Real Fears of a White Step-Dad

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I want to talk to you about something that is generally taboo, but especially given the details (often in footnotes) of the recent Supreme Court case on affirmative action and university admittance, it is important that we chat.”

“Um-”

“I’d ask you to not interrupt and I request this indulgence because I am the one with something to lose here—not you. Thank you.

“I see the supposed excellence of your school. While I am fully persuaded home school is the best way to educate a child, a future citizen of America, I am also fully persuaded that a charter school like yours is far superior to public school.

“I struggle to believe that the way my step-son was admitted to your school was fair. You have exceedingly few black students as is, and while regular demographics of our city account for it, there is some sick love/hate relationship with educated—do not hear intelligent—educated whites and what they see as possible black success.

“If you enroll too many black kids, then no whites will find that school desirable. If no black kids, then whites will be painted as racist. So ya’ll are stuck in a pickle, the way I see it. Precisely just how many blacks can you afford your school to enroll and still keep the whites coming?

“Here’s the rub: A- is not black. I have already made it clear that I suspect we disagree on this matter. So let me repeat myself. A- is not black. You all let him in to your school. I believe it is because you saw him (especially as he is an immigrant, not the really difficult American black) as able to help keep the whites happy. Whether your gamble was well-informed or not, we will all find out together. But he is not black. Do you hear me?

“For the last four years I have watched and listened to educators get run over by, ignore, and turn a blind eye to A-, all because they see a little black boy they can use to fulfill some twisted quota. Everything has been graded on a curve and relative to other students. The calendar hasn’t existed. Endless ability to retake and correct assignments and tests has been proffered. In a word, he has been in “schools” which have absolutely zero accountability for A-. He has a grand total of no understanding of where he stands in relationship to his fellow man, and worse, he seems to think he hasn’t ever failed. This has to stop.

“Did I introduce myself? Apologies for that oversight. Here are the vital stats. I am A-’s step-dad, not you. Second to that fact, I have and will always perform better than any of you here on every mental subject and assessment you can develop. And I have used all my brain power to decide that it is worthwhile to give you the benefit of the doubt to start.

“But I am watching. And if I start to get even the slightest feeling that A- is receiving special treatment because you can’t shake the feeling that he is some little black boy available for use in atoning for your perverse understanding of life, then we will be done here. I will pull him from your school and you will know why.

“To be clear: I am not asking for fair treatment. This isn’t funnel cakes and ferris wheels. I am asking for you to teach him to know he has failed where he has failed and for him to know he has learned where he has learned. No more “stars” for effort, or on time work, or completed assignments.

“Maybe I am asking too much.

“To conclude then, I put the choice in your hands. What do you say? Can you do this for me? Will you agree, no matter how this relationship started, that A- is not black, that he is not some project?

“Will you agree that he will fail if he doesn’t perform appropriately? I can pull him right now if you won’t. There is no need to waste anyone’s time. So what do you say?”

I Present the Latest Sham Holiday: Mother’s Day

Christmas, especially in its commercial sense, is at least pure and focused. Mother’s Day, on the other hand, has become a sham entirely. Worse than Kwanza. Worse than Juneteenth. Worse than whatever the heck Easter is supposed to be.

At church today a very old “Dr.” lady gave the sermon. She talked about how hard the job of “mother” is. That is to say, she talked about how hard the job of “mother” used to be.

If you send your kids to daycare so you can go to work to pay for daycare, is that noble?

If you are so tired from this unnecessary job that you feed your kids processed food, junk food, and fast food on the regular, is that noble?

If you spend any leftover income from your job on TJ Maxx and Ross for yourself instead of, I don’t know, saving for future expenses, is that noble?

This poor old lady, dignified and noble as she was, was so out of touch that she described my mom, who finished up 20 years ago. But today’s “modern” moms? They look and sound nothing like my mom.

It’s disturbing. And it’s another example available for use when instructing children to not be slaves to the sound of words but to consider concrete context too.

Having a baby doesn’t making you a mother anymore than being female makes you a woman.

Funny thing is, I, one of the last men raised by a mother (and father), didn’t get my mom anything on this holiday. But I did buy some over-complimentary cards (from me and the kids) and pointless gifts for my wife. What a sham.

There is nothing outside the man which can defile him if it goes into him; but the things which proceed out of the man are what defile the man.
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One One-Liner Heard Inside Mardel’s and Why Seminary Costs Money—and Should

Here in Colorado Springs, the “Sierra” store is in the same spot as a “Mardel Christian and Education” store. I needed Mother’s Day gear, so after perusing Sierra to price compare “Expert Voice” “deals”, I took the kids across the lot to Mardel. (Sierra seems to be winning on every level, if curious.)

While perusing the Bibles (specifically interested to learn the LSB has made it to retailers yet), I passed by a couple of ladies (the types which strike everyone as just as permanently affixed to the spot as the bookshelves behind them) who were putting on a show of “enjoying” some restful repose inside a great store.

I made eye-contact with the elder and listener as I heard the other one say, “I am done reading theology. I tried for a while but, honestly, just give me Jesus.”

It’s a fairly trite and common assertion among under-achieving wives and over-achieving baptist ministers, so I cannot say for sure whether she was the echo chamber or in earnest. But it called to mind a conversation I had with my mom the other day about church.

Sunday School was the topic, or the setting of the topic. The real topic was the morons who lob terribly uninformed opinions about terribly vague and uninteresting parts of scripture at all comers.

I told my mom, “Remember when Charlie Sheen was in all that drama and his show fell apart? At one point he said, ‘You don’t pay prostitutes for sex, you pay them to leave.’”

“Oh, yeah. I remember. Ugh.”

“Well, with that nature of flip-sided perspective in mind, as I get farther and farther from my time at Seminary, I believe that is how the money part works. If churches aren’t doing it for ya, you finally decide to pay money to try to find meaning in silence. The nicest way of putting this perspective being that seminary students want to be around other people as serious as themselves (calling or no), but the truth (and cynical perspective) is that seminary students want to be around people who are able to keep their mouth shut when they don’t know what they are talking about. And the money has something to do with segregating those two groups.”

Oh Give Thanks Unto the LORD. Six Figures is Enough.

If you happen to run into me while we’re out and about, the conversation—after weather—will likely turn to cost of living. It may be me, it may be you, who brings it up. But if we’re out and about, then we’re probably spending money and so the topic is at hand regardless.

A common refrain you’ll hear me utter, “My whole life six figures has meant, ‘You made it,’ and, ‘That’s a good job.’ But the truth is in 2024, while six figure jobs are still hard to find, it isn’t enough.”

(Forgive me, Father. It is enough is the biblical sense. But you know what I mean. The amount isn’t enough to live like six figures has allowed others to live.)

****

I remember one of the first times I heard six figures was from a knucklehead kid, probably in middle school. He said, “Well your dad makes six figures doesn’t he?”

It seemed like so much money. Six figures.

Most of my time in the Air Force I made six figures but I never knew it. I always guessed I was around $70k for some reason. I think it just seemed so out of reach for a measly military member, and I never really cared about money so I never totaled it up.

****

But something funny happened to me the other day as I had time to consider my life. I support myself and my wife and her son and our two toddlers. (That’s five.) Then, I support my ex wife, her husband, our daughter, and their daughter. (That’s four more, for a total of nine.)

Six figures in 2024 can support nine people, four adults and five kids. Maybe six figures is enough. Maybe I need to shut my pie-hole and stop complaining.

****

For he is good. Yes, he is good.

The Dumbest Sentence You Will Read This Week

Keep in mind, taking a moment to review this sentence isn’t an exercise in futility. Instead, try to think of it like a crossword puzzle, word search, or Word Jumble. Better yet, think of it like one of those mensa questions, “How many words can you make out of the letters in the name, ‘Peter Piper’?” As in, “How many inconsistencies can you find with the reasoning inherent to this sentence’s claim(s)?” And then divide that number by the number value your highest completed grade (ie 3 for 3rd grade, 16 for an ungrad degree completed in 4 years etc). Whoever has the highest number wins.

Here’s the doozy:

Experts estimate that nearly half of pregnancies are unintended, so limits to abortion access could affect the number of births.

Happy Hunting!

Fatherhood: Stopping Entropy

I randomly clicked on a video explanation of the thermodynamic concept of “entropy” by Brian Cox. In it, he is sitting on a sand dune type local, an abandoned, weather-worn house as the backdrop—both concretely and symbolically.

I randomly watched my two toddlers play with (generally “break” would be more the appropriate description) their unseemly number of toys—unseemly as I never wanted to turn my children into spoiled brats and so am not sure how it came to this.

Did I just repeat myself?

Spiritual truths, such as entropy, take nothing more than observation, certainly not formal education.

Brian who? An on-location TV special is necessary which explains what any father knows?

The real question, the remaining question, of course, is when (if ever) do humans stop destroying everything they touch?

The answer: some combination of—

1. The advent of written language.

2. Writing down observations that can be confirmed.

3. Writing down laws—with the express purpose of sticking to the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

Bear in mind, fellow fathers, entire civilizations have never avoided entropy.

So let’s get to work.

Flattery for Women. Like in This Post I Am Complimenting a Woman. Seriously.

Women don’t get “a pass” in my book. People who know me truly, know this about me truly.

The “compliment” that I read in a book and inspired this post is great (still included at the end), but in truth, “Women don’t get ‘a pass’ in my book,” (my hook for the post) is actually about the best compliment I could ever pay y’all.

You’re not weak; you’re not “special” in some “need extra allowances” sort of way. Dishes are dirty after you do them, same as men. You can figure out how to pull into a garage correctly, same as men. Wooden utensils still get ruined when left to soak absentmindedly in the sink for long periods of time. Some ice cream scoops are not dishwasher safe, for me and for you too. Kids don’t learn obedience only from fathers. Neither do they learn strength and steely character only from fathers. You do not get a pass, women. Hear me?

The following comes from Jack London’s short story, “The Wisdom of the Trail.” Sitka Charley is an injun, back when there were those. As for nearly all London tales, the setting is the great white Northlands. The only two words I would add is, “…land…sea…and air!”

****

“Sitka Charley did not know this kind of woman. Five minutes before, he did not even dream of taking charge of the expedi-tion; but when she came to him with her wonderful smile and her straight clean English, and talked to the point, without pleading or persuading, he had incontinently yielded. Had there been a softness and appeal to mercy in the eyes, a tremble to the voice, a taking advantage of sex, he would have stiffened to steel; instead her clear-searching eyes and clear-ringing voice, her utter frankness and tacit assumption of equality, had robbed him of his reason. He felt, then, that this was a new breed of woman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days he knew why the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and why the sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them. Tender and soft! Day after day he watched her, muscle-weary, exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in a perennial refrain. Tender and soft! He knew her feet had been born to easy paths and sunny lands, strangers to the moccasined pain of the North, unkissed by the chill lips of the frost, and he watched and marveled at them twinkling ever through the weary day.”

Final Blog Name Change

Just a quick note to didactically state that this is still Captain’s Log, which became Pete’s Blog.

I recently changed it to: “The Impression I Get, I Give” after still feeing unresolved about what the blogs are supposed to convey. They are convey, and have always conveyed, impressions. They might just change your life, too, though. (It was an Emerson essay on Thoreau that recently brought the word “impression” to mind, if you must know.)

Some Days Are Dark

H- hasn’t spoken to me since boldly declaring to me on a random phone call (why don’t kids know how to use the phone?) that she wasn’t coming to Christmas and didn’t understand why I wasn’t “getting it”.

I don’t stop believing in Jesus on dark days. Yet I cannot deny that there is an appeal to giving up on god and all–that is part of the darkness.

But I will unashamedly confess that on dark days, days when I take inventory of my life only to realize more fully that there has been a general lack of support (social, financial, or emotional) from anyone ever remotely falling under the umbrella of “family”, I do conclude god is unknowable.

We Must Stop the Hype!!

I have a rule. Each day, I won’t read anything until I have read from the Bible.

On night shifts, I sometimes break this rule, but only in its relative sense. The calendar day might have changed, but if the morning is the end of my shift, then I think I can justify perusing whatever strikes my fancy without incurring divine wrath.

The calendar day, then, today started with one of my favorite things to read: eulogies. And not just any eulogies opened the day, this April 20th of 2024, but the ones about the victims of the Columbine school massacre. If you have never read them, you owe it to yourself to find them and read them. They are terrible. The parents, or writers or whoever, should be ashamed. Did these people even know they were parents before their kids were murdered? You wouldn’t think so if you only read the eulogies. Nearly every sentence, and the sentiments behind them, vie unceasingly for the award of “Worst Ever Written”, but one stands out. “Her mother, Dawn Anna, helped coach the team.” What? I’m so confused. Your kid has been murdered and you want the world to know something about you? Lady: you had maybe 8 sentences with which to pay tribute to your daughter and you used one to highlight that showed up to a couple cheer practices? What is wrong with you?

Anyhow.

That was the first thing I read. The next was the Bible, Exodus chapter 35. Exodus should really be called “Building Yahweh’s Tabernacle”, if books should be entitled with words that indicate the general content. But what do I know? This particular section is not exactly riveting material, but the idea of taking a contribution only from people who possess a willing heart is certainly a good balance and teacher to how local churches should talk about tithes and offerings. And I can happily report that the Black Baptists are of a mind with scripture, in their words at least. “…A cheerful giver…” is almost always the only encouragement/exhortation when the weekly collection is taken up. Don’t believe me? Then head to a service tomorrow and see for yourself. (“cheerful giver”)

Next, I read “1.3 Volume forces and surface forces acting on a fluid” or, rather, part of that section of G.K. Batchelor’s An Introduction to Fluid Dynamics. I picked this book up to investigate if it may contain information useful to my quest to more fully understand the area of my professional operation—the sky. Today’s reading had another benefit, being this part of a sentence, “…is of course –S(n,x,t)dA, and since this is also the force represented by S(-n,x,t)dA, we see that S must be an odd function of n.” (S = Sigma, which character my keyboard here doesn’t easily offer for use.) My step-son is working through algebra and here was a perfect example of the truth of the assertion, “Math is the language of science.” So I called him to tell him so. You can imagine for yourself how excited he was to be shown this.

Next on the reading list for today was Sir Isaac Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, the section called “Scholium”. And it was amazing. I’ll just add here that the biggest lie you’ve ever believed is that science is hard. The actual inventors, Newton being King Inventor, necessarily make it easy to understand. Pick it up the next chance you have.

Then it was onto the essay The Art of Biography by Virginia Woolf. In it, she essentially announces that “biography” is neither fact, nor fiction, but something else entirely—and maybe the best thing.

Why do I share my readings of today with the blogosphere? Because I remember where I was as Columbine unfolded (at school myself, excitedly awaiting the final bell so I could go to work and then go see some new sci-fi movie, The Matrix, that was getting rave reviews) and I remember that people wanted me to believe the shooting was momentous and carried great import. And 25 years later, I know through and through with a certainty that is rarely found—they were wrong. No one cared then. No one cares now. The massacre should hardly have made the news. The eulogies should never make the news. It was a tragic, senseless crime. It was nothing more or less. Move on.

We must stop the hype!!