Independence Day

By G. E. Shuman

It would simply be wrong of me not to write about Independence Day in a column which appears in a newspaper with a publication date of July 4^th. I hadn’t intended to write such a column this week, but I need to do so. My intention was to write about all the ‘stuff’ we import from other countries; stuff like cars and can openers, and televisions (Does anyone call them televisions anymore?) and tea cups. I was going to call that column something to do with the balance of power. You know, it would be relating how much in sheer weight and value is coming here in exchange for our dollars. But, I’ll probably write that column next week. This week I need to write about Independence Day. I do suppose that that balance of power column could be worked into an Independence Day piece, as we are certainly not as independent of other countries as we once were, or probably should be.

One other thought I had, before I realized that this column would appear in a paper dated July 4^th, was to tell you about a traumatic experience I had just this morning. But, as with the balance of power article, I will save that for another time. Today I need to write about Independence Day. When I do write that column I’ll tell you how a stranger and I saved a baby duckling this morning, from being killed on the highway. It was a terrible thing, as we were too late to save three other ducklings and their mother, from being killed by the traffic. It was also too bad that two other ducklings from the family scurried off into the deep grass, and, likely, into the woods before we could catch them. Hopefully, those two will survive. The good news was that I was able to take the one we saved to my daughter’s home in Williamstown, where she put it in her barn, in a brooding pen, along with the two other ducklings she already has. But, I will tell you all about that, when I do that column. Today I need to write about Independence Day. It is true that the love of life, and it’s protection in freedom was a big part of our country’s fight for independence.

Today is the Fourth of July! It is Independence Day. Firstly, if you don’t know what that means, find your second grade teacher and ask her.  Next, take out the flag, the AMERICAN flag, that rightfully should be hanging from your home every sunny day, and get it put out there. Thirdly, remember our forefathers, who fought for our country’s independence, and gave you the right to fly that flag, and all the other rights we have in this country. Then thank God that, so far, those rights have not been taken from us. You could also thank Him that you also have the right to thank Him in your own way, or not at all. We are also free to buy things from all over the world, and rescue baby ducks. Those forefathers thought of everything. Happy Independence Day! I’ll write the other stories later.

Turn It Around, Man

By G. E. Shuman

The habit of turning one’s baseball cap sideways, or around backward, is something I have long chuckled at. It looks like a fine and youthful thing to do, when done by fine and youthful people. Also, ladies in hats look great, to me, no matter how they are worn. I know, it’s not fair, and it‘s not fair that I don‘t care if someone thinks that it‘s not fair. My chuckling, which has lately become more in amazement than in amusement, happens when I see people who are supposed to be men, with such an anything-but-manly appearance, under one of those backwards caps. To me, it looks like either the cap is headed in the wrong direction, or the person is, and I am not always sure which is the case.

I bring this subject up, because, somehow, it seems related to a much more serious phenomenon occurring in our country. That, being the total shirking of responsibility by many of our young men today. Think of this. What extended family line today does not contain young women raising young children, alone, with no one’s help but that of Uncle Sam, because fathers act like children, and abandon the results of their own actions? No, I am not blaming backwards baseball caps for abandoned families. I am blaming aging juveniles for abandoned families. In this, we can also not excuse the female side of the equation. For better or for worse, sometimes, one plus one does equal three, or more. Indeed, it does take two to start the equation, at least in my day it did. The mother is likely as much at fault as the father, but is also the one left holding the baby and the burden, at the end of the day, and at the end of the equation.

Guys, I’m sorry, but you can be spotted a mile away, and, I‘m also sorry to chuckle at how ridiculous you sometimes look. A person has only to take one drive downtown, in most any downtown. You are everywhere, you are anything but individual in your attire, and your attitude of self-centered rebellion is more than obvious. You know, unless you are a catcher in a baseball game, that cap visor really was meant to shield your eyes so you can see where you are going. In some cases, in retrospect, I guess backwards might suit, after all. The three-day growth of beard shows that you are no longer a boy, even though you may dress like one. The visible tattoos don’t make you look tough. They do make you look like you let someone use thousands of tiny needle pricks to inject ink under your skin. Wow. The ‘wife-beater’ undershirt, (See how elegant our slang has become?) looks pretty cool with that pair of huge shorts that cover your ankles better than they do your butt. Guys, I have a serious question. Is that a swagger, or are you just having trouble walking, with your boxers above your butt, and your belt below it?

You’re right, I am prejudging, and that is wrong, wrong, wrong. It is possible that when I see you on the street, you are walking to work to support your family. If so, I’m proud of you, no matter how you look. If, and I mean IF, instead, you are approaching thirty, still living with mom, (Not with the mother of your child.) and you are actually walking to a friend’s house for a day of playing video games, you might want to re-think that.

Man-up, men, face your responsibilities, and reap some worthwhile rewards. You seem to have been able to be there for the conception. That part was easy. (Hee, Hee, Hee, Yeah, that was COOL, Man!) You know what? Just grow up! This would be a good time to have someone slap you, if someone is nearby, and tell you to pull up your saggy shorts, for Pete’s sake! Go ahead, find someone to slap you… I’ll wait. It’s time for you to be there for the delivery and the diaper changes, the teething and the terrible twos, but also for the dreams, the diplomas, and the college degrees. Get your life turned around, before you’re a granddad and still wearing your belt below your butt. Hint: If you also turn that cap around it really could help you see where you’re going.