Duncan Hunter To Announce Presidential Bid

Duncan Hunter, Republican Congressman representing California’s 52nd District encompassing eastern and northern San Diego County, is expected to announce his decision to seek the Republican nomination for President in 2008 in a speech today in San Diego.

Hunter, the powerful chairman of the House Armed Services Committee and a thirteen-term Congressman, has built a reputation of being a strong supporter of the military and an ardent advocate of increased security along the Mexican-American border.

Congressman Hunter is the co-author of H.R. 6061, the Secure Fence Act, enacted before the end of the recent session. The legislation calls for more than 700 miles of strategic security fencing on America’s land border with Mexico. The act seeks to replicate the design of the San Diego Border Fence Congressman Hunter passed through Congress in 1994, in which more than ten miles of a two layer fence with a high speed road between them has been erected to date. Congressman Hunter states crime rates in San Diego have been reduced by more than half since the erection of the fence and that significantly fewer crossing attempts have been made.

While serving as Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, Hunter has focused on modernization initiatives to rapidly move new and effective technologies into the field, and sought to move resources from the bureaucratic side of the Defense Department to the needs of the warfighters. Congressman Hunter has shown support for military personnel and their families by attempting to ensure they are well-compensated and enter combat with the most modern and effective weapons and equipment.

Book Review: The Takers; Book One of the Oz Chronicles by R.W. Ridley.

R.W. Ridley has assembled a highly enjoyable cast of characters for us to follow in The Takers.Young Oz Griffin is the hero of this work but his supporting cast of a newborn baby he has to learn to care for. Lou, a young girl first thought to be mute. Wes, a middle-aged mechanic with a love for knives. A gang of bumbling would-be highwaymen led by a stubborn and sarcastic teenage girl. And most fun of all, a Silverback gorilla named Ajax with a fifteen-hundred word vocabulary in American sign language and a penchant for peaches supply much of the fun for the reader.

We meet Oz Griffin as he awakens from a feverish sleep to find himself hidden in his parents walk-in closet and all alone. His parents gone, Oz takes his dog and begins a search that will lead him into battle with the Takers, mysterious and frightening beings Oz discovers were conjured into existence in the mind of a mentally retarded boy he’d tormented. A boy who had recently committed suicide.

Our guilt ridden hero finds a comic book drawn by little Stevie Dayton, the mentally handicapped kid, and is shocked to discover it’s secrets. It shows everything that has and will happen! The only problem is, if you try to read it the Takers show up and they’re decidedly unpleasant company.

Brave and determined, Oz grows up as he takes the responsibility of leadership upon himself. With the capable assistance of Lou, Wes, gentle giant Ajax and a few allies picked up along the way, he becomes a strong and independent young man.

Oz and the gang share many adventures along the road to the final showdown with the Takers. I enjoyed reading it, if I am a bit older than the target audience.

Full of twists and turns, The Takers is a spirited and inventive book which should leave the reader anxious for Book Two. R.L. Stine has competition for the hearts of young thrill seekers in R.W. Ridley.

This Is Baseball Weather?

Let’s get right to it. I think Major League Baseball might need to reconsider starting the World Series so late. “Is it cold enough for you?” Is this really something players and fans should be asking each other? Come on!

I could have told the powers that be the weather in St. Louis in late October can be unfriendly to the national pastime. I won’t comment on Detroit, I’ve never been there, but I’m looking for the first fly ball lost in the snow in World Series history to happen this year. That’s if the Series makes it back to Detroit at all. The Cardinals would just as soon suffer at home and get it over with.

I’m sure the players are loving it, especially the poor catchers. Must be fun to handle a guy throwing a hundred miles an hour when your hands are cold. Both Pudge Rodriquez and Yadier Molina have managed to take one low in the series thus far. Sympathetic groans could be heard from males nationwide. I’m sure they appreciated the fact they were freezing already when the ball bounced off.

I guess the Commissioner and his staff thought two California teams would make it to the Series? Or maybe they were planning on two New York teams, and didn’t check the Farmer’s Almanac for the forecast covering the rest of the country?

Just look at what the cold has already done to the players! Kenny Rogers was forced to dip his pitching hand in pine tar (dirt, my ass) to keep it warm! Placido Polanco is playing in a Gore-tex turtleneck, he looks more like a cat burglar than a second baseman. Albert Pujols can be heard screaming, “I didn’t sign up for this! I’m a Dominican, damn it!”

In short, play has suffered. Shivering too hard to swing the bat effectively, batters have been at a disadvantage as the pitchers (who move enough to stay warm) mow them down like young corn in a hard frost.

Who’s handing out the Championship trophy this year? Should be a penguin. On behalf of Cardinal fans everywhere I’d like to say if the Tigers steal the Series from us it’s only because we were too cold to stop them!

Muslim Cleric Says Women to Blame for Rape

The Chief Cleric of Sydney, Australia's largest mosque ignited a firestorm of criticism following a recent sermon in which he described women appearing publicly without head scarves as "uncovered meat."

Sheik Taj Aldin al Hilali said, "if you take out uncovered meat and place it outside... without cover, and the cat come's to eat it...whose fault is it, the cat's or the uncovered meat's?"

Australian's angered at the cleric's sermon say he appears to be condoning rape with the statements by implying the woman is at fault if she is sexually assaulted. Al Hilali said he's "shocked" by the reaction to his sermon in a statement on Thursday.

He claimed his sermon dealt with Islamic religious teachings on modesty and not going to extremes in enticing men. "This does not condone rape! I condemn rape."

While the cleric denies he is blaming rape on the victim, his words seem to give lie to his protestations of being misunderstood. "The uncovered meat is the problem. If she was in her room, in her home, in her hijab, no problem would have occurred," he's quoted as saying in reference to the headdress worn by some Muslim women while in public places.

Outspoken Australian Prime Minister John Howard calls the remarks "appalling and reprehensible." He was joined in his condemnation of the cleric by civil libertarians, other Muslim leaders, and high ranking politicians.

Pru Goward, Sex Discrimination Commissioner for Australia, called upon Muslims to force al Hilali out of his position. "It is time the Islamic community did more than say they were horrified. I think it is time he left."

Al Hilali has served as an advisor to the Australian government on Islamic issues in the past and is considered the chief leader of the Muslim community in Australia and New Zealand.

This isn't the first time al Hilali has found himself at the center of controversy. While preaching a sermon in Lebanon in 2004, he said the September 11, 2001 attacks on America were "God's work against the oppressors." Despite the obvious overtones of the statement al Hilali later claimed they didn't mean that he supported the attacks or terrorism.

Prime Minister Howard said for al Hilali to imply women were at fault for being sexually assaulted was "preposterous, the whole idea of women being responsible for being raped is preposterous."

Already tense relations between the nations 300,000 Muslims and the majority Christian-heritage population are not helped by such ill-advised and foolish remarks by religious leaders. As Australian Muslims express the desire to become a viable part of society, let us hope they will emphasize the seriousness of their commitment by sending Mr. al Hilali packing.

To imply a woman was raped because of her own failure to dress modestly is unconscionable and has no place in a civilized discussion of a serious issue, either on the street or from the pulpit.

Carpenter Nails Tigers Down

Country singer JoDee Messina spent as much time at the plate singing God Bless America during the seventh inning stretch as the Detroit Tigers did in most of their at bats in Game 3.

Cardinal ace Chris Carpenter gave up only 3 hits while striking out 6 without a walk over 8 innings in a dominant performance to give St. Louis a 2-1 Series advantage over Nate Robertson and the Tigers.

Braden Looper threw a perfect 9th to seal the win for the Redbirds after skipper Tony LaRussa decided not to send Carpenter back to the hill after a 20 minute rest on a chilly night at Busch Stadium.

Jim Edmonds supplied all the runs the St. Louis starter needed with a 2 run double in the 4th inning, plating Scott Rolen and Albert Pujols. The Cards missed an opportunity for a big inning to clutch pitching by Tiger starter Nate Robertson who stopped the bleeding by getting out of a bases loaded jam.

Detroit reliever Joel Zumaya’s costly error in the 7th allowed the Cards to add two more to their tally. Zumaya took third baseman Brandon Inge by surprise on an Albert Pujols tapper back to the mound by throwing to third instead of going for the expected play at second base. What should have been an easy double play for the Tigers ended with the ball flying wildly into left field as David Eckstein and Preston Wilson scored and Pujols jogged into second base. Zumaya gave way to Jason Grilli who got the Tigers back into the dugout without further damage.

St. Louis added an insurance run in the 8th when So Taguchi walked, was moved into scoring position on a sacrifice bunt by the versatile Carpenter, over to third on a sharp single to right by David Eckstein, and came in to score on a Zach Miner wild pitch to make the final score 5-0.

The Cardinals look to put Detroit’s backs against the wall tomorrow when they send NLCS MVP Jeff Suppan, 1-1 with a 1.86 ERA in three postseason starts to square off against Jeremy Bonderman, 1-0 in 2 playoff starts.

Tigers Paw Ruffles Cardinals Feathers

Has Tigers lefty Kenny Rogers been cheating during his remarkable postseason performance of 23 consecutive scoreless innings? FOX Sports cameras picked up a mysterious brown stain on his pitching hand when he took the mound during his eight inning, two hit smackdown of the Cardinals on Sunday night. Redbirds manager Tony LaRussa asked the umpires to address the situation, "I don't like the stuff, let's get it fixed," but didn't insist Rogers be searched on the mound. Had he done so, and the substance turned out to be illegal, Rogers could have been suspended for the remainder of the World Series.

Cardinal faithful and sports commentators nationwide have lambasted LaRussa for not being more aggressive in his handling of the situation. Why not have the umpires undress Rogers on the mound in an effort to determine what the mystery substance was? "I don't want to win like that," LaRussa said during Monday's walk-through at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. He said he'd told the umpires he didn't like it and wanted it fixed and they fixed it. End of story?

Hardly, Rogers said he just rubbed baseballs down in the bullpen prior to the game with a mixture of dirt and resin to make them easier to grip in the cold Detroit air Sunday night. LaRussa scoffed at that, "I don't believe it was dirt, it didn't look like dirt to me." Rogers said reports that he'd washed his hands in the clubhouse after the first inning were wrong and implied the Cards were grasping at straws, "I wiped them off. If they want to make it an issue, they can. But it's not an issue."

LaRussa's comments were carried over the public address system at Busch Monday. The Tigers were taking the field for practice as he spoke and several of them were seen stopping to listen to what the Cards skipper had to say. Tigers first base coach, and long-time St. Louis Cardinal, Andy Van Slyke said, "It has no bearing on how Kenny Rogers pitched, period. None, the sad part is people are going to talk about dirt on the hand instead of the way he pitched."

St. Louis backup catcher Gary Bennett said, "The bottom line is that after it was brought to his attention, he pitched innings 2 through 8 and we didn't do anything." In fact, the only inning the Redbirds managed multiple baserunners was during the first before Rogers cleaned the substance off his pitching hand.


Cardinal outfielder Preston Wilson didn't seem inclined to believe the Detroit aces side of the story. "You don't like the integrity of the game coming into question," Wilson said. "But the fact is, when things are said and done, they have to live with it. They have to sleep with that at night. They have to sit back at the end of their career and say whether they did it on their own merit or not. To me, that's more than anything else can do to them."

LaRussa became visibly upset when it was implied that perhaps his close friendship with Detroit manager Jim Leyland had played a role in his decision not to address the Rogers situation more vigorously. "We're friends. The competition isn't about friends," said La Russa. "This is about the Tigers and the Cardinals. And if somebody seriously accused me of that, I would get very upset and confrontational."

Whatever anyone thinks of Tony LaRussa, he's a man of integrity who wants his team to win the World Series on the field as it should be won, not by the rulebook. Could he have been more aggressive against Rogers? Sure, he could have, but LaRussa did his job. He pointed it out to the umpires and left it up to them to insure he wouldn't need to act further on it. Does it take away from Kenny Rogers spectacular performance in this postseason? Yes, but I don't think it should. If he only stymied the Cards because of a foreign substance on his thumb in the first, how do you explain innings 2 through 8?

Rogers deserves the highest respect for stepping up and leading when his young team needs him the most. LaRussa deserves respect for wanting the series decided on the field by the players.

Anyone who thinks Tony LaRussa would allow a personal friendship to jeopardize his teams chances of taking baseball's ultimate prize doesn't understand the man's deep desire to win. He and Jim Leyland are best friends, that won't stop either of them from pulling out all the stops and it certainly won't keep the players from leaving everything on the field when it's all over.

I think it's going to be a heck of a World Series. I'm picking the Cardinals to win, but I won't cry if this bunch of scrappy, hustling kids from Detroit takes it.

Did Kenny Rogers cheat in game two? Who knows? I've decided it doesn't matter. I can't wait for game 3!

Long Road Back

I recently happened upon an excellent Diana Hartman article relating the marital woes of a dear friend of hers. A lady who found herself in a marriage in which physical intimacy had disappeared. As I read, I found myself examining my own situation.

This past June, I was in a serious accident on the way home from work. Falling asleep at the wheel, I ran off the road and overturned. I don’t remember much about the moments leading up to the wreck, but I’ve relived the accident itself more than I care to admit.

I remember being confused, not knowing where I was as I snapped awake after a tremendous jolt. My next conscious memory is of being throw violently, headfirst, into the dashboard, followed by the helpless, terrifying feeling of the truck rolling over. Moments later, I was lying across the seat in a pile of jagged, bloody glass. I remember calling my wife’s name, wanting her to come and get me, to take me home. I was afraid the truck would catch fire and I tried to move, to push the door open. I had trouble getting out, every move was harder than it should have been. I didn’t know I had a broken neck, a fractured skull, and a separated shoulder. Or that I was flirting with instant death or paralysis with one wrong move. All I knew was I hurt more than I ever had, and I needed to get out of that truck.

That was nearly five months ago. I’ve had two spinal fusion surgeries and spend my days wrapped in a plastic brace from my neck to my waist. It’s frustrating and painful physically, but the real fight is emotional, the battle to stay hopeful and upbeat while facing certain financial ruin.

Without my income there’s no way to pay our bills. I’ve watched prized possessions be taken away and live every day in fear of losing our home. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, the important thing is I’m alive and I’ll get better soon. The truth is, it does matter, and I’m so ashamed to find myself in this situation. Without money, unable to work, to do my part. Seeing my wife with tears in her eyes because she’s afraid of what will happen to us. It matters.

There is no physical intimacy in our lives anymore, but that’s not what worries me. The desire is there, and bodies heal. What scares me is the loss of emotional intimacy between us. I know she’s angry with me, though she tries not to be. The few times she’s allowed it to show and said, “you put us in this situation, I didn’t,” were worse than physical blows for me. God knows I didn’t leave work that night intending to fall asleep at the wheel. I’ve cursed myself far more times than she knows for it. One foolish mistake, one stupid moment, and I face the loss of everything I own because of it.

I pass my days writing, just to have something to occupy me. It helps me, but it doesn’t help in any tangible way, no one will pay me to write. I pray we can hold out just a little longer, I don’t know how much more of this we can survive as a couple. I can stand losing possessions, though I hate it and it hurts my pride. If I lose her, there’s nothing left, I have lost everything if she goes. The thought of her leaving never crossed my mind before I got hurt. It does now, it does when I catch her looking at me and I don’t see love in her eyes, I see disgust at how helpless I’ve become.

I never fully appreciated the simple joy of being able to provide for my family until I couldn’t do it. The worst feeling in the world is letting down the people you love. I don’t like being ashamed of myself. I hate lying awake at night worrying, trying to think of something, anything, I have I can sell to help us until I can go back to work.

I’ve always considered myself a decent man, far from perfect, but decent. I didn’t realize how much of my self-worth I had invested in simply making a living. It’s been hard to deal with. I don’t know about the man in Diana Hartman’s article, but I know what I feel inside. Shame. I won’t give up, I don’t know how to give up, I wasn’t raised like that. I just hope what’s left at the end of this trial was worth fighting for.

I Miss My America

A Blogcritics Editors' Picks: October 18 through October 24

I caught myself waxing nostalgic for the land of my youth the other day. I wished I could go back in time. Back to a place where terror was something I paid money to feel at the theater, not the ever present horror of today.

I wanted to return to the simpler times of my childhood. The joy of running barefoot though the fields, swimming in the creek, and knowing my Mother and Dad would protect me from any evil. I miss those days, and I wish my grandchildren could have what I had.

It’s funny how your mind plays tricks on you.

I’d allowed myself to forget how divided my beloved nation was even then. How Vietnam tore us apart, how the hippies and the old men hated each other. I’d forgotten the horror of watching fellow Americans attacked by police with dogs because they were black and had the audacity to desire equal treatment under law. I’d let myself forget how sad my Mom and Dad were because I would not have what they had.

I came to the sad realization that my America doesn’t exist except in my mind. The nation I sang of as a boy, ‘sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing’ has always been in a state of conflict and upheaval. Many could not hope to claim their share of the American Dream. Not because they weren’t willing to work at it, but because they were the wrong color, or the wrong ethnicity.

We were lucky here, in our little community. People helped each other without caring what color the family in need was, or what political party they favored. My hometown boasted two hundred souls and we knew all about each other. It was hard not to in a small town.

My father was a man who judged people by their actions, not their race or financial situation. Pop taught us to respect the opinions of everyone, but to decide for ourselves what we thought was right and stand by it. We were fortunate to have such a man stand as our example. I wish I could return to those days, just to ask my Dad what I should do? How do I keep my children from falling into the trap of hating someone’s politics so deeply they end up hating the person?

I always thought the ties that bound us together as Americans were stronger than the issues that divided us. I don’t know if I believe that anymore, and it saddens me more than I can say. It hurts to think of my beloved country dying a slow death from within. Our people too divided to care, too caught up in hating everyone else. Too busy despising the freedoms our forefathers fought and died for when they’re exercised by someone they disagree with.

I miss my America, even if it was only in my mind.

Why Am I Such A Misfit? Confessions of a Television Non-Viewer

Hi, my names Donnie, and I don’t watch television. Just thought I’d get that off my chest. Why, you ask? It’s really quite simple. I don’t view television as an escape or break from reality. I view it as a colossal waste of time. This applies to everything except sports. I’ll watch sports once in awhile, but not often.

Double standard, you think? No, if you want double standards, look at Washington, D.C. I’m just inconsistent. I need my fix of Cardinal baseball occasionally, so I’ll tune in just to make sure the boys are alright. I consider that my civic duty here in the heart of Cardinal Nation.

How can any red-blooded American guy not like to watch television? I suppose because we didn’t watch much TV when I was a kid. My folks expected us to come home from school, eat dinner, then play outside until time to get cleaned up for bed. We were an active family, and I’ve done my best to keep my own children away from countless hours of TV time. I believe it’s far more beneficial to a child to be outside, running around and having fun, than it is to sit in front of the boob tube throwing snacks down their throat and losing the ability to speak.

I would much rather sit by the fire with my feet up, reading a good novel. No commercials. No talking suds begging me to use them to clean my bathroom. No one walking along a beach and suddenly realizing they don’t feel fresh. I don’t feel like explaining most of the garbage on television to my grandson that lives with me, so I limit his tv time. He watches his Spongebob Squarepants show, and he’s happy.

I’ve spent many quality hours in front of my fireplace, grandson on my lap, good book in hand, sharing it with him. He loves being read to, and he’s making good progress at learning to read himself at four years old. I always follow the words with my finger as I read. You’d be amazed how quickly kids pick up certain words, and how excited they get when they recognize them before you’ve read them aloud.

The next time you sit down to watch the nights favorite shows on television, look around at your children. Maybe they’re sitting on the floor, trying their best to read their favorite book. Take a few moments to read it to them. You’ll both get more out of that than any television show.

Book Review: Religion of Peace? Islam's War Against The World by Gregory M. Davis

Islam is a religion of peace.

This mantra has been repeated ad-nauseam from every Western leader while condemning the acts of Muslim terrorists around the world. We are implored to believe these zealots are following a radical, misguided interpretation of Islam, far removed from the teachings of Islam proper.

But are they? Studying the rise of Islam from it’s beginnings under the Prophet Muhammad, and using the Koran and other religious texts intended to be the pious Muslim’s guide to rightful living, author Gregory M. Davis says no. He reaches two conclusions. The Muslim terrorists are, in fact, acting within the tenets of their religion, and that religion, Islam, is far removed from one of peace.

Instead, he paints the goal of Islam as nothing less than world domination, by proselytizing if possible, by force if not.

By pointing out the division of the world in the Muslim mind into two components, the Dar al- Islam (House of Islam), those residing under the rule and law of the Prophet, and the dar al-harb (House of War), comprised of the rest of the world, the author seeks to explain the incompatibility of the western ideal of ‘live and let live’ with Islamic beliefs.

He contends the Muslim will not be content until the whole of the earth is under the rule of Allah with Sharia law as it’s foundation. And that violence is not only acceptable under Islam, but expected of the pious Muslim as they seek to accomplish this goal.

Muslim scholars are quick to point out Koranic verses to the contrary in disputing this notion. They are less willing to admit the so-called “peaceful” verses have been abrogated (overruled) by later exhortations to violence in the Koran, the oft-disputed “sword verses.” By tradition, contradictory verses in the Koran are reconciled by abrogation, the practice of the later statement taking precedence over the earlier.

If the author is correct in his assertions, what is the western world to do? How do we combat these influences and maintain our way of life? Mr. Davis has some suggestions to consider. First, re-phrase the “War on Terror,” and accept what it truly is for the west, a “War on Islam.”

Secondly, that our leaders should face head-on the fact that we are in a fight to the death with a determined enemy whose concepts of justice and peace widely differ from our own. He suggests recognizing Islam as not simply a religion, but also a political philosophy sharing much in common with Communism and National Socialism, and basing our strategy on these points.

According to the author, the preachers of tolerance and multiculturalism are simply not facing the facts of the matter. Islam is not tolerant of the existence of other religions or cultures, except to serve Muslims, and the Islamic hordes have no intention of embracing any semblance of a multicultural world.

I found this to be a fascinating, if somewhat frightening, look inside the Muslim world. It certainly makes one wonder if we even realize the true nature of the fight we find ourselves in.

Happy Halloween!

Ghoulish, ghastly, horrifying, breathtakingly ugly, and that’s just the people handing out the candy.

I love Halloween, but it certainly makes one wonder. It’s the holiday of contradiction. You spend the rest of the year warning your children not to talk to strangers then wreck it all in one night by saying, “I’ll bet they’ve got good candy! Let’s try that house!” “But, daddy, I don’t know those people!” “What are you? Some kind of weirdo? Get up there and beg like every other red-blooded American kid!”

A friend of mine down the street goes all out on Halloween. He lies in a casket on his porch, sitting slowly up as the little kids come up the walk. “You should try it.” Yeah, right. If I lay down I don’t care what’s happening around me, I’m gone. Keep it down, children. Dracula’s taking a nap. Not very scary.

My wife, sweet, loving, considerate woman that she is, always wants to give healthy snacks to the kids on Halloween. “Lets hand out granola bars or something!” No, dear. Bad idea. “Why?” Because, honey. I don’t want to spend three days scraping shoe polish off my windshield. The little angels occasionally react poorly if they disapprove of your choice of goodies.

Kids don’t want healthy snacks in their bags! They want a lump of sugar smothered in chocolate. If you want, it can be wrapped in chewy nougat, but it better be sweet.

The worst thing I ever got was a can of Budweiser from old Mr. Hill. I can still see him cackling as he dropped it in. “Give that to your old daddy, son. He looks dry.” Mom got a little mad but Dad just chuckled. “Hell, Mary. That old man wouldn’t hurt a kid. He knew Donnie would run straight to me with it. Besides, he was right. I was getting dry.”

The highlight of my youthful Halloweens was going to the haunted house the Lions and Kiwanis clubs put on in Flat River, on Schramm’s corner. Those men could do wonders by throwing a few old mattresses down for us to walk over in the dark and firing up a chainsaw while we were at it. Not the high tech, scare the living hell out of you stuff of today. Just frightening enough to be an adventure.

There were always a few grand-fatherly looking old gentlemen without costumes along the way. Just in case some little one got too scared and needed reassurance. One of the old fellows would take them by the hand and walk with them the rest of the way as they explained it was all make believe.

A gentle, happy, time and place to be a child. Even on Halloween.

One of our Halloween family traditions was popping a big kettle of corn and gathering in front of the televison for ‘fright fest.’ Bela Lugosi as Dracula, Lon Chaney as the Wolfman, anything with Vincent Price starring. Good stuff. Scary but not gory. I do this with my grandson now, he’s four years old and gets quite a kick out of it. I hope it’s something he’ll remember about me when he’s older.

I’m saddened that kids have to take their candy to be X-rayed before they can enjoy it these days. I’m not sure if that sort of thing happens more now, or if it’s just better publicized. Now, as then, parents need to be closely involved in their child’s celebration of Halloween. The bogeyman has always been with us.

I hope you’ll leave a light on for the little ones this year. They’re making memories that will last a lifetime. Let’s do our part to make them happy ones.

May the small ghouls, goblins, and witches in your lives have a safe and happy Halloween.

Boo! Scared you, didn’t I?

Separation Anxiety: America at War

How do we disengage from Iraq, and when?

Many Americans find themselves in an awkward position regarding the war in Iraq. Whether they oppose the war on principle or continue to support the mission but are disappointed with the apparent lack of progress, they would like an answer to two questions. How do we leave, and when?

The rhetoric from both sides is counter-productive to a solution. If one supports the mission they’re “warmongers.” Opposed to the war? You don’t “support the troops.” There is little truth to either argument.

I supported the missions in Iraq and Afghanistan and still do. I believe, then as now, that our troops are fighting to protect our nation from those who have, and would again, do us grievous harm.

I would like to see our troops have to worry less about political fallout and more about surviving, completing the mission, and returning home safely. I am pro-mission, not pro-war. A fine distinction to some perhaps, but an accurate description nonetheless.

Does that mean I feel the opponents of the war in Iraq are failing to support our troops? No, of course not. Opposition to war and failure to support those fighting that war are two very different things.

Many Americans have based their arguments against our continued presence in Iraq on what they view as the unnecessary sacrifice of our servicemen and women. This hardly seems appropriate to consider non-supportive of the troops.

Sadly, the argument has become so bitter that we’ve stopped listening to each others points of view. We’ve allowed ourselves to be divided into two camps defined by empty catch-phrases, “cut and run,” or “stay the course.”

In doing so, we have willfully ignored the wide but largely unacknowledged middle ground. The view-point that recognizes the heroism and sacrifice of our military, desires their safe return home, and understands the necessity to provide for stability in the region before our troops can fully withdraw.

The Iraqi people have braved many hardships in the past, they lived in fear under a despotic dictator, found themselves drug into wars they didn’t want which took many of their best and brightest young men, and have shown strength, resilience, and the desire to live in peace.

In throwing off the chains of that dictator and attempting to stand as a new nation, they find their efforts violently opposed by a heartless insurgency largely manned and funded by non-Iraqis, and by internal strife between Sunni and Shiite militias.

Bringing these parties to the table and making them part of the solution, rather than part of the problem, is the aim of a group founded by Rosemary Palmer and Paul E. Schroeder. Their son, Marine Lance Corporal Edward (Augie) Schroeder, was killed in action near Haditha, Iraq in August of 2005.

Families of the Fallen for Change, a non-profit organization, was begun to foster a bi-partisan solution to the Iraq war, and spare other parents the grief they feel.

The group seeks to break the stalemate in Congress by offering a compromise plan calling for measurable benchmarks to be met by the Iraqi’s themselves to determine the rate and timing of American withdrawal.

In presenting the plan, they hope to satisfy the desires of both Iraqi and American citizens for an end to the fighting and establish a workable framework for peace between all Iraqis, Shiite, Sunni, and Kurds.

In an effort to forestall internal chaos in Iraq during and after the proposed withdrawal, the plan calls for a quantifiable reduction in violence, both militarily and civilly, after each major draw-down of American troops.

If the parties involved can not or do not meet a previously agreed upon benchmark reduction in deaths and injuries, the next large-scale withdrawal of American troops would be delayed until the goal is reached.

In a potentially controversial area, the plan, recognizing the volatility of the region and what they consider the absolute necessity for the involvement of all factions for the proposal to succeed, calls for the inclusion of insurgents, with the exception of Al Queda, in the negotiations for peace.

The United States, under the plan, would announce it’s intention to withdraw as quickly as the progress attained by the parties allowed, disavow permanent American bases in Iraq, pledge not to extend hostilities beyond the border of Iraq, and tie economic assistance for reconstruction to the Iraqi governments performance in the protection of minority rights, sharing of power, and equitable distribution of oil resources.

Closer to home, it calls upon the government to provide full and free medical and psychological care, including prosthetics, for troops injured in Iraq and Afghanistan.

It’s an interesting concept which at least attempts to reach out to those Americans who, adhering to neither “cut and run” or “stay the course,” have stood silently and sadly by the way-side.

The proposal can be viewed in it’s entirety on the organizations website at Families of the Fallen for Change.

If You Loved Your Son

“If you loved your son.”

I’m seldom speechless, but this comment from a dear friend of mine caught me so unaware I could do nothing but stare.

My old friend is a committed liberal, I’m fairly conservative in my views. We’ve had some far ranging and generally civil and enjoyable debates over the years and never let it become personal.

Until yesterday.

We were debating the war in Iraq, should we stay, should we go, should we be there at all? I told him about a lady I’ve corresponded with whose son died in Iraq, how deeply it touched me to speak with her, how much I respected her family, and how their courage and faith inspired me.

He looked over at me and said, “their son died for nothing, and if you loved your son, you wouldn’t let him die for nothing.”

If you loved your son.

As soon as the words left his mouth he fell silent and hung his head. I didn’t, couldn’t, say a word. I just set my coffee cup on the counter and stood to leave. “Donnie, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to have that sound like it did. I’m sorry.”

I walked away from my friend, but his words stayed in my mind. I was hurt by what he said but more hurt by the casual way he’d said it.

After all these years, my friend doesn’t know me.

He sees only the smiling, happy-go-lucky side of me. The joke telling, laughing, smart-aleck Irish side that looks for the humor in life’s trials.

He’s never seen the other side.

I don’t talk about the sleepless nights, the tears, the nightmares, the constant worry, the quiet desperation of the father of a warrior.

How many late nights have I sat in my den looking at pictures of my son as a little boy? How many times have my shaking hands sat those old photos down because I couldn’t see through my tears? How many prayers begging God to watch over my boy?

He didn’t see me standing alone in my driveway as a Marine Gunnery Sergeant drove away with my son, taking him to St. Louis to catch a plane to San Diego. How do you tell anyone who hasn’t lived through it about the longest thirteen weeks of your life? How you sat by the phone hoping for a call, no matter how short, just to hear your sons voice?

One of the proudest days of my life was seeing my son graduate from Marine Corps recruit training. Just seeing his face on Family Day was something I’ll never forget. The pride in his eyes, how tall and straight he stood, how polite he was. For him, it was the culmination of a dream. He’d wanted to be a Marine since he was a little boy. As a father, I was so proud of his determination and courage in reaching his goal.

I’ll never forget how he came off the Parade ground at San Diego, how his lip trembled as he picked me up and bear-hugged me. Neither of us trusted ourselves to speak. We just held on to each other and didn’t want to let go.

He’s a man now, but to me he’ll always be the little boy I treasured. The son I love more than life. He’ll never know how much I’d give to have him back, to raise him again, to return to that wonderful time in my life when my home was filled with the laughter of little voices.

Because I disagree with him over the war in Iraq and our mission, my friend has taken it upon himself to declare I don’t love my son.

He doesn’t know me at all.

Negro League Legend O'Neil Dies at 94

Buck O’Neil’s long love affair with baseball ended Friday, October 6 in a Kansas City, Missouri hospital.

Mr. O’Neil — player, manager, coach, scout, and good-will ambassador to the game — died at the age of 94.

Well known in baseball circles for his talent and wit, he became a national icon after being featured in Ken Burns tremendous Public Broadcasting System documentary Baseball in 1994.

Recently finding himself in the middle of a controversy over his failure to gain election to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, Mr. O’Neil asked disappointed fans to “shed no tears for Old Buck.”

He told supporters that not being able to attend Sarasota High School and the University of Florida because of segregation had hurt. Not being elected to the Hall of Fame didn’t because at least he had a chance.

Winner of two Negro League batting titles during his playing career, Mr. O’Neil retired and led the Kansas City Monarchs to the pennant as a manager. For a while he was also a scout for the Chicago Cubs, whose famous signings included Hall of Famers Lou Brock and Ernie Banks.

His love for the game nurtured through childhood talks with Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth of the famed New York Yankees “Murderers Row” of the 1920s. Mr. O’Neil was able to pass on his wisdom to modern day players, and with it, his respect for the game that had been his life.

Baseball is poorer today than it was yesterday.

Before You Go

There are seasons in the life of a man. He grows quickly in his Spring, raises his family in the warmth of Summer, fades slowly into Autumn, and faces his mortality in the aching cold of Winter.

My father is seventy-two years old. His once keen and bright blue eyes have faded a bit. He sometimes doesn’t hear what I said, and he’s no longer the immensely strong man I remember from my youth.

As my Dad fades with his advancing years, I’ve come to appreciate what a wonderfully positive influence he’s been in my life.

If a man is fortunate, he had someone in his life to look up to, to learn from, to turn to when he was troubled, to trust implicitly. For me, my father was that person. Dad was, and is, my hero. He was father, friend, confidante, and steady guide into a world he hated to see me grow into.

I owe him for my love of laughter, for my belief in myself, for my spirit that never failed me. From him I learned to work hard, to care for my families needs, both physically and emotionally, and to always be available to a child with a question, no matter how tired I was.

I’m grateful to you, Dad. Thank you for your love, your patience, and your understanding as I grew up. It wasn’t easy for you, I see that now. I’ve come to know how difficult it is to let your child fall, to allow them to make their own mistakes. Like you, I was always there to pick them up and dust them off when it was over.

I haven’t said it often, but you’re the best man I know. I honor you. I respect you more than any man alive, and I love you with all my heart.

I just wanted you to know before you go.

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