THEY DON'T KNOW THE FACTS

 I’ve watched the protests on college campuses until I’m just about to be nauseated with them and the individuals who are participating. That doesn’t mean that Israel receives a free pass from me on this whole situation. Plenty of blame is available for spreading.  

 

I was alive when college students protested the Vietnam War. Never did I belittle or blame veterans for their parts in the conflict. Too many of them were plucked from their youth and trained to kill and destroy the Vietcong. That war dragged on much too long because the leaders of our country chose politics and cash over young lives.  

 

Back then, police weren’t as restrained or forgiving as today’s officers. Those battles in the 60’s and 70’s looked more like a scene from the June 6 insurrection. Officers dispersed protesters with a combination of gases, rubber bullets, and night sticks. On the Kent State campus, national guardsmen went a step too far and left the bodies of slain students and protesters on the ground.    

 

Yes, I’m sure that some outsiders infiltrated the groups to push the more extreme activities. For the most part, students ran the protests and had a major stake in the Vietnam War. Their age group were the ones who were being sent to the war front to fight. Cries to “get out” were meant to save lives of Americans. Most of the protestors were informed about the entire situation.  

 

Presently, college campuses are overrun with protesters. Many of them don’t attend school but are there to support (or stir up trouble). These folks are less than peaceful; film clips show them throwing things at police and destroying property. Tent cities have popped up on campuses, and the inhabitants include outsiders and students. They swear not to leave until their demands are met.  

 

Those demands deal with the situation in Israel and Gaza. They insist that Israel stop its aggression against Hamas and the Palestinian people. More radical voices call for the destruction of Israel as they display the slogan, “From the river to the sea,” a reference to wiping out all Jews and the state of Israel.  

 

I don’t defend all that Israel has done in this situation. At some point much earlier, they should have stopped the fighting and sat at the peace table. With that said, I know that the sudden brutality of Hamas and its wanton disregard for the lives of babies, children, and women is reason enough for Israel to want to destroy the terrorists’ group. When the enemy hides its soldiers and weapons in tunnels underneath neighborhoods and hospitals, difficult decisions must be made.  

 

What is most disturbing about protestors is their inability to verbalize what they are protesting. The fact is that they have no idea, and they hide that ignorance behind the fact that their leaders have told them not to answer any questions about the situation. Students also fail to admit that Israel’s opponents, Hamas and Hezbollah, both identified as terrorist organizations. 

 

The country will continue to support Israel while trying to convince its leaders to meet at the peace table. Young protestors are always free to express their beliefs, but their stances would be much stronger if those things were backed up with research and facts. Knowing the truth is the first duty of anyone who wants to protest against colleges, groups, or our country. That research might begin with the most infamous attacks on Jews during World War II. Understanding of that country’s position might be clearer after doing so.    

 

MADDEN IS SIXTEEN

 Amy and I traveled to Hendersonville to celebrate our grandson’s birthday. He was born on May 1, 2019. On that day, the rain poured, and Nashville flooded. Fifteen years later, the boy is 16 and street legal. Yep, he has a license, so for the next couple of years, his family will be saying prayers and holding our breaths while he is driving on the roads.  

Madden had a soccer game on Saturday, so both sets of his grandparents and his parents opened our folding chairs, waited through an hour-long rain delay, and cheered for him. His team didn’t win, a fact that perturbed the boy since he wanted a good outcome since we were there. Madden played defense and did a magnificent job. He called out assignments to others and ran like a deer to defend uncovered players. His speed amazed me, and his ability to determine a cutoff angle fascinated me.  

What I learned this weekend is that my grandson is a “typical boy.” That sounds strange, but he has been so quiet for so many years that I wasn’t sure if he was a loner or a genius. Madden isn’t any one kind of person. As a toddler, he loved attention and thought his grandparents were the greatest people on the planet. He stayed the week after Memorial Day with us, and we traveled around the area to find adventures that he would enjoy. Most of the time, they were fun ones. However, at one point, he stayed, but Amy had to go to work, so I was left in charge, something that should never happen. The morning was spent in our wooded side yard where we played “dinosaurs.” He would tell me which one to be and how to attack. I won no battles against the boy.  

At some point during the week, I pulled out the riding mower, sat Madden on my lap and let him drive the machine all over our spacious yard. He smiled the entire time and never seemed to tire of the activity.  

On one day, we went inside to eat lunch. I sat him down and slathered a piece of bread wiht peanut butter and jelly. He consumed the sandwich quickly, and we went back outside to ride the mower. While we were one loop of the property, I noticed a rash was developing on the boy’s cheeks. Then it hit me. Madden was allergic to peanuts.  

In an instant, I called Amy to tell her what I had done. She told me to calm down and take Madden to the emergency room. I felt like a child abuser as the staff seemed to stare at me with disgust. Surely, Lacey and Nick never again would let Madden come for a stay at our house. 

My grandson survived and my guilt overwhelmed me for some time. I’m glad Madden remained healthy and that he has found his way in high school. He does well in classes; he took band and then dropped so he could take a math class, a move I’ll never understand. He has friends with whom he “hangs out,” and I don’t want to know what they do. No, I don’t suspect foul play or drugs, but teenagers find incredibly “stupid” activities to take up their free time, just as my friends and I did so many years ago.  

Two things separate our generations: cell phones and video games. We older folks can’t figure out how to use them, and the younger folks can’t live without them. However, when the rare chance comes when Madden isn’t using either device, we have conversations. One happened this weekend. He walked into our bedroom and sat down on the bed. For the next few minutes, we just talked about him—driving, classes, soccer, and any other topic that might pop up. It was the most wonderful time I’d had with my grandson since the day I almost killed him.  

I love teenagers. They are smarter than adults in so many ways. Madden is one of the smartest young persons I know. He has a variety of interests and pulls the same “bone-headed” acts that I once did. He will be a success at whatever he chooses to do because his parents have instilled in him a work ethic and need to complete tasks. Life will be good for him. Let’s all just say prayers each day for his driving safety.  

 

DANGEROUS DETOUR

 Work continues on the new road that will relieve congestion on Ball Camp Pike. Those of us in this end of the county have waited plenty long enough to have completion of the project in sight. The road work began about 15 years ago, but the economy sank like a rock, and the work stopped for years. I talked with one worker who thought this new road might be open for business in about another year. All of us are a bit tired of the inconveniences that have arisen. 

Just recently, Ball Camp Pike was closed at Frostland Lane. Drivers have had to detour onto Frostland, turn right on Wheatland, and, if they follow the sign, wind up right just above the same detour. On the first day of the closing, Amy and I sat on the front porch and watched hundreds of cars drive by. One elderly lady passed us three times as she continued to follow the signs. Little did she know that taking a left at the end of Wheatland would have put out at the right place.  

Turning left proved to be a test of skills for drivers. They entered Boss Road. This is one of the many roads that could be considered “one lane.” Some drivers took their halves in the middle of the road; others pulled over to let cars pass, but their courtesy turned into a disaster for homeowners who face plenty of work to repair damages to their yards. 

These driving tourists in our subdivision made no changes in their driving habits. Just as they did on Ball Camp Pike, motorists drove like the proverbial “bats out of hell.” Speed bumps had no effect on slowing them down. We watched several vehicles buck like wild horses as they flew over the bumps.  

Some of the drivers were morons. They pulled onto the subdivision road and immediately maneuvered to the left to pass other cars that were going too slowly. I yelled at one driver, but my protest went unheeded. Several neighbors walk their dogs during the day, but doing so is a dangerous proposition these days. I’m not nimble enough to walk Sadie and jump into a yard to avoid a speeding car.  

To add insult to injury, rumor has it that a lane will connect Ball Camp Pike to   Andes Road and will lead to the renaming of the first to the second. I’ve lived on or just off of Ball Camp Pike most of my life, and I just don’ t like the change. When the project began, the finished road was going to be named the New Ball Camp Pike. For some reason, it was then changed to the Schaad Road Extension.  

I’d like to think that this new road will cut down on the snarling lines of traffic, However, the area’s open land is being filled with subdivisions that will dump hundreds of cars to the roads again. I seldom go far from home, but when all this road work is done, I might choose to never leave or be unable to do so. Our scruffy little city has outgrown its roads. I won’t hold my breath and wait for improvements.  

STILL ALIVE

 This past weekend, I was thrilled to find out that my neighbors weren’t dead. I mean nearly all of them. They disappeared at the end of October 2023. So few sightings of them had me wondering if they’d moved or died. Not until last Saturday did they prove to be kicking and living normal lives.  Out from their houses did they exit, and the rest of the day the entire neighborhood was alive.  

Such things happen every spring. The weather cooperated for the first time in several weekends. Cold temperatures, biting winds, and rain gave way to blue skies with a sun warming everything. Trees produced new leaves, along with fuzzy things from oaks and whirlybirds from maples. The buttercups had finished blooming, but other sleeping plants began pushing through the soil and mulch for another year.  

Because I’m a mowing junky, I’d cut the grass and leftover fall leaves half a dozen times. Now, the sound of mowers being cranked and curses when those machines wouldn’t start echoed through the neighborhood. Weedeaters chewed away at curbsides and flower bed edges as they neatened up yards. I call them yards because in Ball Camp, we care most about the ground being covered in green plants. Clover, fescue, Bermuda grass, or running vines\ meet suit our needs. Oh, some folks toil in their yards to have them look like show places, but we all know that the only way to have pure grass lawns is for every neighbor to do the same thing. Our lots are usually much larger than those in new subdivisions, so the maintenance products needed to produce lawns would cost small fortunes.  

Most folks rested from their labors either because they were out of shape after the winter or they spent a few minutes talking to neighbors. Some wives had visited nurseries and were raring to go to fill beds with flowers and shrubs and seeds. In many cases, that meant the husbands stood ready with their shovels to dig the holes for the plants. Sometimes, couples argued over the whereabouts of those nursery purchases. Men didn’t want to place them in the mowing area he sticks because that meant dodging with the mower and weedeating  around them.  

Although I’m not a fan of them, motorcycles hit the roads as folks took their first day trips to places like the mountains or the famous Dragon. Large cycles cruised while other bikes screamed as they passed. Those loud motorcycles invaded the peaceful day and caused neighborhood residents to look up and silently curse the squalling machines.  

The birds returned with louder than usual voices. Their chirps were more like screams. The robins returned to my carport to once again build a nest right over the right side of my car. We warred for several days. The birds tried to build a nest, but I kept knocking the sticks and grass from the 2 x 6 beam. They finally gave up and moved to another location, but not before bombarding my car with poop and mud. I suppose I deserved the vindictive actions.  

For the next few months, I’m looking forward to being outside. I’ll ride the lawnmower and use all my other tools to keep my place looking as nice as possible. Some of my time will be spent talking with neighbors, playing golf, and sitting on the front porch or at poolside. Thank you, God, for giving us spring. It renews our spirits and beautifies our surroundings. We are lucky people, and I’m glad we’re all still alive.