Appalled! Embarrassed. Ashamed. American. There should be no doubt that Donald Trump, who I refuse to call, President; Has every intention of provoking a master race for himself. And, himself only!
First, the poor, than the…uninsured or those lacking good insurance, the arts, veterans, meals on wheels, those searching the truth…etc., etc.
If the American people are not watching closely and take their eyes off the ball; The one empowered will be the more so… powerful. The ‘masters’ of the human race.
“It is always a great honor to be so nicely complimented by a man so highly respected within his own country and beyond,” Trump said in a statement. “I have always felt that Russia and the United States should be able to work well with each other towards defeating terrorism and restoring world peace, not to mention trade and all of the other benefits derived from mutual respect.”
Good intentions will always be pleaded for every assumption of authority. … It is hardly too strong to say that the Constitution was made to guard the people against the dangers of good intention. … There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters.
Are we the first? Is New Hampshire as…un-diverse…as many critics say? If so, is that significant? And, what of our ancestors? How the hell do those naysayers think we ended up in this land…north of a frigid witch’s tit?
In my own family, up until the mid 1990’s, I had not been told about my own exclusivity on ‘being in the minority.’
My grandmother, who had been often referred to as, the dumb Pollock! My father who deliberately and without forethought, distinguished Native Americans as, drunks, lazy and no good!
Funny, in the midst of my confusion of being gay. Ironic, standing in the land of women ‘should be seen and not heard.’ Strange…with all these supposed, bloodline infirmities, I had not been told the following:
My grandmother in actuality was Polish and Russian! Something she had been too ashamed to share until much later in her life. My father? Well, it wasn’t until I became a fully pledged addict that he stated,
“It isn’t so surprising. Her being an alcoholic. Indians are known for their love of drugs!”
Course, it just so happened my paternal grandmother, who died of complications due to hard living…was half Cherokee.
Needless to say, there I stood in the depths of minority. An addict, a woman, a lesbian, part Russian, part Native American!
This is not about politics. It isn’t even related to living in the minority. Perhaps, it is quite the opposite.
The ‘melting pot‘:
Multicultural surrounding where all the different cultures slowly become more uniformed generation after generation by adopting bits and pieces of other cultures and giving away some of their own traditions.
Melting pots…had been something that encouraged me to be different. To seek the unique. To be proud of the idea..we all didn’t row over to America at the same time or on the same boat. That each and everyone one of us…who proudly calls themselves, Americans, looked for a better life.
In that manner, I am no different from my adopted dogs. Both mongrels. Each of them quietly called, Heinz 57’s! A collaborative mixture of everything they ever were…and, everything they will ever be.
…funny I think we were on the same boat back in 1694