Skip to main content

When songs give place to sighing.

The news is grim for a young person. Fresh college grads can't find jobs. Their folks' real estate is worth half what they paid for it. There's legitimate fear attached to enlisting in the military. People are trepidatious at best with consideration to money, money, money. Revolutions here and there. Squabbling politicians at home and abroad, fist fighting in parliament and such. The constant search for a scapegoat is disheartening.

If only somebody could get organized, they may occupy Wall Street yet.

Is it any wonder when a young man fails to launch? As if video games and pornography were not emotionally paralyzing enough for a generation, now they cope with a pseudo socialist transformation and What To Do in the Meantime.

'Cause if the check's coming, hadn't we better just sit tight and wait for it? Or how much rejection can one take in a highest tech eats high tech world? And where is the moral compass in cyberspace? Shouldn't the lines be clearer in a digital age?

The industrial revolution is over There. If we move it back, do we expect a generation of gamers to leave the basement and make stuff in factories?

While stateside education is playing catch up with technology, These Kids fall behind by yesterday's standards.

They may occupy Wall Street yet. If only somebody could get organized.

Hope and change, cultural warriors, corporate greed, wannabe revolutionaries. If this ilk were the only hope for my young men, I'd be nervous.

Daniel 2: 21


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …

You built me palaces out of paragraphs.

You're so sure I don't hear your words. Maybe you think there's too much weary history for me to contend with New & Fun. You hear told of the time before yours and sometimes you feel alone. Maybe you've even wondered if I'm still up to the challenge.
You assume too much, Love Child, because yours are the words I've been waiting for all my life.
So many words.
My time before you taught me to talk less and hear more but I sift through ALL your words and listen for your heart.
Without your words, how could I know that you sometimes say what you don't mean just because you feel too much to articulate?
Without your words, how could I know that you are unsure and insecure about who you might become?
How could I know, were I not listening, that you often hold back because you think it's not quite your time?
Without your words, how could I know how much you root for the underdog with a righteous anger?
Without your words, how could I know that you often …