QUOTE(johnlocke @ Nov 20 2003, 09:47 PM)
I've moved further to the Right since I've been here and I'd like to personally thank Wertz (I hope this doesn't get you in trouble at the Left Wing Conspiracy meetings) for encouraging me not to back down from what I feel is right even when it conflicted with his beliefs.


To every action, I was taught in physics, there is an equal and opposite reaction. I've moved farther to the Left.
I considered myself middle of the road; because the feminists at church would sometimes argue with me for weeks trying to change my mind on a point, while my fellow employees shunned me for my entire career due to my stance on nuclear power. I was a Unitarian factory worker who routinely voted Democratic in a Republican County for decades. At the end of my career, a co-worker gave me his button which read:
QUOTE
So I'm a MISANTHROPE!
You got a (EXPLETIVE) problem with that?
"Every time I defined misanthrope," he told me, "your name came up as an example, so that I would know they understood."
I always had some of my teachers who felt that I should be a writer. "Your history of multiplication taught me a lot." "Your thesis eliminating a couple of possible isotopes from your final exam, because we could never use the nuclear chemistry lab again was fascinating. It reached the wrong conclusions, but the AEC inspector agreed with you and sealed the lab." "I'll accept your excuse for your paper being turned in late, if I can have permission to try to publish it." Most of my English teachers on the other hand, would tell me to shred my papers so that no one else would ever be forced to read them. "I asked for a 5,000 word thesis, not a 5,000 word sentence." was one typical remark. (You may have noticed that I do have sentences that run a bit long, but that was the classic.)
I retired, and thought, I'll finally get around to writing that novel... short story... outline... idea... I found myself thinking I had nothing to say. I've been there before; a therapy session that ran to about 800 pages, because I was afraid to speak. (Even to the therapist!)
Sometimes, it's easy to speak out:
...PE will be reading something aloud, and I will jump in with both feet. Oops! Off topic again!
...Sometimes, I read something from one of our contributors that is so wrapped up in the flag that they appear to be a soldier coming home for burial; and I have to respond immediately with something that might seem to be an intelligent position on the topic.
...Gay marriage, is an idea whose time has come. I have known several couples who were unquestionably paired for life. Why should someone like that be denied the right to claim the body, make funeral arrangements, or take time off to attend the funeral.
Sometimes it's more difficult:
...Sports, I don't watch them.
...Bill O'Reilly, who is he, and why should I care?
...Remembering what I am posting to, and why.
Sometimes, it's just plain hard. PE wants me to contribute to a thread on prostitution. I'm certain that I have never had a normal relationship with one, so what would I have to say?
...We had one as a guest speaker at church one year, at a career day presentation. She made, she said, in excess of $100,000 a year, 80% of which went to her pimp for the drugs that let her do that for a living, and the clothes that made her look attractive enough to sell her body.
...There was the group that tried to rent an out of business gas station on a main road in Midland and open it up as a brothel. They were putting up temporary signs with lettering, when a policeman (in uniform) drove in and asked them what they were doing. It was covered in that afternoon's newspaper as a story that Midland had had a brothel for a short while, but not long enough to attract any customers.
...Which probably led to the next story. My first wife taught crochet in the Saginaw County Jail. (Knitting needles could be used as a weapon, but not crochet hooks according to state guidelines.) Most of her students were either prostitutes or professional shoplifters. One of them asked her where she was from, and she replied, "Midland." One of the prostitutes remarked, "Midland eh, I spent a night in jail there once. It seemed like a nice town."
...I was raised in a rough neighborhood, with no television, and the radio was only turned on for a couple of programs on Sunday evening. There was always newspaper clippings pinned to the wall, so I didn't know the newspaper was being censored until I met my future mother-in-law, a social worker. From her, I heard the stories of the downstairs occupants of the house across the street. For a month's rent and a month's security deposit, the landlord turned a blind eye. The police generally raided it on Wednesday, and it was available for rent again on Thursday. In one instance, a nine year old boy stopped his mother's John on the way out of the house and demanded payment. He was offered a knife in lieu of payment, and tried it out. He was tried as an adult. (Murder? Manslaughter? I don't recall. It's been close to 4 decades.) On another occasion, an excited young man had saved enough money from his first job, rented the apartment, and got a wedding license. After a short honeymoon, he brought his bride home on a Wednesday, and they got raided. He showed the police their marriage license, and got them out of the house. In the ensuing argument, he told his wife that if he could have had her for a few dollars, he wouldn't have bothered to marry her. She ended up dead, and he told his friends what had happened. His friends told her relatives, and he was dead by morning.
...From personal experience, all I can say is prostitution is not a victim-less crime; but my personal experience has to be so far outside the normal, that we sit and chat about it, and I tell her I really have nothing to say...
...and I realize that our conversation has gone beyond ge-bop, and chi-bug-bug-bug and evolved into actual words coming from my mouth.
And I have over 130 posts on my statistics.
I am occasionally sending out an e-mail.
I am talking about joining a political party. (NOT the BUSH-WASH party!)
I still tell my wife, "I'll pick up the pizza if you'll make the phone call." I remember the day that I got so frustrated trying to use a telephone that I tried to push it through a concrete block wall.
I have perhaps not changed my opinions so much, as I have learned that I have opinions, and that I have a right, and some ability, to express them.
Thanks to all of you who work so hard to make that possible!