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Tuesday, August 23, 2016

No Woman Is Quite An Island

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. She and another dear friend make up our little triumvirate of insanity that is friendship as mature women. We've been friends since we were in Junior High, as they called it back then. They are both the dearest people outside my family, and I would easily drop anything, no matter the importance to go to them in a time of need.

They are people I think of daily, and yet we actually touch base a few times a year, but it's always as if we'd never been apart. The memories of some of the things we've managed to get up to since we were girls are legion. Not a word until the statute of limitations is up on some of them.

Today, one of them called me to let me know that her breast cancer had returned and that she would be undergoing a mastectomy after her last round of chemo was finished. Nuking it from orbit, just to make sure. I'll be honest, the minute she told me, everything stopped and solutions began running through my mind, but first and foremost was, once more, she's waited until AFTER to tell me. But, this is so HER that I'm not truly hurt by it. She's so stoic, so determined to handle things on her own that I have to stand in awe of her strength.

I'm so afraid of losing my friend that my brain does not want to work rationally, logically. Which, right there, should tell you the depth of my love for her. I want to fix it for her, make it all better, so we can get on with our friendship without worry. My two friends are my touchstones, and I don't know if they realize the degree to which I lean heavily on their friendship to get me through some days.

Our other friend, has recently lost a long-time significant other with whom she'd had an on and off relationship for the past twenty some odd years. I've only met him a few times, but I liked him, even if I wasn't entirely sure that he was right for her. I liked that the relationship brought her happiness and his death has hit her hard. This hurt that this was the first I was hearing about it, but again, that is just so... HER.

I know that my friend called me because she was feeling bad, due to chemo and needed to hear something good happening somewhere to someone she loved. I am happy to have been of service. My life is honestly and truly blessed. I have a new grandchild due any day now, and the future looks happy for me and mine. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel bad or guilty because my life is looking good, right now, and hopefully, my friends, who are hurting right now, can gain some comfort from at least one of us doing well right now.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Tomorrow I may need good news from them to help me make it through the next day.

And I just realized that is a trait shared between the three of us, aside from a deep desire to buy a cul-de-sac and ride around on giant big wheels, we are strong women, who prefer to do our suffering in silence, of soldiering through, of being the one that is there for others. I love them all the more for being strong, but I wish they would lean on me when they need to. I will always be there for them, even to the point of having to bring my neurotic rescue mutt along if I need to be away for a long time. (Big joke, we all bring our animals with us when we visit each other).

As I think about this I think that John Donne got it a little right when her said:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind;

Any hurt my friends experiences me diminishes me because I hurt for them when they hurt. I have an overwhelming desire to make it better because I know that by the time they are talking to me about it, it's hurting pretty damned bad and they can no longer carry that weight by themselves.  I am only happy in the sense that I can help them carry that weight when they can't do it alone. So my fear of the loss of my friend is real, for I know it will diminish me in a way that can never, ever be fixed, healed or repaired.

They are that dear to me.

Please God, let them continue to do so for a very, very long time. Lord, hear our prayer.

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Requiem For A Good Man

I went to my daughter's baby shower today. It was great, food, fun and family. I left feeling pretty good and happy. Both of my daughters were there along with my granddaughter. Sort of a girl day for all of us.

I got home and had just come inside and my phone started ringing. It rarely rings any more now that Time Warner showed me how to block a good many sales and pollster calls. I saw it was my mother and I picked it up. She told me that my grandfather who was 99 years old had died in his sleep earlier today. She then called me seven more times to tell me because her dementia is so bad she couldn't remember after that emotional shock. I finally told her to write it down next to her phone because I was busy processing so much anger and I didn't want to take it out on her, even though she's the cause of all that anger. Simply put, it's too late because her mind can no longer make the connections necessary to accept that I mourned the man decades ago when she cut him out of our lives.

So she's going to have to forgive me if I'm not all choked up and bawling my eyes out because Papa is dead.

The last time I saw my grandfather was shortly before my grandmother died. I never saw him again after that. Not once, never even heard from him again. Not one time.

My youngest daughter was doing an essay on World War 2 and she spoke with him on the phone briefly, but his mind was already going with senility by that time that I didn't even get a chance to talk to him.

My earliest memories of my Papa are of snow and snowmobiles in the Idaho wilds. As a child, I was terrified of loud noises, but the snowmobiles were fine because Papa would keep me safe. He's the man who helped me learn to ski, to ice skate, to fire a rifle, to catch a fish and clean it for dinner. He was in the Air Force, stationed at Gowan Field, at that time just outside Boise, ID. I remember being so proud of seeing him in his uniform. We were very close until I was 9 and my cousin Matthew was born. Then my sister and I ceased to exist and my cousin, Rachel, was only endured because she was his sister. That was also the year my mother began moving us around from pillar to post, Idaho to California to Wyoming and eventually Texas. We rarely saw my grandparents unless it was summer and we were sent off because, Parenting? That's for other people. My mother used to send us off for the entire summer, bringing us back just before school started, but my step-dad put a stop to that and we were gone for a month, then back so we could spent time being with our friends and playing in the pool, like normal kids.

My grandfather would take us up to the lake house at McCall and we would fish and swim and leave strings all over his wall to wall carpeting from our cut offs. The 70s were rough on fashion and a nightmare for my neatnik grandfather. The last summer I spent up there was in 1979. I was about to start high school and thought I was all grown up and worldly, because I'd been all over the US and had "seen things" as I told my cousins.

My grandparents came to visit us in Texas a few times, most notably, the Christmas before I gave birth to my eldest. At that point, the breech was so wide that there was a great gulf fixed and we couldn't find a way over it or around it. I didn't care, because I had mourned the loss of my grandfather a long time before, so the disconnect at that point was almost a formality. My mother had worked very hard to make that so, and she lied to us so badly about her parents that I will never know the truth of things and there is nobody left alive who can tell me.

I know, because I asked, that my grandfather was from Ohio and he was a moonshine runner up there during Prohibition and in Kentucky before the War and he joined the Army Air Corps. He was shot down over Anzio, came home in time to make my mother, then was off again until he came home in 1946. Then he spent years moving all over the country as a warrant officer in the air force. He retired in the late 70's, built a second home and he had made a very nice life. He had worked hard and had a very nice estate.

My mother and aunt were vultures my entire life. It's possibly the best explanation I have for why I despise them both. I heard the sentence, "When my dad dies..." out of their mouths too often as a young girl to trust either one of them for a second. They spent their entire lives waiting for their dad to die so they could spend HIS money that HE made working his ass off.

They used to winter down in South Padre, my grandparents did. I went down there once to visit them. It was a short weekend trip that I could ill afford, but I took it because I wanted to see them. My grandfather and I took a long walk on the beach and we discussed my mother. For the first time in my life I spoke honestly about her to someone in the family, having always been cautioned to never tell anyone in the family about what went on in our home. My mom loved pot after she divorced my dad and had announced our house as a crash pad for all the hippies coming through.

I asked my grandfather, point blank, WTF was wrong with the woman who'd given birth to me? He told me that my mother had a great hole in her that nothing would fill. She had gotten polio when she was 9 and could never go back to being normal or the loss of the attention once all the braces were gone and crutches put away. She missed the attention and special concessions she received as "The Cripple". Her term. She refers to herself as a cripple. She pretended to have MS for decades, when that's not how that disease works. She's lied to every doctors she's ever been to. She so badly wants to be "The Cripple" again, but even now that she is genuinely crippled, it's not enough for her.

He started to speak of inheritance and I stopped him, telling him I had no right to the money he'd worked for. I told him to live long and spend it all on hats if he wanted, but I didn't want it, and no one else deserved it. You see, I knew from reading books and watching movies that family vultures were considered an over the top depiction, but in my family it was true. My mother, her sister, my cousin? All of them circled around him for years waiting for him to kick off so they could spend his money that he worked to earn for years. If I never hear, "When Dad dies..." one more time it will be too soon. Once my aunt took over the living trust we stopped getting our trust fund checks. I never counted on them, so it was no loss to me. But the reason why made me irate. To me it was a reminder that my grandfather was still alive and out there thinking about us.

It's telling that when I sat the kids down and told them this afternoon, they were surprised to find he was still alive. They didn't know him and he didn't know them. It is what it is. Nobody's life was lessened by not knowing.

So I hope he did manage to spend it all on that home he was in the past few years. I hope he leaves nothing at all the his children who were the biggest ingrates I've ever witnessed in my life and had no care that we might have loved them. He was a good man and deserved better that the children he got. I hope he did buy hats.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

So, About Those DNC Delegates...

The DNC was this week and frankly I watched because I always watch the opposition and because I have morbid curiosity the same as everyone else. And then on the first night, the youngest and oldest delegates came out on stage to say the pledge (which they got wrong). I wasn't proud to see a 17 year old Texas girl on stage, I was more in a state of shock. Not because she was Hispanic? WTF does that mean in these days of obviously rigged elections and no one doing a damned thing about it?

No, I was in shock because the girl was 17 and would have her 18th birthday just a few short days before the November elections when she would legally be able to vote. Let that sink in a moment. For those of you who know the party ways, she cannot vote until November when she turns 18 IN TEXAS. I have been attempting to find the DNC rules on how their process works, but the fact remains, a young girl who cannot yet vote was allowed to go to Philadelphia and be a Bernie delegate despite the fact that she cannot legally vote yet. Was not allowed to vote in the Texas primary because you have to be 18 to vote in the primary, for both parties. It's a state law. It doesn't matter that you will be of age to vote by the time the general rolls around, you cannot vote in Texas unless you are 18 years of age, period. In any election, period.



I began nosing around and there are stories galore about Clarissa Rodriguez, 17 year old high school student. In this article the writer never once addresses how she's there at all, not being able to vote and all. In fact, Torey van Oot doesn't even touch on the age thing and fawns all over the young girl. She doesn't ask where she's from, about her parents. It was all "OMG! I can't believe we're both here, girl! Bernie? I know, right?" If Ms. van Oot knew a damned thing about reporting, and let's face it, Refinery 29 is not exactly a journalistic power house, she would have asked Clarissa how she really got to be there.

Okay, so now we get into the boring weeds about rules for parties, primaries and how delegates are chosen in Texas. For both parties you must be 18 at the time of the election to vote in a primary. You must vote in the primary to attend the primary convention, and the county convention where you can nominate yourself to be a delegate to the state convention. Happens every 2 years. I've been a precinct chair and nominated to the State Convention so I know how this all works. Each county has a number they have to send to the convention and it's rare all of those seats are filled. I know, because I didn't go this year. I had a medical procedure done that day, and could have easily gone in late, but frankly, I couldn't be arsed by that point.

Delegates are chosen BEFORE the primary election. Did you know that? So Clarissa would have had to be made a delegate about a year or two ago. Think about that. She would have been 15 or 16 then. Are you still with me? Before she was even aware of Bernie Sanders she was made a delegate. I don't know how it goes in the DNC but the GOP delegate position it's all the Aristocracy of Pull. I wouldn't participate in that game.

I have tried reaching out to the folks I know in the DNC here in Texas for clarification. I've had a friend also trying to help me with this, just so we could get a clarification on the DNC rules at the State Convention level, but all we received was an angry response. So I've reached out to journalists here in Texas who cover the political happenings. I've not heard from any of them, and I would opine that most of them are busy with the DNC.

I'll keep you posted.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Liberal Idiocy

I woke up to find this picture staring me in my face this morning.


Now, call me crazy, but isn't this just as moronic and stupid as everything else Regressives suggest to solve any problem that makes them wet their pants?

I was so ready to get my mad on, even though I'm not really in the mood for it, so I read the comments and hit comedy gold. I am going to post those responses here because frankly, I want to laugh. I need to laugh.

Gun permit at 15 -- Full gun license at 16

 ability to take your gun anywhere in the Country at anytime

can buy any gun that you can afford

you can lease a gun, rent a gun, maybe have Uber gun...call, and in 15 minutes someone brings a gun to you.

If you accidentally hurt someone with your gun it isn't criminal issue it's an insurance issue.
If you accidentally kill someone with your gun it's still an insurance issue.

even when you're really, really old and shouldn't have a gun , no one in the family wants to tell you that and politicians don't want to take your gun away from you.

You can have as many accidents with your gun and no one will take away your license.

And you can own a gun right after you get out of jail.

People with autism, mentally challenged, felons - even the insane can all get drivers licenses... so why not a gun license?

No background check to buy a gun just like the car

Mentally handicapped people can operate a gun just like a car

And if the guy who shoots it doesn't have liability insurance you're covered under no-fault or uninsured shooter

Stores on every corner selling bullets out of vending machines -just like gas pumps.

Government Cash fo Klunkers! You can get money from the government for guns that don't work as an incentive to buy a new gun!

Bail out money for gun companies to keep them in business

If someone steals your gun-no big deal...the cops show up an hour later, some disinterested cop writes a report, tells you you may or may not get it back, we really don't have time to look for your gun, I hope you had insurance, have a nice day.

Of course, Regressives are going to sputter and try to say "That's not what we mean!" as they always do (go look it up, whenever we point out the dangers or stupidity of their policies they say that's not what they mean and they have control of it. One thing though, we're always right. If you want to argue that point I will ask that you please look up all of the illegals currently on Medicaid through healtcare.gov. Thank you for your education.)

No, we know what you mean, what you want, but do you? Liberals? Regressives? Infantile whining maggots? I don't think you do.

Do you know what I fully expect? I fully expect by end of business today the Libtards will have embraced the Orlando shooter because he was a self-hating gay. Mark my words.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

National Review Goes Full Retard

I woke up this morning to my son blocking me in the kitchen from making coffee, then I open up my news feed and find National Review had published this piece of sickening shit. Is Donald Trump Doing to Republicans What Zachary Taylor Did To The Whigs?

I can honestly tell you that my jaw dropped and outrage poured through my being with the heat of a thousand suns. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

Gil Troy, an obvious non-historian and possible cretin, tries to make the case that Zachary Taylor was just like Trump and brought about the fall of the Whig Party in Antebellum America. So, let's deconstruct that the idiot, Gil Troy, is saying, shall we?

I will preface this by saying that I am depending entirely on my American History learned in public schools and colleges before Safe Spaces were a thing. I was in school before standardized testing and feel I was more knowledgeable coming out of fifth grade than most college graduates today. I cannot lean on my knowledge of my history major son, because he finds American history boring and would rather ruminate with dusty tomes of some Roman crossing the Rubicon than some ballsy American crossing the Delaware. If you don't understand either of those references, I highly recommend any American History book written before 1992 and Wikipedia Julius Caesar.

You see, in my house, we are all a bunch of history nuts and science geeks. We want to know the true history of things so that we may fully, and correctly understand our selves today. This is how it used to be.

I can see that Gil Troy must be of the recently educated set. Or just as stupid at history as he is in researching his articles for National Review. Because he obviously missed classes on how the Republican Party came into being. So, let me give you a little histoire, as they say in France.

The Whigs were much like the Republican Party is today. Doing ANYTHING to keep the peace with Democrats who loved slavery. Because, let's face it, when haven't they loved holding other people down? The Whigs COULD have passed several measures that would have ended slavery, yet did not because... Democrat feels. Democrats would have gotten mad and not liked them, so they basically just bent over when the Dems told them to and spread 'em wide, just like Republicans do today. However, the Whigs would demand lube. Do you see the GOP even asking for it? I don't.

So a new party started up, the Republican Party. The Whigs lost every election they were in after Zachary Taylor was eventually elected president. He was the last Whig to be elected to National Office. In that time Republicans began winning local and state elections, running on the abolitionist platform that the Whigs had ignored. Hey, remember, the cotton was cheap because the labor was free, right? North and South working together to keep men in chains. How fucking noble were the Whigs, right?


The biggest parallel between the Whigs then and the GOP now, is that both parties became mired in tradition and refused to moved into the future. In both cases, both parties were full of old, scared, white men, who simply could not move with the times. Seriously, can you see John McCain using a smart phone? Can you? Do we even need to speak of Hillary's inability to use two of them? Come on.


The Whigs chugged slowly along until 1856 when they were done, spent. They tried to become the Constitutional Union Party but that went nowhere because, as usual, they could not get out of their own Conservative inertia. Yes, Mister Troy, there is such a thing as too conservative. It's where you are paralyzed with fear at doing ANYTHING that changes the status quo because you cannot face change of any kind.

We are not asking for change, simply for the sake of change like the idiot Regressives. We want change because it is needed to preserve our way of life in so many ways. I wonder, if we went back and asked former Whigs why they voted Abe Lincoln into office what they would tell us? Would they tell us it was because a man stood and said he refused to let men suffer any longer under the yoke of slavery because other men were too afraid to let their opinions be heard? Would they say that it was time to change things because slavery is morally reprehensible and cannot be condoned by a moral and just government?

Because, let me be clear Mr. Troy, idiot extraordinaire, Democrats want us all enslaved under their power. They want to run our lives, tell us what to say, what to think, who we can talk to, compartmentalize us all into little warring tribes, because frankly, if we're fighting each other we cannot be fighting them, right?  You and your moronic pals at National Review are telling everyone who believes in you that they should just roll over and take that kick to the ribs. Well, with all respect due an idiot, fuck you.

If you think slavery doesn't exist in the Democrat agenda, I beg you to look at the results of the "Great Society" may LBJ burn in hell, hourly anally raped by a pineapple for that bit of shackling of the blacks in America. If you think the poor aren't enslaved by state welfare then I would posit that you are perhaps the most stupid person on the planet next to Elizabeth Warren.

Does the GOP do anything at all to fight it? No. They keep passing bills to increase welfare, enact Obamacare, and just pass it down to later generations to be fixed so they can keep their immediate seat of power. WELL IT'S TIME GENTLEMEN! It is time to get off your dead asses and DO SOMETHING! Do something decent for a change.

This is the problem with the National Review, they are what made Donald Trump possible, and they don't even recognize it. He is their creation. He is the reaction of people fed the fuck up with the dithering and lies. They want action and Trump promises it.

A man comes upon another man having his way with a woman in a ditch. They join up and the first man says, "You know that woman back there was dead?" The other man laughs and says, "Dead? I thought she was Republican."

Abraham Lincoln won the Republican Party nomination and the presidency and then won the Civil War, War of Northern Aggression, War Between the States, whatever you want to call it, but he ENDED slavery. He did something. I'm not sure what Trump will do, but I do know, if he dithers, if he does nothing but sit in that chair in the oval office and does nothing that he's promised, in four years we will have a brand new political party winning elections all over the US, and eventually the Presidency. And the National Review will not matter one iota in the minds of anyone forming that new party. Inertia, thou art NR.

Here endeth the lesson.

Tuesday, June 07, 2016

Happy Birthday To Me





I saw this meme today on Facebook and loved it immediately. It's because I think that all human beings should acknowledge and appreciate their worth.

A few years back I saw a tweet on Twitter (I deleted my account because I hate Twitter) wherein a young woman wrote an article about being a black, single mom and how proud she was of herself for doing it on her own, buying her own things with her own money that she'd earned. She's teaching her son valuable lessons from that example. She wowed me. I was proud of her, happy for her, for knowing her own worth.

Last week I gave an interview and was asked what was my biggest influence for my writing. I write Romance, for the most part. There are far more romance books out there written by me than there are my philosophical and political ones. But my largest influence, on both sides of fiction and non-fiction has been Ayn Rand.

Before you gasp and clutch your pearls, her view on the aesthetic of romance was in keeping with the rest of Objectivist philosophy. Aesthetics is the fifth pillar or all philosophy. Her view on romantic love was a very healthy one, even if she didn't practice it. Others have and been happy with it. The picture above encapsulates the entire concept.


When you realize how much you're worth, you'll stop giving discounts."

Truth. Reality you cannot hide from.

And it came at a very good time, as some recent research I've been doing has made me very sad for people as a whole. Consider the hook up culture. There are entire websites and phone apps dedicated to nothing but finding someone to bump fuzzies with. That's it, get it on, and you're both ghosts. Young people think it's great, and they never look at those around them to see how miserable they are, and they never get older and look back at this time of their lives as where all of their self-doubt and hatred began. If you value something, you hold it close, you do not give away recklessly. Even if it's your own body.

Roll your eyes, but when you get older and no one treats you with respect, it's because you never treated yourself with respect.

Why don't people get this? I've been singing this song for too many years. All of those people out there hooking up like their body is nothing more than for someone else to "defile" if only in their thoughts. They won't think you respect yourself, because you're doing what you do... with them. Neither of you respect yourselves, so it's naughty, and even a little fun to film yourself doing things to one another then posting it online, then going on like it's nothing. And, neither of you realize you've told the entire world not to respect you. You didn't just tell them, you screamed it.

When you don't care about something, you freely, happily give it way to anyone who asks.

Think about attraction. When someone lets you know that you're attractive to them, they become more attractive to you. Why? Because they are recognizing your worth, and in return, you recognize theirs. It's the sturdy foundation that all healthy relationships are built on.

This healthy self-image and appreciation comes from spending time by yourself, getting to know you without anyone else in the equation. I hate seeing people just coming out of a relationship and immediately throwing themselves into anything to get their mind off of it. It should be time spent alone, not with friends or anyone else, to recognize yourself without that other part of you. Know yourself as someone other that so-and-so's someone, or as someone's daughter, sister, brother, mother or father. Get to know YOU again. It's very healthy and I think, for most, they come out on the other side happier for it.

They come out knowing their own worth, and they stop giving discounts to the unworthy. Try it.

Wednesday, June 01, 2016

A Split Second

I will preface this post by saying that this is not the post I thought I'd be writing two days ago, but I got sick of being a self-righteous moron and thought about it. Stop being emotional and think.

My eldest son is 30 years old. Weeks before his second birthday, he had a terrible accident. He could have died. All because I looked away for a split second to put his brother down, before leading him inside.

You see, we lived in a second story apartment. The kids downstairs were playing, riding bikes... being kids. I had spoken with them as I climbed my stairs carrying a baby carried and DJ's hand in my other. As I always did, I told DJ not to move as I unlocked the door. I took half a step inside to put the carrier in and DJ was gone. The kids were screaming that he'd jumped and I looked down to see my baby lying on the concrete.

A split-second was all it took for his small two-year-old body to slip through the rails and he fell onto the ground below. A. SPLIT. SECOND.

I began screaming and ran down the stairs, terrified, not knowing what to do. My neighbor ran outside and I was screaming at her to call 911. Vicky was so wonderful she ran upstairs to get Clint. The ambulance was there almost immediately and we dashed for Texas Children's Hospital. I was so dazed and horrified that I could barely answer the EMT's questions, and I stood in the ER like I was a catatonic escapee from nearby Hermann Hospital's psych ward.

My son had fractured his little skull and had a large blood clot forming that had to be constantly monitored to make sure it didn't put too much pressure on his still developing brain. I think I sleep walked through the entire thing. Parents and in-laws watched Clint, poor baby, while I stayed at the hospital. It was a blur of CT scans and neurological testing but, after a week he got to come home. I had to quit my job because he could not go to daycare and be knocked around. They said he had to stay quiet for at least, 6-9 months, and then they would see.

If you've ever tried to keep a two year old boy quiet and resting for six months, you know why I've blocked those days from my memory.

The point of this story is, I wasn't doing anything wrong. I should have shoved him through the door first, ignoring my burning arms from carrying my butterball around in his yellow carrier. But I wasn't negligent, I wasn't ignoring my kids, I wasn't doing anything wrong. And yet, it still happened.

I am very angry that the Cincinatti Zoo had to destroy a beautiful animal that they shouldn't have had in the first place. From a Facebook post from a woman who was standing there when it happened, it sounds to me as if the mother got caught up in conversation and her four year old boy ran off. Should she have allowed herself to get that distracted in a very crowded zoo? I don't think so, but I'm not a Blackhawk Parent either. She was talking to someone, her child got away from her, and in the way of boys all over the world, he did something he shouldn't have done and was injured because of it.

Thank God he's still alive.

The woman has had death threats, been pilloried online and in the press. But, the fact we all have to remember, especially those of us who have raised children, and especially pre-schoolers, ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN in a split second.

Anything. Anything at all. You can take your eyes off the road to change the radio station and hit a mother and her two-year old child walking in a very busy road at 2 AM and kill the child. The knee-jerk response is to say, "WTF was she doing with a baby in the middle of a busy road in the middle of the night?!" and spew outrage. However, it doesn't take one bit out of the pain that she lost her child. She happened to be in illegal immigrant in a part of town packed chock full of them and had gotten off work and was picking her child up from the babysitter and walking back to her apartment. She almost made it.  The man who hit them? He wound up swallowing his pistol because he couldn't deal with it. The mother went back to Mexico, as she no longer had an anchor here.

A split second was all it took to wipe out two lives and change, forever, another. A, Split. Second.

A split second was all it took for my son to slip between the rails of a stairwell and fall ten feet to the concrete below. It still makes me very sick to even think about it, I get that feeling of terror all over again. I could have lost him.

A split second was all it took for that mother in Cincinnati to lose her son in a crowd and he somehow managed to get into a gorilla enclosure. And her son was injured and an innocent, beautiful animal had to be put down to save her son because her attention flickered for a split second. A. Split. Second.

A split second was all it took for a man to take his eyes off the road and run over a two year old girl and kill her. A. Split. Second.

A split second was all it took for that man to put an end to his pain for having taken his eyes off the road. A. Split. Second.

If you're determined to feel outrage, feel outrage of the millions of children who are abused, truly abused, by people who should love, cherish and protect them. Who pay them no attention, don't feed them, barely provide shelter and who hit them without a thought. Spend a split second thinking about those children.

If you want to rail against gorillas in zoos, spend a split second donating some time or money to groups who are trying to get their capture and sale to zoos and circuses outlawed all over the African Continent. Stop going to zoos and circuses. Take a split second and donate to the animal rescues who take in the animals and give them a nice life until they die. Take a split fucking second to realize that if you go to the zoo you're part of the problem.

But stop harassing the mother in Cincinnati. She's got enough on her plate, right now. She needs to be concentrating all of her energy on helping her son get through this. Because her attention was drawn away for a split second and something horrible happened. And now, she gets to spend the rest of her life reliving that moment over and over in her mind whenever she's too tired, or scared, or the next time she looks down and he's not right there.

Horrible, wretched, terrifying things happen in a split second and there is not anything any one of us can do to change that cascade of events when we're looking back. Hating a woman for something every single one of us has done, changes NOTHING.

Change happens in a split second, and yet it changes nothing. Think about that while you're feeling self-righteous.