What Is An American?

Several years ago, it was reported, a newspaper in Pakistan published an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American. To let everyone know what an American is, Peter Ferrara, associate professor of law at Virgina's George Mason University School of Law, wrote the following that was published in the National Review.

An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani, or Afghan. An American may also be a Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navajo, Apache, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as Native Americans.

An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there are more Muslims in American than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them chooses. An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world.

The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God given right of each person the pursuit of happiness.

An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need. When Afghanistan was overrun by the Soviet army 20 years ago, Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country. As of the morning of September 11, 2001, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor in Afghanistan.

Americans welcome the best. The best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best athletes. But they also welcome the least. A national symbol of America, the Statue of Liberty, welcomes your tired and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These in fact are the people who built America. Some of them were working in the Twin Towers the morning of September 11 earning a better life for their families. I've been told that the World Trade Center victims were from at least 30 other countries, cultures and first languages, including those that aided and abetted the terrorists.

So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did, so did General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and every bloodthirsty tyrant in the last 200 years of history of the world. But in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom. Everyone who holds that spirit, everywhere, is an American.

You Can Change A Life

Yesterday I was looking through some things I had received over the years. I don't recall who sent me this but after rereading it I felt it deserved a more public forum.

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books.

I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running towards him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him.

He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes.

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, I saw a tear in his eye.

I picked up his glasses, handed them to him and said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives."

He looked at me and said: "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books and asked where he lived. As it turned out he lived near me, so I asked why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would never hang out with a private school kid. We talked all the way home and I carried some of his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play football with me and some of my friends. He said yes.

We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle the more I liked him and, my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said: "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with that pile of books everyday!"

He simply laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years we became best friends. When we were seniors, we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown and I was going to Duke. I knew we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem.

He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class and I teased him all the time about being a nerd.

He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak.

Graduation day and Kyle looked great. He was one of those guys that had really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him. Sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days.

I could see he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said: "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one), smiled and said "Thanks."

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat and began. "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through these tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach ... but mostly your friends ...

I am here to tell you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I'm going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met.

He had planned to kill himself over that weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying all his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.

"Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable."

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us about his weakest moment.

I saw his mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile.

Not until that moment did I realize its depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life.

True Survivors .... But For How Long???

Life in southern Louisiana has always been hard. But the past few years has only served to make it even more demanding. With rock bottom prices for seafood, the devastation of Hurricane Katrina and now, the unchecked oil gushing from the remnants of BP's (British Petroleum) Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion.

                                       Oil seeping into the estuaries on May 9th

Echoing throughout the small fishing communities one can hear the voices saying: "I don't know how I'm gonna feed my family, I don't know how I'm gonna pay my bills."

For watermen across the Gulf Coast, waiting is now a way of life. Waiting to see where that massive oil slick will wind. Waiting for the crab and shrimp zones to reopen, which may not happen for years. Waiting to make some money.

In many ways it is a scene reminiscent of the aftermath of Katrina, which tore through these very same fishing communities and seafood harvesting waters in August, 2005.

Now BP officials are trying to find a successful solution to cap the well. Even when or if the company does, there's no telling when fishing will resume.

Dock owners who buy seafood are struggling too. Darlene Kimball, who owns Kimball's Seafood in Pass Christian, Miss., got only half the shrimp she wanted because people were stocking up. Now she's having a hard time unloading it - everyone thinks it's contaminated, she told the Associated Press.

The docks in her town are empty, save for a few fishermen working on their boats.

"A lot of people gonna lose every damn thing over this," said James Raffeo, 54, who manages the dock where boats would typically spend thousands of dollars a day on supplies, ice and diesel fuel.

In a small Louisiana town, ironically named Hopedale, crews have retrieved hundreds of crab traps from near Breton Island, dumping blue crabs, stone crabs and mullet back into the sea because the waters have closed to all fishing.

                                               Hopedale, St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana

A few miles closer to the Gulf another community, Buras, La., remains an isolated settlement with no doctor, no school, no pharmacy and no grocery store. After the hurricane, the local diocese closed the Catholic church many in the Asian community, made up mostly of Vietnamese and Cambodians,   had attended.

                                                   Buras, Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana

"I don't know how I'm going to pay my car insurance," Cung "Kim" Tran, a deckhand on a commercial fishing boat, declared at a community meeting last Thursday night in Buras. "I don''t know how I'm going to pay the note on my car or my house. Can you tell me what to do?"

Others expressed concern regarding how they were going to buy groceries or fill needed prescriptions, or pay their utility bills.

BP has presented the public face of offering jobs to the watermen to aid in the clean-up and containment of the more than 200,000 gallons of oil that is gushing into the waters everyday.

In order to participate in this effort all crews must be trained in hazardous waste procedures and safety. They asked residents to sign "contracts." Yet, many of the immigrants are still learning English and could not understand all the legalese written on the paper. The "contract" was a liability waiver local residents were asked to sign to enroll in safety and hazardous materials handling courses, required by BP for paid jobs. The waiver caused so much distrust and confusion in Palquemines Parish because many thought they would be signing away their rights to file claims over the spill. The forms were soon dropped.

Many Asian immigrants who have worked in Plaquemines Parish for decades do not own their own boats. Many also moved to New Orleans after losing their homes to Hurricane Katrina, but still return to Plaquemines everyday to work.

"Since Katrina there is no school here for our kids, so we had to move to New Orleans," said shrimper Houston Le, 40. "But I still come here every day, even now with the fishing closed I am coming, but BP says it is only hiring people they say live in Plaquemines." He told a reporter with the Christian Science Monitor.  It seems this is Catch 22 all over again.

Now lawyers from all over are flocking to this devastated region. Like sharks in a feeding frenzy. "They come here and go to meetings, drive around and walk up to people asking if they need a lawyer to represent them," said another Southeast Asian fisherman.

These people do not need more lawyers. They do not need volunteers to help them. What they do need is help with everyday bills, food, and medication. Just a helping hand to help them survive this crisis.

For more information about how you can help please visit the following websites:

• For the Buras and Palquemines Parish area - http://www.palqueminesparish.com
• For the Hopewell and St. Bernard Parish area - http://www.sbpg.net
• The Louisiana Department of Social Services (DSS) and the Second Harvest Food Bank Greater New Orleans and Acadiana who are helping to feed so many affected by the event at http://no-hunger.org/Donate.aspx

Women

There are times I open my email and find a piece from a friend worth sharing. This is one such example. My friend wrote:

I was driving to work yesterday when I observed a female driver, who cut right in front of a pickup truck, causing the driver to veer onto the shoulder to avoid hitting her. This evidently angered the driver enough that he hung his arm out the window and gave the woman the finger.

"Man, that guy is stupid," I thought to myself. I always smile nicely and wave in a sheepish manner whenever a female does anything to me in traffic, and here's why:

I drive 48 miles each way to work.

That's 98 miles each day.

Of these, 16 miles each way is bumper to bumper.

Most of the bumper-to-bumper is on an 8 lane highway.

There are seven cars every 40 feet for 32 miles.

That works out to 982 cars every mile, or 31,424 cars.

Even though the rest of the 32 miles is not bumper-to-bumper, I figure I pass at least another 4,000 cars.

That brings the number to something like 36,000 cars I pass everyday.

Statistically, females drive half of these. That's 18,000 women drivers.

In any given group of females, 1 in 28 has PMS.

That's 642.

According to Cosmopolitan, 70 percent describe their love life as dissatisfying or unrewarding.

That's 449.

According to the National Institutes of Health, 22 percent of all females have seriously considered suicide or homicide.

That's 98.

And, 34 percent describe men as their biggest problem.

That's 33.

According the the National Rifle Association, five percent of all females carry weapons and this number is increasing.

That means that EVERY SINGLE DAY , I drive past at least one female that has a lousy love life, thinks men are her biggest problem, has seriously considered suicide or homicide, PMS and is armed.

Give her the finger? I don't think so!

Drive safe and have a great week.

Become a Butterfly

Every year in the spring and fall thousands of our senior citizens migrate with their recreational vehicles (RVs). They leave a cold climate for the warmth of Florida or the southwest then return with the advent of warmer weather.

Several years ago, I was in an RV park in southwest Florida when I discovered many are not the brave traveler exploring new places but rather seeking comfort in a cocoon with their peers.

During a typical evening gathering, the snowbirds came together for fellowship and entertainment. Not for a bingo game or a dance but for a simple pot-luck dinner that is standard fare for many RV parks. I was somewhat surprised to learn the conversation was not about out of the way places they discovered but rather how many doctors they were seeing and how many different medications they were taking each day.

One man, in his middle or late sixties, was educating me on each of the 23 medications he swallowed on a daily basis. Proud of each one like a veteran telling about the ribbons that decorated his uniform in years past. Then, he made a statement that seemed to me to be a wake-up call.

"I'm not afraid of dying you know," and added for emphasis, "I'm really not!"

His confidence and demeanor supported his declaration and I have no doubt he could face death without great anxiety or fear. But as I told him anecdotes of the places I had visited during the past few years, which ranged from Florida to Mexico and Guatemala; returning by way of Yellowstone and Teton National Parks and middle America. He began to tell me why he could not travel that way.

It was not because he could not afford such a trip or because he did not have an RV capable of an extended journey, it was because he tied himself to his doctors and his pills. His bravery was evident with the diseases he faced every day. But, in a way, these medical problems became his cocoon, his security blanket. It was probably true he had no fear of dying but after listening to his litany of daily pills my mouth went into gear before my brain filtered the statement and I told him: "I honestly believe you're not afraid of dying but I really think you're terrified of living."

This uttered observation ended the conversation as abruptly as if I had slapped him and I guessed I had alienated my newfound friend. As I walked back to my RV I explored the cocoon theory.

Here is an entire segment of our society, retirees with RVs but their only travels are from a home base to a winter haven. They are capable of navigating the highways in everything from 40 foot Class A motorhomes or towing a travel trailer or fifth wheel trailer, sometimes nearly equaling the size of an 18-wheeler. So the excuse of not being able to meet the demands of travel is not a valid one. After all, they are riding bikes, walking and often playing golf everyday. So, I thought, there was only one reason left, the psychological.

With today's health care system and national chain pharmacies where computerized systems allow for prescriptions to be filled across the country just like at home, there is no reason not to explore the places you've been reading about. It is just a matter of realizing that the fear of dying has been replaced with the fear of living.

The snowbirds I've met leave the familiarity of their home base to travel hundreds and sometimes over a thousand miles to seek the comfort of a different climate. They dare to navigate their RVs across miles of interstate highways or back roads. Facing all kinds of possible calamities along the way. They do this without fear. But to leave the self-imposed comfort zone of that regular trip and strike out in a different direction takes no more daring. Why not play golf at a place you always wanted to or take your walk and watch the antics of roadrunners instead of herons in the marsh?

As the gentleman in Florida said: "I'm not afraid of dying." Why not adopt another equally brave attitude and conquer another fear, that of living. Break out of your cocoon, spread your wings and become the beautiful butterfly that savors life with all the opportunities it offers. Oh yes, the gentleman in Florida approached me the day following our conversation and told me: "I thought about what you said," then he paused and added, "you gave me something to think about and next year we're going out west to see places my wife and I haven't been."

A Few Thoughts on Terrorism

Many years ago I was taught the definition of terrorism was to disrupt the normal way of life. This could be accomplished by threat, intimidation, overt acts of violence or fear.

By this definition, we have allowed the terrorists to win. That is to say their acts have, without question, disrupted our way of life. Not since Pearl Harbor has there been an attack on American soil, then came September 11, 2001 and our world changed.

The most recent event in New York City's Times Square only serves to reinforce the fact we, our country, our citizens are targets of those whose ideology is based in fantasy. Yes fantasy, the root that forms another word ... fanatic.

Fanatics share certain traits. Among them, the wearing of psychological blinders; they choose to see the world in a narrow focus where nothing matters other than a blind obedience to their cause. And, they refuse to hear anything that challenges their beliefs.

Suicide bombers are not unique to the 21st century. Some 40 years ago many of us remember civilians, including women and children, walking into American military camps in Vietnam and detonating themselves with the aim of killing as many Americans as they could.

Much has been written about the "legal" protections and due diligence afforded to those who wish to do us harm. It has been said so many times: "We are a nation of laws." But, there is also an old adage about fighting fire with fire.

We (our government) know the location of many terrorist training camps. The most famous are those in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Terrorist training camps have also operated in the Netherlands, and in Lebanon and Syria, as well as, several African countries.

While there have been attacks on some of these, many are simply observed. Graduates of these camps are more than willing to come and have come to the United States with the intent to cause death and destruction here.

There have been times in the past when I did something then informed my superior. When I was questioned why didn't I advise him or solicit his opinion prior to my actions I would simply respond: "It's easier to ask  for forgiveness than permission."

Perhaps, we should adopt this attitude and strike the terrorist training camps when our intelligence operatives confirm that is what they are. It would certainly send a message we're not going to wait until an arrest is made and we can track evidence to that location. Let's just eradicate that location and eliminate that particular threat. Then we can ask for forgiveness of the particular nation involved.

The fanatics enjoy the security of their camps and breathing easy there. If they thought the luxury of breathing might be cut short without the glory of dying for a cause, maybe, just maybe, they might realize they don't want to die from an explosion of an unseen drone's missile.

Exercises in Thought

Throughout our lives we question many things. Some of us seemingly make a career of questioning authority, while some of us question things just to perplex others. I simply enjoy doing both.

The following are examples of a few things some thinking people might wonder about and lead others to question their sanity.

• Why is there a light in the fridge and not in the freezer?
• Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?
• Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time but don't point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?
• If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?
• Did you ever notice when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
• Why do we press harder on the remote control when we know the batteries are getting weak?
• Why do banks charge a fee on "insufficient funds" when they know there is not enough?
• Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
• Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest but ducks when someone throws a gun at him?

 Then, there are some thoughts, when uttered aloud, people look at you as if you just did something in a swimming pool that goes against all accepted behavior. For example pondering such religious truths as:

• Muslims do not recognize Jews as God's chosen people.
• Jews do not recognize Jesus Christ as the Messiah.
• Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian world.
• Baptists do not recognize each other at Hooters.

But, as a native Texan, this is one of my favorites. One Texan defined political correctness this way:
"A doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical liberal minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end."

Have a great week!