Call Out The Cowards

No single recent cowardly act from our cephlapodic congressmen so glaringly demonstrates the corrupting influence of big money than the senate's failure this week to pass Universal Background checks for gun purchases.

According to polls, 92 percent of Americans were in favor of the no brainer background check bill that would have screened out bad guys, you know, murderers and rapists, from purchasing say five guns at a time at a gun show.

 Sounds like a pretty good idea, no? 

 But you'd never know there was such overwhelming citizen support for the measure by the senate's failure to garner the 60 votes to pass the bill. Does anyone actually still need proof of the National Rifle Association lobby's criminal reach in Washington?

 What these spineless, obstructionist "no" vote congressmen are in effect saying is that they aren't interested in making our streets safer. They are saying that gun sales take precedent over our children's lives. 

 And they are daring you to do something about it. Will you?   

Background Checks No Brainer

 It should be a no brainer. But, yeah, we're talking about Capital Hill here.

 We need to do everything in our power, within reason, to keep troubled individuals from getting guns. Period. That's what universal background checks for all gun purchases will do.

 No, the background checks won't stop the illegal street trade. And no, the checks can't guarantee an Uzi won't fall into the wrong hands. But if we can diminish the number of such instances, with required background checks at gun stores and gun shows, why wouldn't we?

 The "no guarantees" argument of course has been one of the more pathetic challenges from opponents to mandatory background checks. We should have been there and done that by now.

 Here we are four months after the Newton tragedy and the corrupt, greedy National Rifle Association lobby's influence still threatens to shoot down the background checks.

 The NRA's stubborn resistance to this most basic of gun violence control measures is arguably criminal, as it only helps fan the flames of paranoia in this country.

 To what extent has the NRA stonewalling -- hence, high profile media coverage -- contributed to the recent increase in gun violence reports since Newton?

 Let's do what we can. Even though the majority of Americans, some 92%, support the measure, the NRA gun lobby remains powerful and there's no telling what tricks it has concealed.

 The senate debates and votes on the Universal Background Checks bill in the next few days. Let's urge the Senate to pass Universal Background Checks for All Gun Purchases by signing the petition below.
 As the Iraq war veteran who started the petition points out, all U.S. armed service members are subject to background checks before being issued a gun. So why shouldn't the same be required of this country's civilians?

http://signon.org/sign/tell-the-senate-pass?source=s.em.cp&r_by=5564729

Pigs are in the House

It’s unprecedented dark muddled, stagnated trying times like these -- with the sequester cuts looming -- that George Orwell’s prophetic poetic genius shines through so brilliantly. And sadly so.

 Will we yet benefit from the simplistic, but revelatory warnings of Orwell’s Animal Farm?

 Orwell’s classic metaphorical cautionary tale on the abuses of power has remained timeless in its relevance since its 1945 release, which interestingly coincided with the atomic bomb drops on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

 But, perhaps now more than at any other time in United States’ history, Animal Farm (and his 1984) speak loud and clear.

 In a contemporary setting, Animal Farm’s ruling pigs of course are the House Republicans. Like the pigs, House Republicans are good at feigning concern for all Americans – proclaiming  “all (humans) are created equal.”

  Privately, the hoggish House Republicans believe that some are “more equal than others.” And they gauge that equality by the size of a citizens bank account – on or offshore. No matter.

 In the same way that Farm’s pigs gradually became corrupted by ideals of the enemy humans – to the point of standing on two legs and wearing clothes – elected House Republicans have snubbed their duty to the people – and instead pledged their unflinching allegiance to Big Money’s corrupt, powerful select few.

 It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The pigs, cows, goats, ducks, hens and horses were all in this thing together. They had successfully rebelled against the cruel oppressive Mr. Jones, who had worked them like slaves and stole their young. A set of promising of democratic commandments were even drawn up.

 But soon the pigs, which had assumed power, started to twist the truth and shape the rules to benefit them alone. To borrow from Bruce Springsteen’s timely Grammy-nominated tune, the pigs stubbornly insist: “We take care of our own.”

 Take the passage of Animal Farm, where Squealer – the reigning pigs’ apologist mouthpiece in the present day tradition of say, a Rush Limbaugh – is trying to convince the rest of the animals that the pigs solely deserved the farm’s coveted milk and apples to eat.

“Comrades!” he cried. “You do not imagine, I hope, that we pigs are doing this in a spirit of selfishness and privilege? Many of us actually dislike milk and apples. I dislike them myself. Our sole object in taking these things is to preserve our health.

 “Milk and apples (this has been proved by science, comrades) contain substances absolutely necessary to the well-being of a pig. We pigs are brainworkers. The whole management and organization of this farm depend on us. Day and night we are watching over your welfare. It is for your sake that we drink that milk and eat those apples.”

 Rings a bell, no?

 In the same way the increasingly snobbish pigs desperately defended their milk and apples privilege, the House Republicans strived to persuade the masses that tax breaks for the rich were crucial for the welfare of the struggling middle class and poor.

 They pretend to give a dam about small businesses as long as it conveniently facilitates their scheme to avoid those tax hikes for themselves and their wealthy fat cat pals.

 Through the course of it all, like Animal Farm’s pigs, the only genuine effort the Conservative House leaders actually make is to obstruct any progress that might ease the burden on their underlings, the people, during these desperate times.

 In the meantime, the hardest workers, the same middle class and poor, will just have to work harder to merely survive. Just like the cart-horse Boxer in Orwell’s Farm. As was the case in Animal Farm, it's time for a rebellion. 

Gun Control Talk Missing The Truth

 It should be real simple.

 You'd think that the incomprehensible murder of 20 first graders in the Newton, Conn. shooting shortly before Christmas would do it.

 You'd figure that we adults -- gun lovers, gun haters and everyone in between -- would get serious about protecting the lives of our children.

 But, apparently the National Rifle Association loves its guns too much. Why the NRA, as a minimal first step, is opposed to President Barack Obama's no brainer background checks for all gun buyers is mystifying and troubling.

 It can only be explained by greed. It places gun sales ahead of child safety.
Of course, such cold indifference, such greed, is borne out of fear. Fear of not having enough. Fear of missing out.

 The Second Amendment argument, touting the "right to bear arms," amounts to a red herring on the background checks issue. We need to do all we can to keep guns out of the hands of murderers and terrorists. NRA members favor the checks; not the NRA itself though. Anything to make a buck.

 So greed and fear rule. The truth takes a backseat. And justice suffers. That's the name of the game anymore in Washington. A similiar thing was happening just over two years ago when Congresswoman Gabby Giffords was shot.

  Angry fear-based vitriol was the rule of the day. Forget about civility and the truth. Here's something I wrote then. We still need to shut up -- and listen.
 http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2011/jan/23/cilivility-listen-rhetoric/

Oh, Target Pratice ... For What?

Gun lovers all answer the inevitable question the same way.

So, if they don't use their weapons for hunting, asks the interviewer, what do they use their semi-automatic assault rifles for anyway?

Target practice, they respond. Then the interviewer predictably responds: "Oh, okay," and obligingly moves on, refusing to pursue the matter any further -- as if doing so would risk making him or her the next target for practice.

But really, how is that answer supposed to appease the non-gun loving masses? Target practice? Target practice -- for what?

Apparently, a small percent of semi-automatic owners are using their weapons for hunting. But the "target practice" answer doesn't cut it. And no one seems to be pressing the issue.

 If it's just a matter of experiencing the thrill of hitting a target bullz-eye, why aren't they using BB guns or or darts, for that matter? Why the flesh ripping live ammunition?

Blame It On The Pigs

If we go off the cliff, blame it on the on the pigs.

The House Republicans, of course, for all intent and purposes, represent the know it all pigs of George Orwell's Animal Farm.

 They claim to believe in "equality for all," but secretly believe that some -- depending on the balance in the bank account, on or offshore -- are "more equal than others."

 If a deal isn't struck it will be the fault of the fattened fiscal pigs, self-obsessed House Republicans – best buddies with all the rest of the detached, loft-dwelling fat cats – who have attempted to brainwash the rest of us that tax breaks for the rich are crucial to helping the little guy.

 But the poor and the middle class know better. Let's hope President Obama's sense that a deal is within reach this day, is well founded. So, we can start off this new year right! 

Henny Penny is in Heaven

 Still seems so impossible to conceive. My sweet, beautiful, fun loving, game loving niece Henrietta – fierce Tiddly Winks competitor – won’t grace our family and friends with her physical presence this Christmas.

 I call her Penelope. She just looked like a Penelope to me from the time she was a little girl. “Merry Christmas Penelope,” I would greet her each Christmas Eve at my brother Brian’s in South Philly. She would always smile and give that warm, little Hen laugh of appreciation, “Hmmm, Merry Christmas, Uncle Kevin.”

On this earth, Henrietta also went by “Henny Penny,” ”Rigotta” or simply, "Hen" -- just a few of the seemingly endless affectionate nicknames that her father, Brian and mother, Mary had for their beloved baby girl.

 Older sisters, Jessica and Angela had their own little names for their baby sister. In fact, I’m not sure anyone has ever had more pet names – each one a touching example of how love exhaustively looks for new, endearing ways to express itself.

“Uncle Kevin, we’ve been playing Clue,” I can still hear Henrietta saying in her excited, scratchy little voice. One year, I had given the board game Clue to the family for Christmas. We played into the night Christmas and most of the next day. We’d play when I visited. And they’d play as a family, from time to time. 

 I’m not sure how it started, but each year I would buy Henrietta some little nick-knack game for Christmas – a barrel of elephants, a mini bowling game, a mini sure shot basketball game, Tiddly Winks, and so it went.

 Now, is as good a time as any to make a confession. In part, I gave Hen these simple little games because I knew that I could rely on her to play them with me on Christmas Day.

 Little Miss Penelope, Henny Penny, the Henster and I were kindred spirits like that. Along with her Dad, my oldest brother Brian, we appreciated the simple things. We loved the family fun and good natured competition. Sometimes we’d play for hours on the family room floor or dining room table.

 When it came to Tiddly Winks, forget about it. Henrietta had her father’s genes. Allow me to digress. In case you weren’t aware, my brother Brian was the Tiddly Winks champion at Bonner High School many moons ago.

 He informed my younger brother Brendan and I of that undisputed fact one day in the family room when we were kids. Brian laid out the bath towel on the coffee table and placed a shallow white glass cup in the center. He dumped the colored tiddlies, or winks, on the towel and the rest is history. He proceeded to give Brendan and I a good thrashing and a valuable lesson in the art of Tiddly Winking.

 Over the years, Brian and I would get engrossed in serious Tiddly Wink tournaments, typically at Christmas time, that would nearly threaten our brotherly love for each other. For the most part, Brian reigned as champ.

 Then Henrietta showed up on the scene. Sure, we can let little Hen try to play. But remember honey, this is an adult’s game, big man’s game, really. Henrietta’s first shot from the sidelines was all cup.

  Brian and I looked at each other, amazed. Hen, wide-eyed, was just as surprised and looked as if she had done something wrong. Needless to say, Hen would knock me out in the early rounds. From then on it was father – daughter, all the way. 

  “Oh, my gosh,” Hen laughed, when I gave a her giant deck of playing cards for Christmas once. She took the cards out of the box and tried to shuffle them, laughing. “Look how big these cards are, Mom. So funny.” Mary would join us for a game of fish, or crazy eights, laughing along with Hen.

  So, here we are on Christmas. And what comes to mind is John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. For whoever so loved him would have eternal life.” Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus, God incarnate, who came to save the world.

 Henrietta was just 22 years old. Way, way, way too young, of course. But God’s ways are not our ways. He has a plan. In the same way that God loved us enough to send his only son as a sacrifice for us, God so loved lovely Henrietta that he decided it was time for any pain to end. He wanted her to be with him in the kingdom of kingdoms in the sky.

  I’m convinced – scratch that – I know, that God finds ways to reach out and comfort us in such indescribable times of sadness. And somehow he allows our departed loved ones, now by his side, to lend a hand in the healing process.

 A couple nights after Hen’s passing, I found myself watching a movie with a relatively unknown Spanish actress who reminded me of Henrietta. It was somehow comforting. Next night, I popped in another movie. Same actress, some years later.

 For all I know, they were the only two movies this actress made. Yet somehow God made sure I watched them back to back nights – because they reminded me of Penelope and gave me comfort. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

 The thing about it is that even though Henrietta is with God, she’s also somehow close by. We don’t know how it all works. God is multi-dimensional. We may not figure it out even after we’ve crossed over ourselves to that better place in the sky with God and Hen.

 It should simply be enough to know that, “With God all things are possible.”

 And that “God will even take what the devil means to destroy us with – and turn it for our good.” The timing of Hen’s passing and memorial was incredibly sad, but held special meaning, somehow. It was said by Hen's little nephew Gregory that God needed Hen pronto as a babysitter for the 20 kids who lost their lives in Newton, Conn.

 Henrietta’s memorial send off was December 21, 2012 – which also happened to be my Ol’ Da’s 10th birthday anniversary since he passed. He would have been 84. Then, within days of learning about Henrietta’s passing, we got the sad, sad news that our loving and generous Uncle Ted from my mother’s side of the family had gone on as well. He was memorialized the same day as Hen.

  Uncle Ted was a long sitting Common Pleas Court judge, longtime holder of  “favorite uncle” status, and exemplary family man to his four lovely daughters, sons-in-law and ever growing brood of grand kids.

  The way I see it, Henrietta had a fatherly figure as an escort into heaven – a man familiar enough with the limitations of the law in this world to unflinchingly believe and advocate in the authenticity of the true Supreme Court in the sky.

  As he was so good at doing for all his extended family, Uncle Ted would assuage any possible anxieties Hen had, and the two would walk through the pearly gates together. Mom, aka "Mamby," my O’l Da’ and Aunt Betts would be among a host of departed loved ones to greet them.

  I can’t begin to know the deep sense of loss that only my brother, his wife and my two beautiful loving nieces feel. But I know I hurt. And if I hurt, their pain is that much greater. But there is hope. Always is.

 Last night, family and I sent up a sky lantern to Henrietta. In the boatyard where I live, I lit the burner and held the lantern. We watched as the flame grew and the hot air quickly expanded the red paper lantern with silver snow flakes.

  I held it tight until I felt a gentle tug and was sure it was time to let go. The lantern immediately lifted up in the cold Christmas Eve eve night air to an array of ohh’s and ahh’s. Even a nearby seabird in the marina called out with a screech as the mini hot air balloon-like lantern launched. Better than fireworks.

  Like a hot air balloon it rose rapidly, wasting no time heading for the Atlantic Ocean. It happened so fast. Soon it looked like the flashing light of an airplane high overhead. Even from such a great distance though, it visibly flashed and glowed red a couple of times, prompting more ahh’s.

 Then, within a couple minutes, it became a bright twinkling star in the eastern sky. A star in the east – two days before Christmas. Henrietta was smiling down. God was winking.

 Finally, the lantern was so far away, that we couldn’t see it anymore. It was invisible to the naked eye. But we knew that it was still out there somewhere – soaring higher and higher towards Heaven. Free at last.