We were assigned to write an essay on the theme
preserving democracy for the American Legion or VFW
contest. I forget which group sponsored the contest, it seems.
I recall the solemn moment I realized the cost of loss of democracy
as I pondered the yet-to-be-written script of how it could be done.
Democracy could be lost and its greatest strength laid askew
across our inattentive road to future growth and glory,
an old and Founding-of-America story.
As if !
As if !
I scoffed at myself as I looked around and listened to
the soldiers, sailors and airmen recently returned from WWII.
Those who fought against fascism and for democracy over there
would never permit freedom’s loss here. They would not !
And yet !
And yet !
I could clearly see all around me the powerful need
of individuals cowered by fear of others’ success.
“Keeping up with the Joneses” had become a litany,
a passion, a way of life, that had become de rigeur.
The challenge of battles now laid aside no longer sustained the pride.
Competing to win became a holy grail.
Leagues formed for bowlers and ballers;
their boys played Little League as parents hollered.
Trophies filled up cases with virtuous wins.
Still, this was not enough to satisfy anyone.
I heard the call and response to the world all around me,
“At least I am free, white and twenty-one.”
What ?
What ?
Free, I understood. That is what America stands for, right ?
But, white ? How is that a right and why does it matter ?
Where was that coming from? Where was that fight ?
On the movie screen with John Wayne and his troops
who pushed Native people aside and onto reservations
to avoid annihilation, hiding American’s need to claim
a false superiority, to be better than someone, anyone.
For if we are all equal, none of us can be better than another.
On the television screen we saw burning crosses held aloft
by robed and hooded Southerners hiding their sense of inferiority.
In the North the inferiority hid secretly, under false pride
that claimed no true victory over the South’s perfidy
when it refused to stay within the nation, and hurt our surety
that our Union of States could survive as equal and free
despite the legacy of enslaving people who should be free.
Viet-Nam was aflame, bombed and napalmed in our name.
Those old enough to fight and die were too young
to buy a drink or vote. Most not yet twenty-one.
Ah, I see.
Ah, I see.
And so I did not write an essay; but, a play.
Two characters with Iron Curtain names to delay
the defensive need to deny the truth I would display.
A young nephew visited his uncle in jail,
conversing through the bars of his cell,
trying to understand how it came to be his uncle
was not, and never would be, free.
The 1st. Amendment had become distorted by media,
by political ads and an opposition party
who eschewed the growing power of those formerly subdued
to salve white supremacy, and simple jealousy.
The 2d. Amendment had become distorted by the NRA and KKK;
armed to the teeth they would say is the only way
to keep America white and free as it was meant to be.
“Be careful, young nephew,” his uncle warned.
There are those who would do you harm to silence you.
“Elections no longer count, when the count is misconstrued.”
Only in the final moment, of the final scene, we knew
freedom had been lost in the USA at some time hence.
Freedom is only as strong as me and you, equals
not better than one another, Americans all.
Vote now before America falls.
It took over 60 years to see the words I put on the page
that long ago day, become reality.
The wars fought long ago never ended.
Because human beings always need to know
they are enough, though never better than another, though flawed.
They are treasured and loved more than money and profit.
America need not fall; but, you must vote for those
who recognize who you are and what you could become.
For those who see the possibility of a future
where all men, women and children are the true treasure
of a nation where all are free to engage in democracy.
Vote now. Not for the past; but, for a future that can last.
annarino writes 
A SENSE OF HUMOR CAN SAVE THE WORLD
A sense of humor may save us all. One cannot grip a weapon of words or worsewhile laughing. Some of us actually fall down laughing as muscles relax beyond support of our frames, or our frame of mind. It is just too difficult to attack another while laughing, especially if one can laugh at one’s self. The serious-minded sometimes misunderstand such self-effacing laughs. They mistakenly believe one is laughing at them.
I love to laugh. It stops the fingers from reaching for weapons I carry in my mind’s pocket, the sharp words I can wield like a knife. Better I laugh aloud during an argument than pull out such words and attack.
This is one reason the entertainers I most respect are comedians. Court jesters who poke the kings and courts of the world to relieve the tensions in their realms allow peace to reign instead. Keep the world laughing and perhaps war will hold its breath.
My Dad was a comedian. Not as a profession, as a personal trait. His silly grin infected anyone who was within its view. Some of his best work was at funerals. I watched him charm the smiles from mourners, restore their joy and fond memories of the deceased. Quietly he worked the room, or the procession of cars halted on busy paths at the cemetery. Walking form car to car he would stop at each one. In moments the car was shaking and passengers’ shoulders chopping up the view with laughing. As soon as he started the laughter he would move on to the next car. Dad was a master of silliness.
Mom lived life as if it were an Italian opera, full of high drama. Dad was the court jester who brought his audience of children to their feet in glee. Mom learned to make that silly grin, too. We all did. We are a family of grinning fools. We learned to never take life’s difficulties seriously, and to seriously dismiss life’s accomplishments as a humorous surprise.
We were taught to laugh at ourselves. We were taught to admit our human frailty, and view it as a reason for laughter. What a gift from our parents. The gift of not fearing our mistakes, nor fearing to admit them. The ability to sincerely apologize. The ability welcome accountability. The ability to laugh and move on with forgiveness. The ability to openly admit defeat with a smile. The ability to fight our stubborn natures with humor.
I must admit, others often think our wry humorous response to our own mistakes is sarcasm, the lowest form of humor. Sometimes, when our pain is great, the lowest form is all we can muster. I must remind myself to raise the humor up a notch, or two or three. I will never be so good at this as my Dad was. I am too much like Mom and enjoy the Italian opera’s drama, the pull of its force which can mute the humor with tears. Balance is the most I can hope for, until the laughter destroys my balance and I fall laughing at your feet; knowing if I can make you laugh, too, you cannot stomp me into the dust.
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Tagged as comedians, court jester, humor, jokes, laughter, peace, war