Fear Meets Empathy

The sheriff turned off the county blacktop onto a gravel road. The young man in the backseat of the cruiser was both handcuffed and blindfolded. Fearful already, the sound of gravel under the tires put a quake through his body.

Blindfolded or not, Matt Engle sensed the rolling hills and curves as the cruiser traveled about eight miles before stopping. When the car came to a stop the engine was shut off. Night sounds came in through the sheriff’s open window.  He turned toward his passenger.

“Now son, I’m gonna’ get you outta’ this car and walk you a short distance. You are not to speak nor make any move that might cause me to believe that you want to do anything but cooperate. Do you clearly understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Matt wanted to ask what was happening and why he had been arrested but he thought better of it. For now, he would follow instructions.

The rear door of the cruiser opened and he felt a hand on his arm draw him out. Another rested on his head and pressed down gently as he stepped out of the car. Once on his feet, the gravel crunched under Matt’s boots as he was guided about fifty feet from the car.

The hand that had guided him let loose and he heard footsteps on the gravel going back to the direction of the sheriff’s cruiser. A car door opened and closed. An engine was started and sounds of the car faded into the distance leaving only the night sounds of the woods.

The music of crickets played in the darkness around Matt. A bullfrog called out. There was a faint owl hoot from somewhere far off.

With his hands cuffed behind him Matt couldn't remove the blindfold. Then, through the blindfold, he sensed bright lights upon him. A silhouette moved toward him from the lights. The silhouette had a familiar voice. It was his girlfriend’s grandfather.

“Young man, I have some questions for you that have to do with your interest in my granddaughter. All that I ask is that you answer my questions honestly and completely. I will not tolerate any attempts at deception.”

Matt did not immediately respond. Fear sent a quiver through his body.

“Do you understand me, boy?”

The tone of the old man’s voice was calm and even but the words that he spoke clearly imparted his intended meaning. Ashley and Matt had been dating for about three months. She was a high school junior and he was a senior.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson.”

A hand removed Matt’s blindfold from behind him. Ashley’s grandfather, though silhouetted, was identifiable by the car headlights behind him. Matt squinted into the bright lights.

“First let me explain some things to you, son. You see, my wife and I were blessed with five wonderful sons. It took another generation for us to know the pure joy of having girls in our family. They were given to us as granddaughters.” The old man paused and studied Matt’s face. “Now, Ashley’s father, my son, has the responsibility of two other daughters and their mother. Therefore, as much as he is obligated to protect his family, he has less room for risk than I do. You see, son, I’m just a crazy old man in the autumn of a very good life. Are you beginning to get my meaning, son?”

Matt’s mind raced with worry as to what the old man might know of his intimacy with Ashley and what might not have been acceptable to the elders. His first attempt to respond cracked in his throat. He cleared his throat and was successful on the second effort.

“Yes sir.”

“Are your intentions with my granddaughter honorable?”

Matt couldn't lie but he feared telling the truth. Unimaginable fear triggered his bladder to empty. He could feel the warmth spiraling half around and down his left leg under his dungarees. His body involuntarily convulsed with the fear that was tightening around him.

Leon Johnson didn't miss the scent of fresh urine but he didn't let on. He was trying to be patient. He repeated the question but, this time, the words were much more deliberate.

“Are your intentions with my granddaughter honorable? Answer the question, son.”

The three words “answer the question” echoed in Matt’s mind. That was it. All he had to do was answer the question.

“Yes sir, Mr. Johnson. My intentions with Ashley are nothing but honorable. I like her very much. I would never intentionally hurt her.”

Matt thought that the old man’s face was beginning to relax and soften. The two men each gazed into the other’s soul through the depths of the eyes looking back at them.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Oh, yes sir!”

The two men, one young and one old, continued to search the other’s eyes. Then the old man raised his right arm in a circular gesture. Five more pair of headlights lit up the night in a semi-circle around the two men.

No less than twelve silhouettes were closing around them now. In addition, Matt heard the gravel crunch under footsteps behind him. Two hands gripped each of Matt’s wrists from behind.

This time fear let his bowel loose into his whitey tighties. His knees started to buckle but, with a steadying hand on his arm, he regained himself enough to stay standing. A key turned in the handcuffs and they were removed.

“I ain't gonna’ need you men. You can go on home now. Thank you for being here, though.”

Without another response, the silhouettes turned back to the headlights. All but Leon Johnson’s vehicle filed out and down the gravel road toward their homes. Leon’s nostrils twitched.

“Did you have another accident, boy?”

“Yes sir… you had me scared half to death.”

A younger man came from behind Matt with the handcuffs and stood alongside of his grandfather. Matt recognized him as Ashley’s cousin. Jeff was about Matt’s build.

“I have some clothes at the hunting cabin that will fit him, Grandpa. He can shower there.”

“A’ight. Matt, we’re gonna’ take you to clean up but you’re gonna’ have to ride in the back of my pick-up as you are now. I am sincerely sorry for the trouble but I just cain’t have you in my cab like that.”

Too embarrassed to speak, Matt nodded. The cabin was just a mile farther down the road.

At the cabin, on Jeff’s suggestion, Matt stripped in the yard. Most of the mess stayed with his whitey tighties. He made use of a garden hose before Jeff showed him to the shower and clean clothing. 

The two men were waiting for Matt in the great room of the cabin when he finished. The ride back to town was quiet at first. Feeling some confidence, Matt broke the silence.

“Mr. Johnson, may I tell you something?”

“You certainly can, son.”

“I understand your desire to protect your granddaughter more than you may know.”

“How is that, son?”

Matt went on to tell the story of his older sister, of whom he had only vague memories. Most of his memories are from what his mother has told him. His father has never talked about her.

Matt’s sister, Jeannie, became pregnant when she was seventeen-years-old. The man was nineteen. What Jeannie said of the incident clearly made it a date rape. She had said “no” over and over throughout the entire ordeal.

Jeannie didn’t tell her parents anything until she realized that she was carrying a child. By then, there was no evidence to bring charges against the man. He denied forcing himself on her.

The young man made Jeannie out to be a slut. He insisted that he was only taking his turn with a toy that had been around for quite a few rides. In fact, he had taken her virginity and much more.

 Jeannie lost the baby in mid-term. She went from being a top achiever in school and extra-curricular activities to a drop-out and began using drugs. It took her eleven months to destroy herself.

At the burial, Jeannie’s father saw the catalyst, in the crowd of mourners that had caused the last year and a half of misery and loss. Some say that it was guilt that brought him there. To Jeannie’s father, in the pain of his losing his beautiful daughter, it was pure and blatant audacity.

Jeannie’s father beat that young man nearly to death right there at his daughter’s burial before she was lowered into the ground. Several other people were injured for trying to stop him. The man did actually die a few days later in the hospital.

Matt lost his father while he served jail time for manslaughter. At the end of his sentence he came back home to continue taking care of his family but he was never whole again. The light was no longer in his eyes. He had given up his soul to avenge his daughter.

The family moved to another state in order to start fresh when Matt’s father returned. They were provided for much better with the father home but Matt never had a father again. His love of life had died with his daughter.

“You see, Mr. Johnson, you didn't need to scare the shit out of me. Whether or not Ashley and I devote our lives to each other remains to be seen. We're still very young. One thing is certain though. I’ll never do anything less than honorable toward your granddaughter or any other woman. I can’t be a part of the pain that I've seen for somebody doing less. I've seen beauty wither and die before it could fully blossom. I've seen a mother go on in spite of the permanent pain of losing her child. I've seen a shell of man, who couldn't protect what was most precious to him, continue in his duties while incapable of joy for his efforts. I've suffered because these were the people closest to me.”

Matt paused. As he continued his words were of empathy and sincere respect.

“Do you believe now that my intentions with Ashley are honorable, Mr. Johnson?”

The old man would not turn his head toward Matt. He didn't want the young man to see his glazed eyes. He spoke softly, yet deliberately.

“I reckon I do, son... I reckon I do.”

A tear escaped down the tough old man’s weathered cheek.

Shower and Drip Dry

We had a small, out of town, family reunion this weekend that involved my son, two of his daughters and I sharing hotel accommodations. On Saturday afternoon, the girls were preparing to use the hotel pool with their cousin. They had towels from the hotel bathroom under their arms.

I stopped them before they left and encouraged them to use pool towels in order to keep the bath towel for showers. They acknowledged.

Everyone except I did their bathing before bed on Saturday night. The next morning I woke early and quietly gathered my toiletries. In the bathroom were four blue-striped pool towel in corner on the floor.

Unfortunately, every other piece of bath linen, with exception of one used towel, was also in the heap. My son had hung his towel over the shower curtain rod to dry. I considered my choices.

In theory, the hanging towel had dried a clean body and thus was clean itself. This was my son so I could get by with that towel. It wasn't like risking the transfer of a skin disorder from total stranger.

At least, a contagion from this towel would be kept in the family. I didn't get a lot of comfort in the notion though. It reminded me of few paragraphs in 'Tis, the autobiography of the late author, Frank McCourt.

Mr. McCourt described living in a rooming house where he shared a bathroom and one towel with several other men. The landlady had drawn a line across the towel with the intent being that one end of the towel would used above waist. The other end was to be used below the waist.

Here I was, in a similar situation, except that this towel had no line drawn on it. Even if it did have a line I was struggling to recall how the men in 'Tis knew which end of towel was north and which end was south. Drip drying was another option.

This thought was not very pleasant though. There I would be with arms raised and turning slowly for full air flow. Then one of girls would knock on the door needing to pee.

If the bathroom had been equipped with a large electric hand dryer, like they had in some public restrooms, then that could have been an option. There was an electric hair dryer. I considered using that.

To my instant horror realized what could happen. I could be the victim of split ends on all of my body hair and itching, dry and flaking skin. That could cause some serious suffering for me.

Finally, as I recovered from the temporary trauma of the thoughts, a third idea came to me. I put on a shirt and pants and went down to the hotel desk. The nice lady there was happy to give me some fresh towels.

A Two-Hole Cat Litter Box

My wife had just finished cleaning the cat litter box when Fuzzie, the older of our two cats came in to make a deposit. This is typical behavior for him. It is as if he has a clean litter box alarm that alerts him. No matter where he is in house, when the litter box has been cleaned he moves in.

It is understandable that he might want to make the first drop on the fresh litter with the litter habits of Fat Boy, our other cat. As a matter of fact, there is a possibility that Fuzzy is waiting for Fat Boy’s deposits to be removed so he can enter and exit the litter box and without soiling his toes. Of the two cats, Fat Boy gets the most use of the litter surface

Fat Boy will keep us busy with cleaning the litter box 2-3 times per day. I remember one day, when I was occupying the throne, Fat Boy came into the bathroom to take care of his own elimination. I knew that he could use up some litter but actually witnessing it is quite an experience.

I was amazed by what that cat did. It could be more aptly called a flash flood than urinating. Had he been over an ant hill there would have been no survivors in the colony.

It was one thing to clean double fist-sized clumps of urine saturated litter from the box. It was quite another to hear a seemingly endless flow while the cat hovered in the litter box. It seems certain that he has a bladder the size of a grapefruit.

When Fat Boy was a kitten we took him to the vet out of concern for his excess water consumption. The vet did tests but could find no health issues. No one will ever believe it when I tell them that the cat consumes at least one quart of water per day.

It is a fact, though. I have isolated him and his water source from the other pets in order to get an accurate read.  At the beginning of the day he had a one quart dish filled to the brim with water. By the end of day the dish is empty and Fat Boy jumped onto the sink in search of more water when the faucet was turned on.

We don’t have an ordinary cat litter box. Those commercially made litter boxes are simply not enough. Our litter box is actually a 36” by 24” by 10” deep storage tub in which we keep no less than a five-inch level of litter to avoid urine-soaked mud on the bottom of the box.

You don’t have to worry about Fat Boy covering up his leavings, either. He could never do it alone anyway. He would have to have a motorized Tonka pay loader standing nearby to move some clay. It would be like operating a kitty landfill.

Even with this over-sized litter box, we need to clean it 2-3 times per day. I have found urine puddles on the litter and had to throw fresh litter over it before cleaning the box.

This morning, when the Fuzzy’s clean litter sensor guided him to take a dump, he got a surprise. While in the serious process of pinching off a Toostie Roll, Fat Boy came in alongside. Fuzzy wasted no time in finishing his task and getting out of the litter box. I can’t say that I blame him.

Sharing a litter box with Fat Boy would be like John Boy Walton doing his morning duty when Grandpa Walton came into the two-holer privy to do Metamucil blow. I would get out of there too. 

Can WeeBee More Gullible?

After about the um-teenth ridiculous hoax posted on Facebook by my Friends I had an idea to start a new organization of blind believers. The only qualification is that all members would have to be senselessly naive. They would have to believe whatever somebody posted on their Facebook and blindly share it with all of their Friends.

If the group really takes off then these people might even organize. They could get together from time-to-time for rallies around the country where they might jump up and down in an auditorium together and manifest their naivete in a chant. “Wee Beeleeve! We are the Weebees! Wee beeleeve everything that hoaxers and Weebees post on Facebook. Wee forward all such stupidity without hesitation because if it’s on Facebook. Wee beeleeve. Yay, Weebees!”

If you think that I’m way off of the mark then consider this post allegedly from the Houston Herald. A modern day, and unnamed, Calamity Jane put six rounds into the back of fleeing thief late at a night because he stole her purse while she waited for a bus in Texas. The next morning, the unnamed vigilante was “acquitted” at her “arraignment” by an unnamed judge. The reason that she shot the guy six times was because the gun only clicked on the seventh trigger pull. You can research this yourself or read my spin in another article.

Did you fall for the Facebook privacy notice? Don’t feel too bad. It was very legal looking for the average layperson. Sorry, though, that one was a hoax too. The gist of the notice was that you could declare all of your Facebook information private and protected if you simply posted the provided legal looking notice on your timeline. It included an invitation to all of your Friends to do the same. That one was as harmless as it was ineffective. That is not always the case.

Another post warns that gangs have started using children with a note containing a false home address to lure women into gang rape situation. This one had my attention. Thanks to a friend of mine, I have an extra-heightened awareness of misogyny and RAPE. However, before blindly sharing the post, I searched Google for the actual cases.

There are none. This hoax has clearly been debunked by websites like Snopes and Hoax Slayer that do nothing but research such things. Unfortunately, some hoaxes aren't always harmless.

A Houston local news station listed out several reasons not to buy into the gang RAPE hoax. Most alarming among them was a suggestion that such an emotional message might be a Trojan horse to spread a computer virus. That put me into Google again. You never know what to believe.

Right away I found a couple of links to sites set up for the purpose of generating fake Facebook postings. I didn't open them because I’m not about try them out. Second, I considered that such sites might be a lure to hook the unsuspecting new user for information or make them a mule to carry viruses to their Friends.

I also found out in this search that phishers are into Facebook. That was inevitable. Phishing is a term used to describe crooks who copy the presentation of trusted sites in order dupe weebees into giving up their sensitive information.

Phishing has been going on for years in other media. It was bound to hit Facebook. My first exposure was on eBay over ten years ago. A very official looking email came from eBay asking me for sensitive information that I knew that eBay already had.

The whole thing smelled foul. The URL didn't look right either. A check with eBay on the official site confirmed that I was being phished.  Around that time eBay began putting out warnings to their users to help them avoid being duped.

These hoaxes play on the emotions of people by using emotional issues. RAPE is flat out frightening to anyone who isn't a psychopath. RAPE is so ugly that it’s natural to want to join in a warning. Anything to do with guns puts people at opposite poles and pro-gun people love to show what the good guys can do with a gun. Greed is the biggest emotion that phishers play on to reel in weebees.

It only takes a minute to switch to another browser, though. Copy and paste some key words or a phrase from the Facebook posting to the Google search field. You should find the results enlightening. 

Posting fake information is tantamount to pissing on a toilet seat in a public restroom. Who, but a twisted coward, would do such a thing? That doesn't mean, though, that you have to ride the Weebee wagon.  Think rather than beelive. Don’t be a weebee.

Funny as Crap

When my sons were boys we were driving along a main artery street in the neighborhood where we lived. A summer torrential rain had recently stopped and there were puddles of water in low areas of the streets that did not properly grade to the storm sewer system. One such mini-lake was in my path and unavoidable with my right wheels.

I slowed from 35 MPH to about 20 MPH to avoid being pulled toward the curb too hard when the car hit the water. At the very moment that the car was entering the huge puddle, a dog was in the grass near the curb. With his back to the street, he was hunched into the fecal expulsion position in performance of his daily duties of fertilizing the grass with a non-hardening brownstone.

Also at that very moment, every pair of eyes in our car was focused on what was about to happen to that poor dog. As the car broke a path through the puddle an eight-foot-tall wall of water was launched over the unsuspecting canine. There was a turd about half discharged from his anus when the water hit this four-legged fellow.

I can’t swear exactly to every detail of that happened next. However, from the way that the dog bolted I have to believe that this was probably one of the only times in his life that he had the crap scared INTO him. I have no doubt that when the shock of the wall of cold water hit, the dog’s colon caused a reverse direction on that soft brownstone and made a distinct little sucking noise just before the anus slammed shut on the re-entry.

I am going to go so far as to suggest that when that back door closed, it closed so tight that a pinworm couldn't have passed the sphincter in either direction. That dog could not have farted for several days of carrying a belly full of gas induced of cabbage, beer and pickled eggs. So traumatized the dog must have been that, if he was prone to alternative sex acts, there would be no amount of pheromone exchange that could entice a parting of pink under his tail.

My sons are grown with families of their own now but they never tire of hearing or telling this story. For us the incident was funnier than a fart in a spacesuit. For the poor hapless dog it had to be just wrong!

Girls and Gun Battles - Let's Keep It Real

Recently a good friend of mine posted on Facebook what was supposed to be an article from the Houston Herald. I’ll not quote the whole article in interest of brevity. Here is my short version.

A Calamity Jane wannabee, in Houston, Texas, was standing on street corner, late at night, waiting for the bus to take her home. She had her purse strap over her left shoulder and gripped it tightly with her left hand. Her night of restaurant server earnings and a handgun were in the purse. Her right hand was gripping the gun inside the purse when a street punk grabbed her it from behind her and ran.

Having a tight grip on the handgun brought it out of the purse as the punk grabbed. She took aim and fired six shots into the back of the punk as he ran away. She was arrested and jailed.

The next morning an arraignment judge asked for her story and she told it. Next, the judged asked why she fired six shots into the man.

“Cuz when I pulled the trigger the seventh time the gun only went click.”

The woman was acquitted and set free.

I have to admit that I laughed the first time that I read this story. There are a lot of elements to the story that would strike somebody as funny. The article was titled Gun Control Texas Style.

First, we always love a story when the average citizen gets over on a punk. My favorite story is Sarah McKinley, the young mother in rural Oklahoma, who shot and killed one of two intruders, to protect her and her infant son. The punks broke down her door armed with knives and found out that they had stepped into a gun battle with a she-bear protecting her cub.

The second punk ran and was later charged for the murder of his collusive partner. Justice doesn’t get any better than that. Ms. McKinley was on the phone with 911 in hope of avoiding a confrontation on her own but she didn't hesitate to do what she had to do when the threat was in her face.

The first thing that struck me odd about the Calamity Jane story is that she shot the punk in the back and suffered no more that a night in jail to wait for a supposed arraignment. While I’m not a lawyer, I’m pretty certain that you don’t get acquitted at an arraignment. I believe that an arraignment is simply an inquiry where it is decided whether or not to indict someone on charges for a trial. An acquittal comes by finding of innocence of the indicted charges in a trial.

I was also bothered that there was no mention of the woman shooter’s name, the name of the judge or the date of the incident. A reputable newspaper is going to put those facts into the story. I looked up the Houston Herald for the actual story.

The only Houston Herald newspaper that I could find was in Texas County, Missouri. I didn’t look for the story there as I think that it’s a pretty safe bet that they won’t report on Houston, Texas news even for scoop like Calamity Jane gunning down a punk as he ran for safety. There are some other sites on the internet that did their own investigation of this and reported more findings that support the story was a hoax.

What bothers me about fiction like this that there are too many goobers that are going to have it read to them by somebody that is just a little bit smarter than they are. Then the story is repeated exponentially from goober to goober with embellishments added by each story teller and it sounds real. It sounds real enough that goobers with concealed carry permits or guns in their home have a distorted vision of what they can get away with when faced with a perpetrator.

Take the Sarah McKinley story, for a true reality example. Ms. McKinley did absolutely everything right. As the punks were trying to break down her door, which is how they eventually entered, she secured her baby in another room, readied her weapons, (yes, plural) called 911 and took her stand. The only thing that could have saved the punk’s life or made Sarah a criminal is if the punk would have turned to run for the exit before she fired.

If Sarah had shot the man in the back as he attempted to flee the battle, that he was woefully unprepared for, then she could have faced charges and a possible conviction. Emphasis should be on the phrase could have faced because as long as the punk only had one or two shots in him it is likely that an Oklahoma judge or grand jury would have given her favor for the way that she was terrorized by the two punks.

For the most part, whether speaking in terms of the Castle Doctrine for defending your home or in self defense situation on the street, a deadly threat must exist in order to justify deadly force. If the punk is running away from you on the street or toward an exit of your home you had best let him run whether he is carrying your property or not. To shoot your weapon could make you a criminal.

From time-to-time, I search Google with phrases such as “citizen thwarts crime” or “gun owner defends self” in order to see what is happening and learn from the mistakes of others. Good honest citizens make many mistakes when in the heat of an armed confrontation. Usually it has to do with the question of whether or not a threat exists to justify deadly force. Other times, the citizen didn't recognize a threat or recognized the threat too late to defend himself.

The thing to take away from this is that if you ever intend to use firearms for weapons against another human being then you had better know your responsibilities both in terms of the laws of the jurisdiction and the basic laws of humanity. Some criminals become criminals simply out of desperation for their given situation. We don’t have much empathy for them because our own lives are in order.

At the point of a face-to-face situation one doesn't have time for empathy. Let’s say you come home from work to find your “watchdog” playing outside and a couple of punks are ransacking your house. You probably won’t invite them to dinner to learn of their troubled past and how that you might rescue them for a better life.

At same time, and depending on the distance between you and them, if they don’t move to harm you then you won’t want to automatically make a rug cleaning necessary. If they decide that running out of another exit is better than facing an armed homeowner then it would be prudent to let them run. Who knows? Having gotten away from such a close call safely, the incident might even be enough to motivate them to give up crime and take the job they were offered at Papa John’s on the day before.

For those of you who like to say, “If ya’ gotta’ shoot somebody jes’ make sure they ain’t gonna’ be no witness aginst ya’.” To you I suggest, why don’t check to see how that’s working out for George Zimmerman? That story isn’t over yet but I’m convinced that no one needed to die, however nebulous the information is at this time.

Last and most important, you must know and understand the laws of your jurisdiction. The disclaimer for this article is that it speaks in generalities or, at best, of specifics different from your jurisdiction. While you might be a hero in one state for taking down a perpetrator, in another state you might do jail time simply for brandishing a weapon. 

For Love of Family

Holiday gatherings are usually at the home of our son and his wife. It seems to work out well that way as the children are on their own turf and have plenty to occupy them with the swimming pool,  a large yard, computers with games and so forth. Most interesting, though, is the family that gathers.

There is, of course, our son and his wife with her children and his children. Our daughter-in-law’s mother, stepfather and brother never miss an event. On most of the occasions, our daughter-in-law’s father is there with his other two daughters and granddaughter.

There might be a great grandparent from any extension of the family. There might be extended family members who are blood relatives to any of the core regulars. No one cares what the actual connection is. It’s just all about family togetherness and everyone enjoys each other’s company.

There is often a friend or two of the children there. If a birthday is being celebrated then there are dozens of other children and many of their families. Kids are running about in the yard or splashing in the pool. Hugs between the children and the adults are always in abundance and initiated from both directions.

We even have family members who don’t easily burn bridges. An aunt and uncle of our son’s children, from his ex-wife’s family, seldom miss a birthday event for his children and stepchildren alike. Occasionally, their daughter and grandson are in tow.

We tried to impart the value of family to our three sons as they were growing up. Unfortunately, our other two sons live to far away to see as often as we’d like. However, from what I know of their lifestyles, they picked up that value, too.

Family isn't always blood. Family is who you care about and cares about you. Family is who you always enjoy being with whenever there is an opportunity. Family is the love that you see glowing in everyone. Family is the love that you see growing in the children. Family is the love that tells parents that they’re doing it right. Family is the love that never stops and it ties the generations.