operations charged with keeping order while under constant pressure, or fear, inevitably cross a line that they become less concerned with each time they go out. More research must be done to help military command and police training and supervision understand and therefore more capable of mitigating the circumstances that cause the horrendous results of their own failure or ability to train and dispatch personnel.

You immediately think, Hey, just weed out the assholes, but it’s not so easy. Of course, there are trainees that fail to make the cut, but it is sobering to stop and be careful with a judgement like that. Some trainees do very well under controlled conditions, and they do equally well in initial field conditions.

They may even distinguish themselves as exemplary. But under fire, or in a high pressure, dangerous area, usually for extended shifts or days, they can and do overreact to the point of displaying a desperation and self protection that clearly is not warranted. It happens to soldiers and police and even security guards. Fight or flight goes out the door, replaced with no choice but to fight. At that point, fear and rage overtake the person and adrenaline courses like a high surf through their brain. They cannot think.

Those situations I understand because so many of us have been there: an impossible task, a wrong turn, a few random variables, and suddenly we are there.

What I do not understand is two or more police officers beating or shooting one individual to death. In a suspect who is on drugs there lies the potential for extreme danger. Hey, we get it. They don’t react to tasers and stun guns. Forget bean bags, pepper spray and gas. Nothing but a split second stands between you and death, or another person’s death, as is the case with a hostage when there’s no time for talk. That kind of decision I hope you never have to make. I’m glad I never did.

But then, even when a police shooting is clearly justified, what happens? The media. Soon, they have you questioning what you can see right there on the screen.

And then there is the nightmare stuff. Brutality and excessive force. I remember the night I saw the footage of the Rodney King beating. I had never seen anything like it. I knew that violence would follow. It did. And it was terrifying and sickening. It was never close to the ’65 and ’68 riots, but I didn’t remember much of those because there was less footage, most was on film, and reporters couldn’t remain in an area for long.

But after Rodney King, it kept happening. Then smart phones came along. Everyone had footage.

But there was immediately a problem. Both police and civilians edited the footage. And the media made everything worse.

Prior to the early 1970s, I rarely ever heard of a police officer getting shot. It happens all the time now.

Cops are in extreme danger every time they hit the streets. No matter where they are.

Republicans won’t do anything about the gun problem. The National Rifle Association was regaled by republican party dicks recently. Mike Pence was there. His reception was almost comical. But the scariest part is, the NRA was vetting candidates. And that’s a joke because they’re pro-MAGA and so are all republican politicians and voters. Because if by now you still call yourself a republican, you’re a MAGA party member. The NRA just wants to know who to support. Because mass shootings are too common and people are on the edge. Responsible gun owners are also involved because right wing media has brainwashed them into believing that if democrats get majority numbers in the House and Senate, their hunting rifles will be outlawed. Squads of police will come to take away their boy’s BB rifles.

This is a terrifying truth. They believe the lies. They really believe them.

Now that guns are open carry in places, the nuts can feel much safer buying what they want. AR-15 style rifles have more accessories than an Armani wardrobe. They’re often the weapon of choice in mass shootings. Gun sellers are not held to common standards of even the slightest responsibility in background checks and identification. Gun manufacturers will never be liable for the use of their products. There are no consequences to anyone except victims and their families. Even insurance companies refuse to pay out under whatever circumstances they care to quote. The families often get left to pay hospital bills, specialists, ambulance bills, funeral costs and more, making them victims all over again.

With guns everywhere, crime rising because of rising costs, drugs and more, we can see why the police are overwhelmed. And let’s get one thing straight right now: we all know that law and order meant something well before it was the title of shitty TV shows and spin-offs. We need our police. Life without them is not life. It’s death.

But solutions aren’t forthcoming, obvious or even reasonable when presented. And making it all worse, there are cops on the job who are idiots and racists, itching to take a shot at anyone in any groups or races whom they hate. Courts have convicted some killer cops, but for the most part, they get let free, and some get to go back to their jobs. The innocent cops are ruined even when exonerated. They will relocate, perhaps changing their name, but doomed for the rest of their lives to look over their shoulders.

The SCORPION Unit may be gone, but the MPD has conceived a new unit tasked with countering the “influx of calls” regarding teens and young adults in the city who are engaging in things like “soliciting” or selling candy, playing loud music and dancing.

It may be difficult to understand one side of this, because that side – the police side – has set vague guidelines for the small unit. Eight officers under two sergeants and a lieutenant would have to decide who to detain, and it gets more confusing when you read that there would be a prohibition against officers taking a detainee to a residence. The juveniles would be taken into custody until parents are called. But parents stand to pay a high price; upon taking custody of their child, they would be issued a court summons. That almost guarantees a fine or worse. And if parents don’t show up in a timely fashion in the eyes of officers, they would be charged with neglect or child abandonment and have that child handed over to CPS!

At the root of this is teens scaring or intimidating or disturbing citizens in some way or another. That goes on in every city in the entire country. But what inevitably follows is racial profiling, stop and frisk, questionable detentions because of judgement calls by officers who, by nature, would be overwhelmed from the minute they started up. Judging who has the radio that’s up too loud, trying to round up dancers in the street, or breaking up a basketball game is risky. It’s unconstitutional to take certain actions anyway, but who decides what inappropriate clothing is? They would call it indecent exposure and come on, now. That’s too thin. Republicans in Washington have banned their own (politicians) women from going sleeveless while in session. Are arms indecent now? This really makes no sense. Republicans typically behave worse when it comes to sex, but scandalous or just not caught yet means everything. If Donald Trump paid Stormy Daniels hush money it was because he was pandering to the religious conservatives who have quickies and never remove their clothes during sex, so they can get back to their daily scripture reading as quickly as possible. And it doesn’t matter if they download porn in their pastor’s study, or if they are pastors: they fear “religious oppression” and will bankroll conservatives every time. Main reason: they make a lot of money off parishioners and that is something more important than faith any day, and every day in-between. What is indecent exposure? Who decides? Conservatives.

Don’t get me wrong here: if a person is stark naked in public, they’re breaking the law. If some guy pulls out his weenie to piss, and someone sees it, that’s indecent exposure. A park flasher should be taken away for a full mental evaluation, no doubt about it. But look, conservatives take basic truths and twist them into pretzels. So a guy wearing boxers and low riding jeans may not show good taste, but if you see no skin, that is not indecent exposure.

I’ve heard men at shopping centers yell at young women to go home and “put some clothes on”. But there was never a law prohibiting cleavage and legs. Even though some don’t approve, mostly because insecure men don’t want to see what they can’t have. It scares them. Then they go home and beat off. Fucking headcases.

How does it look to the world that sees this country as a nation of barbarians in the first place, then reads progressively worse news stories in articles in their own country? European free countries have always, in general, thought us a bit eccentric in our mores and sexual hang-ups. But imagine police in America patrolling in cruisers, looking for kids wearing miniskirts and low-riders. Fascism, or nazism?

The issue is not, ultimately, law and order, it is actually going to turn into one of backlash and civil unrest. And while some will believe that eight field officers and three supervisors might not be able to cause much trouble, we have all seen what one rogue cop can do.

As of this writing, the city officials denied that this unit was even in existence and that it was a concept that was proposed but never approved. Yet names of officers clearly appeared in at least one source, either a written draft or in a MPD video. It is a likely testament to the power of outraged civilians howling in protest that the unit’s existence is being denied.

That same outcry occurred just days ago in Missouri after an 84-year-old white man shot a black youth through his closed front door. Arriving at the wrong house to pick up his younger brothers around 22:00, the man answered the door, said “Don’t come around here again” and shut the door. Then he fired two .32 caliber rounds through his front door, nearly killing the black boy who only wanted to get his kid brothers home safely. A piece of shit Saturday Night Special.

Originally the police arrested the elderly maniac, but let him go because (of a law no one really understands) said he could shoot his gun at anyone who caused him to fear for his personal safety. It’s either legally or euphemistically called the “Stand Your Ground” law.

But there was immediate and serious backlash from the Kansas City residents. They gathered, chanted “fight back!” and their numbers grew. The shooter’s house was vandalized. The police knew that it wasn’t going well and thought the matter through a bit more. Nobody shoots through their front door. And firing twice, scoring two hits, including a head shot? That’s not luck. That’s someone whose senses are remarkable for anyone at that age. A maniac with intent and ability. And a whole lot of racial hate.

He was arrested on charges of attempted murder and some bullshit misdemeanor which he’ll plead down to and serve 6 months house arrest.

But whatever comes of it, he will have to relocate. His life will only be worth one round of 9mm ammunition. Nothing more. Because things are building up to a point which I don’t want to imagine, but have anyway, hundreds of times.

There is no way to avoid it. Neither party is willing to bend. Gun control is not possible. Republicans argue that in Nazi Germany Hitler restricted all firearms in the civilian population. This is utterly ridiculous and it was the Weimar Republic that did that, but the Third Reich actually allowed civilians belonging to the Nazi Party to own guns. Political dissidents meanwhile, whether German or not, were shipped out to prison camps. Any not being so condemned were not just restricted from owning guns, but had other tortures held aside for them. Being monitored by the Gestapo arm of the Schustaffel would have been shameful and full of constant fear. Neighbors would spy, even lie about one’s activities to score points for themselves and some kind of favor.

Back then, what is often overlooked is that it wasn’t just Jews who got sent to die, by machine gunners, by Xyclon B, medical experiments, being cooked in ovens, or starvation and exposure, but also gay men and women, bisexuals, the mentally ill, Christians and anyone who, by Himmler and Heydrich’s standards were not fit to breathe German air.

Many falsehoods exist concerning the German Nazis, but with all that they did, using them as an example to use against gun control is lame, a lie that today often gets used by Republicans here in the US. The argument is illogical at least, comical at most. It assumes that an armed citizenry prevents tyranny. No source backs this up; the evidence is to the contrary if anything. Using the Revolutionary War doesn’t work either. The further reasoning is that if they use this argument, democrats will see reason because they fear tyranny most of all. While, plainly visible but never admitted aloud, republicans are the party choking out personal civil rights. The proof is in the stacked Supreme Court laying the groundwork for abortion to be banned in every state. It reversed the Roe versus Wade decision and handed the right of individual states to allow or ban abortions.

In extreme cases it is illegal to get an abortion even if pregnancy is caused by rape and incestuous rape. A minor cannot abort her father’s baby. That’s how it used to be, and it wasn’t that long ago. For a developed country yes, World, we are barbarians. In Nazi Germany, abortion was legal but had to be approved. That’s not to extoll the greatness of a mass-genocidal regime; merely to illustrate how we are headed for something far more oppressive. And that should terrify everyone, but they don’t see it coming. They don’t even think it’s possible.

Other restrictions are adding up by the day. The state of Florida will never be the same after DeSantis leaves the Governor’s mansion.

He’s signed the “Don’t say gay” bill and expanded it to all grades. It prohibits all sex education teaching and is aimed mostly at gay and bisexual kids. Because you can, of course, teach kids not to be gay. If they can’t be taught what it is, or accidentally read about it in some library book, they’ll never think about being gay, right? Right?

And if you ban “harmful drag queen story time”, then….

I can’t finish that sentence. We’re going the same way all oppression forced on societies throughout history has gone – into absurdity.

He’s also banned any history classes on African Americans and their culture, and the term “climate change” has been banned. Also, books vanished from all school libraries because his restrictions on literature are impossible for anyone to understand, much less use as a guide for picking which books are acceptable (hint: the answer is none anyway).

It is the republican party that draws us closer to any form of Nazi or fascist, totalitarian government. They refuse to save children from guns but will not help a rape victim care for her baby with government assistance. They want social security and all other benefits immediately banned. People dying by the numbers will not be enough for them. People imprisoned for not having jobs because they’re disabled is not far-fetched. Not anymore. Global warming will not be a problem for them either. They simply claim it is not real. Restricting the causes is not as important to republicans as providing tax breaks to the worst conglomerates who cause it.

For years I’ve repeatedly claimed that we were at a crossroads and that serious problems had to be addressed.

Nothing has changed unless you consider things getting worse a change.

There are innovative ways people are working on to help, but the problem with global warming is that when consumers are offered choices, they often resist change. And they’ve been misled because most electric power is generated by burning fossil fuel, so charging an electric car just adds to, rather than alleviates, the emissions of carbon.

Confused people also can’t decide if wind farms are good or bad because of men like Donald Trump who claimed if the wind stopped your favorite TV show wouldn’t continue, that birds by the millions are killed by them and that dangerous fields surrounded them. But there’s always one way to figure the truth out for yourself: Donald Trump never tells the truth. About anything.

Nor do his acolytes, who for reasons of having power or not wishing to be ostracized, will back him up ceaselessly.

The oppression and the deceit builds up. It never makes any sense, but it’s happening. It will get worse. Like a snowball in a cartoon, rolling downhill, movements like this get bigger, build speed, and become incredibly powerful.

To conclude, oppression and tyranny are coming to power and will rule this land with no fucking mercy. In this moment, we still have choices. It’s critical that we make the right ones, because tomorrow, our freedom of choice could be taken away. Our allies will not help. They will turn away. Men in power and weak, crazy women who act as their false prophets (looking at you, Marjorie Taylor Green, Lauren Boebert) will relentlessly hound people like generic liberals, progressives, and single out the LGBTQ+population as well as Blacks and Hispanics and persecute them relentlessly. They clearly hate Pride Day, MLK’s birthday and Black Lives Matter, and have already silenced the Me Too Movement. Partly, of course, through media silence, partly with cash and partly with threats and intimidation. Ron DeSantis has targeted Disney, his own state’s biggest attraction and generator of business and tourism. Because Disney stood up for LGBTQ+ rights. That is mind-boggling, going to war with that which keeps your state taking in money. Madness!

I have been fortunate in my life to have known many gay and lesbian friends. They enriched my soul and taught me great lessons. Of the friends I’ve left behind, as we all do throughout our lives, they were the most understanding and loyal, helpful and protective. Their souls were radiant, and I miss them all. Had I grown up in a bubble as my father wished me to, I would never have known and gotten close to great friends. I would not have learned anything. To have hatred and bigotry limit your potential friends is spiritual suicide. And most of my friends, the ones I can count on?

Well, they’re black. I’ve shared rent in a two-bedroom condo with my closest friend for almost 9 years now. We don’t fight, don’t argue. We don’t share food or a budget, but live separatey, yet we are friends, respectful and honest. We can go to each other for help, and either one of us would give his life to save the other. We mourn together when tragedy strikes. When my son was alive, having been raised by a racist grandmother, mother and step-father, Larry was able to show him that respect and decency still counted. My son loved him, and even asked how he was doing when he called me. When he visited, they brought out the best in each other with playful, nonsensical banter. After Mike Jr. passed away, I believe it hurt Larry very much, but he fights hard against some of his emotions. He’s suffered loss too, a lot of it, too much, really. He realized Mikey would never visit us again and he didn’t know how to handle it. I told him softly, “Man, did that boy love you.” And he looked as if he understood. But he still never spoke about it.

All we have in this life is each other, you, me, and the Larrys and Michael Juniors of this world. In whatever time we have here, we’re supposed to make a difference. We have no right to make things worse or to hurt others. What my son and best friend shared opened Mike’s mind to reality and a world he had not seen before. And love. It’s the greatest thing any two people can share.

What a shame it is that so many miss out on that. What a horrible thing to aim hate at people you’ve been taught to mistrust. It makes whatever is looming in our path more inescapable. It seals a fate none will enjoy.

America will never become a Nazi power.

It will be far, far worse. Do not allow that.

Answer to Prompt: My Friend Harry

How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?

I don’t have goals.

Saw my good friend Harry today. He’s wheelchair bound but has the courage and humor to make him indomitable. He stopped on our way in to the Harris Teeter to bend over and move a 20-lb propane cylinder out of the way of foot traffic. How cool is that? He cares about people. He’s an inspiration to me, and I never pass up the opportunity to tell him he’s got a forever spot in my heart and that when we talk, it’s always a good day for me. We were discussing health issues. I’m so messed up he asked, “What do you plan to do about it?”

I replied that I don’t make plans “because every time I do, all hell breaks loose.”
He said, “There’s an old joke, if you want to make God laugh, make a plan.”

What a treasure he is. Ladies and gentlemen, please raise a glass to Harry, my friend. If you like, please say a prayer for him. An Every day hero. A teacher. A great philosopher. A great man. A great friend.

Today Is Not A Good Day

Today is not a good day.
Today I am in more pain than yesterday. I feel like being mean to others because I am hurt and I am angry.

I am angry because I hurt. I see no reason to hurt. I feel I don’t deserve to hurt. I think that maybe I have had too much pain in my life. Too much hurt.

It’s okay if I feel that way. People can take a lot of pain but in truth, there’s times when it gets worse than I can bear.

I don’t think it makes me weak. I don’t think it means I’m a bad person. I think it means that I’m human, and nothing more, and nothing less.

I think it’s okay for me to be angry at Donald Trump for making Congress and the Senate limit the stimulus money to so little money for individuals. I think people aren’t sure who to blame for it when it really is Trump who wouldn’t sign the bill if it was different.

I think people are angry because they’re scared. They don’t have enough money, and they’re out of work, and they get worried that they will not be able to stay in their homes and apartments, and it’s okay to be scared. And it’s okay to feel angry.

But sometimes we need to do something with that anger so it doesn’t make us sick because too much anger inside is a very bad thing.

You can go into the woods and scream at the sky. You can take a walk and end up running even if you’re not dressed for running.

I don’t think it’s okay to be mean to others just because they believe in things you don’t. That already causes enough trouble. It’s always made all of our problems worse.

So you can see why I’m angry too. I’m in pain and I’m very angry. I’m also very sad. It’s a lot to try to control all at once. And that’s how life works.

But why am I angry? I don’t know. Maybe because of the pain. Maybe from my memories. Maybe from something else too.

And why am I sad? I know some of the reasons. One is that my children are not alive now. Unnatural death of a loved one hurts and shocks us and we never get to say the things to them that we meant to say. Things like “I love you”, or “I’m sorry I didn’t do better”. They leave us with no feeling that we can put it behind us and deal with our sadness that they’re gone. A lot of people talk about something called “closure” and I don’t know what they mean by that.

Because after someone we love is gone from our lives, we feel the same way no matter what. Sad and angry and very hurt. And I think they need to see that it’s okay. No one ever leaves our lives without taking part of us with them and leaving questions that we ask unanswered. It’s a part of life.

But that’s okay.

And what we do with our anger and our sadness can change the whole world. Sometimes that happens. A person who feels sad all the time can be famous. Like Abraham Lincoln. He had a lot of sadness and anxiety. He had trouble sleeping because of it. Yet today the United States exist because of what he did with his sadness and his anger.

Some people wrote beautiful poems and concertos because they were so sad. And we never stopped loving them because we still read those poems and listen to music when we feel sad. The right words and the right notes can make us cry, and that can help heal pain and sadness.

I think doing nothing at all is okay too. Some people just need to rest and sleep. That’s a big part of life.

Later on, those who rest will do things that might even change the world. That’s a blessing. Out of pain and anger we can all be healed. The things that hurt us the most are the things that make us what we are and who we are.

We all need to heal as Christmas is upon us, and I think it’s okay to play the songs we love and put up lights and give a gift, even if it is not much to you. To someone else it will mean a lot.

It’s also okay to dream. Good dreams about what we will do when we feel just a little bit better. It’s okay to dream about Santa Claus and flying reindeer and it’s okay to believe in unicorns and fairies and magical things.

It’s okay if you have pain. It is a part of life. Even death is a part of life. It is okay to be angry. So angry that you feel like hurting yourself or someone else.

What matters is what you do with that pain and anger. That’s up to you.

It always will be.

I feel angry today. I’m in a lot of pain, way too much. I don’t like it.

But I think it’s okay anyway. Tomorrow I might be able to handle it better. I might not even have this much hurt.

Like A Blind Man In A Chess Tournament

Science likes to play with our heads. You know that, right? It tells its students shitty things that they then must pass on to us, the little people. The uneducated, unsophisticated, the workers who have no time or will to do their kind of legwork. So we do weird things in turn, mocking everything they say and dismissing it all out of hand.

Memories, they say, are unreliable. On that single premise of something that is really far more complicated and much more deep, courts of law have believed or disbelieved, and it’s always been a problem, but now, much worse. If a witness for the state can be taken apart sufficiently to cast reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury, a guilty rapist or killer goes free. Or an innocent man goes to his death because doubts as to the memories of defense witnesses have been used with great success.

One night I went somewhere with a friend. I cannot remember the year but I can place it in the autumn or winter for certain. It was 1974, or 1975. A dark night I can never fully remember or forget, nor will I dishonestly fill in the blanks. There are names I remember but will not use. It’s just because somewhere in this dissipated soul of mine, I keep finding something good that won’t let me do certain things. I won’t say I’m a good person. I just have my limits.

What prompted me to open with a few observations about memories and science is that this night haunted me for years. And, I suppose, if I’m writing about it now, the haunting continues.

All I can tell you is, a close friend in my neighborhood had a big brother. Not blood; a volunteer from some non-profit organization called Big Brothers. The volunteers were given a young man who had no father in his life, paired with him on the goal of mentorship. It was a time when we had naive and altruistic idiots who worked for free to get brownie points for college education and credits.

This one cold night, I was invited by my friend to go along with him and his big brother to a weenie roast. Some place called Benfield Park. I don’t know if that was a real name. It was in Benfield, near Severna Park. If such a park existed then it’s had a name change, or, more likely, been bulldozed for the Interstate 97 freeway, or the fucking business parks that are a blight to once peaceful and green suburban hoods or forest land. Either way, no such park exists today. Have to admit that I did at least check before writing this; such a horrible night deserves to be researched, as I would hate to disappoint any sensitive fucker out there with letters behind their fucking name. That’s not a nice thing to do, and besides, I’m already ceding to their demands by admitting this night is a brief fragment of memories broken with blanks between them.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps it was autumn, not winter, because my mother would never have allowed me out without a coat if she’d known how cold it was going to be. But I had nothing but T-shirt and jeans. And in the dark, I sat on the top of a picnic table, feet on its bench. Cold and shivering, pissed because people I did not know were there, and in a situation like that, I didn’t function well. I said nothing and I did nothing. And I shivered. My teeth clattered. And I was full of fear, full of anger. I did ask to go home. I was ignored. Now, hate filled my soul. In the darkest of nights. In the bitter cold.

The truth is that even had I worn a ski parka, I’d still have wanted to go home. These people alternately ignored me or looked at me like I was some fucking idiot, and when, finally, the big brother decided it was too cold to remain there, he drove us to some house. I supposed he lived there. It was bright and warm. I was more pissed, felt like a prisoner, because that meant I wasn’t going home anytime soon. Someone popped some popcorn. They didn’t have that carcinoma-inducing microwave shit from Conagra back then, and I didn’t care for any no matter what. I wanted away from all these people I didn’t know. And I don’t remember when I finally did go home.

You can do all the Psych 101 you want, but would you mind me saving you the trouble? You take a sheltered, controlled, abused kid and without warning throw him into a situation like that, and you’ll get nothing good from it. I was too dysfunctional. Too traumatized. Too fucked up. And no matter how traumatic that night was or wasn’t, I never forgave. I never forgot. And if the story ended there, I’d really like it; I’d be happy to to leave it alone.

But none of my stories ever end well. In North Shore on the Magothy, the uppity neighborhood I grew up in, I never forgave. I never completely forgot. The back yard where I’d once played with plastic soldiers and dinosaurs and steel Tonka trucks, unaware that the fucking neighbors all let their cats out at night and I was sitting in a litter box, was landscaped, an in-the-ground pool was put in, and grass was finally grown. It was prettier, but still Hell. The neighborhood became a place of hell even outside of my yard. The bullying at school went on and on. Bullying in my neighborhood was replaced by avoidance. My friend with the big brother was the last I would ever have there.

Once my anger could no longer be contained, when calling the Mr. Softee man’s sexual habits into question no longer provided an outlet, I embarked on a mission of revenge. My favored method was property damage. Vandalism. Hit people back in their wallets. But somehow I always fucked up. I was seen. And that frustrated me more because you can guess how my father reacted. In a state of frustrated anger, it’s a bad idea to even leave your bedroom much less the fucking house. At my friend-with-the-big-brother’s house I stood and threw a rock through the plate glass patio door of a house occupied by a family I hated for no particular reason. He told on me. The neighbor came round to my house one night telling my father to fork over half a grand to pay for the door. If I had dared speak, I’d have called bullshit on the amount. I got called to the porch, my father asked if I’d done it. I said no. I blamed my friend, who of course ratted on me. That didn’t sit well with the neighbor, but my father didn’t like that fucker anyway. He was adamant. He told the guy to get off his porch and never set foot on it again. Or else.

Inside, my father did a funny thing: he failed to question me even once as to my guilt. My father never brought it up again. And he was like that, and he may have been a monster and he may have fucked me up for life, but when it came to defending me against another person, he fucking took up for me and he never left a doubt that if they persisted he was going to throw down. I’m grateful for that.

Still, the story goes on. I never saw my friend with the big brother again. But life is a real motherfucker. I did run into the big brother again.

Two years passed. He shows up at my church, and he’s my Sunday school teacher. And I grew to like him. That’s absolutely ridiculous. Soon he finished God college, became a pastor, moved away.

Stories like this, you know, can’t end there. He left his church on the Maryland Eastern Shore, came back to his old home, became the pastor of a church near Millersville, north of Severna Park, where I’d spent that night freezing in some park that no longer exists. I passed the church one time and saw his name on the sign. I stopped in to see him. He was, I imagined, an old friend.

He was a kind and decent man. But I was by then no longer a minor. I had a stormy relationship with a girl I used for sex and affection, because I didn’t know what to do. I was lonelier than most. More terrified, more haunted than most. I didn’t want to be alone. Somehow, she loved me. She wanted me to be better. She really cared. One day we were in my car and a song that was still hot came on.

“Listen to this. It’s you,” she said.

“You see the world through your cynical eyes,

You’re a troubled young man I can tell
You’ve got it all in the palm of your hand
But your hand’s wet with sweat and your head needs a rest

And you’re fooling yourself if you don’t believe it
You’re kidding yourself if you don’t believe it


Why must you be such an angry young man
When your future looks quite bright to me
How can there be such a sinister plan
That could hide such a lamb, such a caring young man

You’re fooling yourself if you don’t believe it
You’re kidding yourself if you don’t believe it
Get up, get back on your feet
You’re the one they can’t beat and you know it.”

And she was right. She loved me. Enough to have watched me go through inner pain and let it out in anger. Enough to see me in the lyrics of a song by Styxx released a year earlier. We had great sex. We loved kissing and holding hands and going to movies and watching Saturday Night Live. But I don’t believe I was capable of loving her. At least, not in a healthy way. The relationship was doomed.

She asked me to seek help. If I didn’t change, she knew she couldn’t have me. I went to the pastor who used to be my friend’s big brother. I trusted him to do things that couldn’t be done.

In the end, even he grew frustrated with me. He drove me to Crownsville State Hospital so I could commit myself. It was a betrayal I never forgave. He drove away and left me. I hated him. And if the song by Styxx applied, then it was incomplete; I was worse off than that. I never saw my girlfriend again. Never saw the pastor again. I’ll never trust a pastor ever again, either, and I won’t even go to a church for a fucking wedding.

I left them behind. I didn’t know what I was doing; I was surviving but without any idea how to survive, like a blind man playing chess. It can be done with a computer these days, if the player can remember where every piece is on the board. And memory, that’s a transient and mischievous thing.

If you were shown a Fibonacci series of 50 numbers on a paper, and given seconds to see it, could you remember it one second later and repeat it? Of course you couldn’t. But a mathematics professor could, because a few remembered numbers at the beginning would tell them what comes next. They would know.

But if you go wading into the poison of the internet, memory is often discussed as infallible. The most notorious example is the Mandela effect. People swear Nelson Mandela died in prison and that they remember it clearly. But he didn’t. They remember a different spelling for the cartoon series “Looney Tunes” and swear the Berenstain Bears children’s books used to be the “Bernstein Bears”, and that some inter-dimensional event occurred which deposited us in a parallel world.

People believe strange shit, while ignoring established facts, empirical scientific data. Climate change is an imminent threat, but people still claim that it’s either a lie or a natural phenomenon. I’ll get a lot of satisfaction if I live to see waterfront property sunk like fucking Atlantis; I’ll watch the news and roll over laughing as the rich fuck themselves and realize it too late, because I’m an asshole and that’s what I’d do.

It’s amazing, though, that science questions the reliability of memories, yet those memories are often cemented forever by unlikely chains of events we couldn’t see coming even if we were especially gifted with precognition. I judiciously contemplate my memories. I do. My mission here is to let you see me as I was, as I am. To be as vulnerable and honest as can be. Hopefully you learn, and never wind up like me. Hopefully you see something in yourself that you can change. If you want help and you need it, go find it. Don’t be like me. It’s okay to ask for help. It wasn’t when I was young.

These days it’s hard to muck out what’s going on. We’re in an existential crisis as a country and a species. Lies surround us like a Dolby system. Our lives depend on many things. I’m not optimistic. I’m still cynical. Still doubtful. I see evil everywhere.

But if I can give you hope, then today I choose to say this: the death of an American legend always hits us hard. That’s because we have the amazing capacity of love and deep despair. If there can be no appreciation of the light without the darkness we all face, then I give you the shocking and heartbreaking loss of Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna this past weekend. I see people mourning. Honoring him with shot clock violations, wearing his jerseys, leaving mementos at an impromptu memorial outside Staples Center. I see people from all walks of life in grief, sharing memories. Shedding tears. Heartbroken, devastated. You know, as hard as it is to even think about, people are showing us all what makes humanity better than racists and other evil people make us believe we are. There is hope. There is. As long as we can love and grieve such a loss, we can overcome any evil.

And don’t worry so much about memories; I believe that there’s a good reason for their capricious nature. We don’t remember everything wrongly, mistakenly. Some details may become obscure or muddled, but so long as we’re honest, it doesn’t matter. If you’re asked a question you can’t answer, then do not try to. We’re all just surviving. Nowadays that’s hard enough.

And yes. Blind people do play chess.

And yes, they’ll kick your ass.