Brock Turner, Stanford, College Rape Culture, And The Liberal Progressivism That Is Responsible For All Three

So let’s start with the current story of the vile punk rapist who got a joke six-month sentence which was apparently twice as harsh as it should have been given the fact that they released him in three.

And decent people are left saying, “What the hell…?”

And the ONLY reason liberals are angry is because women constitute one of the perennial victim classes that make up the left.  And how dare you prey on one of our victim classes when it is our coalition of victim classes that is supposed to be able to ride political correctness to exploit everyone else instead?

I recently read an LA Times op ed titled, “Understanding the Nate Parker scandal” by Michael Eric Dyson in which the author rehashes every leftist slogan as he tries to swim through the waters of liberal butthurt women and black butthurt activists who both demand that their sacred cows remain sacred.  I mean, gosh, they’re both such victims, and what happens when one liberal protected victim class preys on another liberal victim class?  It’s GOT to be the white man’s fault; it’s just GOT to.  So the conclusion of the article would seem to be that every time a black man rapes a white woman, a white male should do hard, painful time for it.  Because otherwise the piece was a load of patronizing leftist drivel.

Allow me to dive in – since this is a story about a rapist swimmer – and offer my own op ed on the gist of this despicable story.  Brock Turner is an entitled punk who doesn’t believe he should be held responsible for his own actions; Stanford is one of the most leftist liberal progressive major universities in the nation, and “college rape culture” is the inevitable result of leftist Darwinian values, in that order.

We start with this pathetic little worm Brock Turner and the sense of entitlement that permeates his little roach soul.  The view is, “If I want something, someone else should provide it for me.”  You know, like if I want your money, I should vote for the government to confiscate it from hard-working people and redistribute it to me.  As I will say throughout here, it’s just the exact same entitlement worldview on a different entitlement stage.  I want your hard-earned money and you won’t give it up to me unless I redistribute it to myself; I want your sex and you won’t give it to me unless I can redistribute your unconscious body behind a dumpster.  Either way, I’m taking something that isn’t mine, and I ought to be able to do it because after all, I’m entitled and somebody somewhere owes me what I want but can’t obtain the honest way by legitimately working for it.

“Affluenza” is the latest form of stupid entitlement excuses.  It wasn’t Brock Turner’s fault, it was “the whole rotten village,” right?  But ALL of these damn excuses are vile.  “I did it because I’m rich and white” is no more morally shame-worthy of an excuse than “I did it because I’m poor and black.”  And I simply state for the record that accepting the latter entitlement excuse guaranteed that the former one would ultimately succeed, too.  So black writer Michael Eric Dyson, trying to explain or better-yet explain away Nate Parker’s behavior, blames it on “jock culture” and “male privilege.”  How about you did it because you’re a bad person and you’re going to pay the consequences of your depraved actions?

If you live by victim mentality, you ought to die by victim mentality.  Because sooner or later, you whiny victim, there will come a more whiny victim than you.  And so now the feminists who “fundamentally transformed” women into a victim class are aghast and appalled because male rapists are themselves victims.

It’s like liberal heroine Sen. Elizabeth Warren, who falsely claimed special status because she believes that somewhere in her family ancestry going back to the dinosaurs, somebody was a Native American.  It’s like that, because somewhere sometime I was a victim of something.  And I’m not responsible because after all, I’m a victim and I’ve got the entitled whining to prove it.

And thank you, liberalism.  That whole load of crap would have been impossible without the toxic pile of fecal matter that is your worldview.

So our rapist swimmer went to Stanford, of course.  Where else would a whiny liberal puke go?

Now, consider the “college culture” and whose damn culture it is:

Liberal Colleges

That’s political donations.  Now consider the faculties of these indoctrination centers:

If you’ve spent time in a college or university any time in the past quarter-century you probably aren’t surprised to hear that professors have become strikingly more liberal. In 1990, according to survey data by the Higher Education Research Institute (HERI) at UCLA, 42 percent of professors identified as “liberal” or “far-left.” By 2014, that number had jumped to 60 percent.

Over the same period, the number of academics identifying as “moderate” fell by 13 percentage points, and the share of “conservative” and “far-right” professors dropped nearly six points. In the academy, liberals now outnumber conservatives by roughly 5 to 1. Among the general public, on the other hand, conservatives are considerably more prevalent than liberals and have been for some time.

Let’s put it in terms of the Pottery Barn Rule that Colin Powel claims he told Bush before he went into Iraq: “You break it, you bought it.”

The college “rape culture” is out of control.  And you’ll find that “over the same period” that liberalism came to so entirely dominate college/university culture, rape culture came right along with it.

On the liberal diatribe, conservatives are warmongers.  How dare we want to fight back against terrorists who want to burn us alive?  Obama’s 1,900 percent increase in terrorism is surely much more peaceful, right?  But by that same diatribe that brought Obama to power, liberals are rapists.  The more liberal you are, the more rapist you are, and vice versa.

This is no accident.  It is literally a scientific progression, as I’ve described before:

And the horror that results in society is equally true of the individual who lives by Darwinism.

Why do we as individuals rape, murder and sleep around?  Because – and I quote – “rape is (in the vernacular of evolutionary biology) an adaptation, a trait encoded by genes that confers an advantage on anyone who possesses them. Back in the late Pleistocene epoch 100,000 years ago, men who carried rape genes had a reproductive and evolutionary edge over men who did not: they sired children not only with willing mates, but also with unwilling ones, allowing them to leave more offspring (also carrying rape genes) who were similarly more likely to survive and reproduce, unto the nth generation. That would be us. And that is why we carry rape genes today. The family trees of prehistoric men lacking rape genes petered out.”  Darwinism is “a scientific idea that, if true, consigns traditions of self-restraint, loyalty, the very basis of family life, to the shredder.”  Now go ye and do likewise.  Unless something inside of you screams “NO!  I will NOT live in accordance with that terrible, wicked, demonic theory of Darwinian evolution!”

One incredibly interesting read calls this “Darwin’s Dirty Secret.”

Let’s call it the ULTIMATE ENTITLEMENT EXCUSE: “I’m a rapist because I evolved that way.”

And progressive liberals “evolved” to become the most closed-minded, rabidly intolerant fascists there are.

Liberal progressivism is intellectual godlessness, and to put it in terms of Obama’s incredibly hypocritical debt, intellectual godlessness leads to moral godlessness 20 trillion times out of 20 trillion times.

If you can murder a baby, you can certainly whitewash away the act that led to the creation of that baby.

I love the Word of God, which is WHY I so passionately reject liberal progressivism which is so totally the denial of the Word of God and the God of the Bible as it is dominated by secular humanism, atheism, Darwinism, postmodernism, existentialism, behaviorism and every other vile form of “-ism” there is.  God’s Word declares:

  • Don’t let anyone capture you with empty philosophies and high-sounding nonsense that come from human thinking and the spiritual powers of this world, rather than from God – Colossians 2:8
  • Claiming to be wise, they instead became utter fools. – Romans 1:22
  • … always learning but never able to come to a knowledge of the truth.  – 2 Timothy 3:7

Whatever progressive liberalism touches, it infects with cancer.  It touched Brock Turner, just as it touched our societal acceptance of drugs and alcohol, touched our abandonment of God and His morality in favor of the amoral nihilism of Darwinism, touched the embrace of personal responsibility and replaced it with the denial of the same and the embrace of the entitlement and victimhood mindset.

You “carry your rape genes,” liberal; I’ll carry my Bible.

And the empirical fact of the matter is that the morality that comes from my Bible is so vastly superior to the depraved bile that comes out of your university system that it is far more beyond belief than the belief in God that you so ardently deny.

 

 

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

7 Responses to “Brock Turner, Stanford, College Rape Culture, And The Liberal Progressivism That Is Responsible For All Three”

  1. dog walker Says:

    I notice that turn to Gregorio after having driven by it countless times last few months. That seems a reasonable distance. I don’t gotta license though. I wonder if I could sneak it. Probably ain’t worth the risk. This late in the season, I wonder how diligent they check?

    Wife has got me volunteering in her classroom. There is a little guy there who has this malady called Angelman syndrome. He smiles all (most) of the time. If you are ever stuck with a malady, smiling all of the time will get lots of friends and love.

    Problem is he can’t walk and he can’t really control his arms. He can move them but it is like a bird flapping. If I hold one of his hands immobile then his other is somewhat tractable. But when you think about it, you gotta have your arms to “learn” how to walk.

    Walking starts with crawling. You gotta roll over and push up to kneeling to standing. Or use a hand to hold something like a rail or a couch for stability as you try some steps. Or use a hand as a pullup.

    He has a walker that straps his arms immobile and settles his weight kind of on his elbows and forearms. He can walk that way kind of.

    Time… time was once just a clock to me. People don’t have time. His parents got jobs, household chores and other kids soaking up their time. His physical therapist has 30 other kids on his schedule. I am an old guy. I got some time for the little rascal. I am going to teach him how to walk.

    Satisfying… the little guy can’t really speak any words but he sure can express joy. When I appear in his space there ain’t no question that he is happy to see me.

    He is a picture of determination. He wants it. He doesn’t balk at any exercise or attempt.

    Fishing… yes. I could be talked into some fish catching. I am wanting to try one of them sinking bubbles and some floating bait. I might go to Haviland on Wed but I am up for alternate or additional ideas.

    (Please don’t murder that baby.)

  2. dog walker Says:

    I went to look in on that little Angelman today. They got him all trussed in his wheelchair. Velcro straps holding his legs together and to the wheelchair. It seems kind of harsh but I don’t fault them for it. It is management. What are you going to do when you got a bunch of high maintenance kids and only so much resource,
    Sometime keeping them safe means keeping them immobile somewhat. I don’t like it. If it was my Angelman, all I could say is that I don’t like it. But it is my wife that is doing it and I know for a fact she is a step beyond diligent.

    She is a devout Christian. I am a dick. Don’t know how she got stuck with me.

    Angelman is happy to see me today. I put my hands out and he grabs them and pulls back and forth. Smiling, he wants to go outside. It is kind of joyful. The rare moments I feel good and happy. I got self destructive tendencies otherwise. You know about that. And I don’t mean you Michael, I mean you, audience.

    So I rigs Angelman up in his walker. It has a lot of velcro mainly to hold his hands and arms. We goes out walking. He ain’t strong today. His legs are not as coordinated as usual. I had a vision or ambition of getting him to use his hands and arms to coordinate against his body weight. You know to hold a rail and and take a step or two. His neuro synapses weren’t cooperating. I couldn’t get him to take a step of his own volition while holding on the rail.

    I love that little guy. He spends most of the time with his tongue sticking out and his mouth open but he is smiling. His laughter isn’t the way we do it but it is pure joy to hear it. I am perfectly willing to go a few miles out of my way to hear him laugh.

    Politics… hey, me and Angelman got the same political philosophy.

    He has no idea, and here is me wishing I was more like him.

    that damn school is blue shirt territory and I hate to say it or even think it but I think my wife is at least half blue shirt. I thought about leaving her and going off to the wilderness seeking oblivion.

    Didn’t pan out.

    Them blue shirts kind of scrutinize me. They are kind of like WTF! Why would anybody do that for free. Is that guy a pervert or what. But hey, it ain’t much out of my life to give a little kid some quality of life. Maybe he is helping me.

    When I was going to church there used to be these mentally handicapped guys. I kind of cringed at them. I thought they made my faith kind of inane or silly.

    Weird. My faith is or was kind of inane or silly.

    We got some hard times ahead of us. Here is me looking for refuge.

  3. dog walker Says:

    I went an seen the little Angelman again today. Something about that little guy sustains me. His laughter. The laughter of a little guy that knows nothing of the world. So I goes there. But hey, how did I get there?

    I am a madman. My morning starts out with two thousand feet of climbing. That is what I do. i don’t know how I got hooked on that. Early on I feel my heart whining. That is how it is. I tell him to shut up or stop beating. You wouldn’t believe what I can do and I think that you are younger than me. I do that for fo 110 minutes knowing that my wife wants me at 11.15. I told her I would so I will.

    So I goes there. My wife’s classroom. she gots an assistant that is the Russian woman. This is an historical weirdness. This woman… kind of like our age is from the Ukraine. She has been to Chernobyl. She is a Communist. Her first husband volunteered them to help with the cleanup there. Patriots, hey, that is what they do. Needless to say she has health problems. had she not come to the States she’d be dead. That is how that is.

    Communist. Heh! she don’t believe in God or at least not like you do, or I do. But get this. My wife has got her going to Bible study. My wife has that whole classroom in her Bible study. It is the weirdest thing I ever seen. I think my wife might be a missionary.

    The Communist. So we got these handicapped kids. I am a little bit weird about that I think I told you. But Communists are even weirder than I am. Communists put their handicapped kids in a crib in an institution… that is if they are lucky and that ain’t so lucky really. The Communist kind of doesn’t get why we go to much trouble over them. The Communist doesn’t get why we didn’t abort them a priori. Yeah, me saying Latin. I struggle with that a little bit.

    But I am trying to construct an irony here. I ain’t got my finger on it exactly. I let you fill in the details.

    That little Angelman. Yesterday I spent some time with him and a his physical therapist. Uh yeah, my apprenticeship. What can I do to help get that little rascal walking? He is eight years old. Time goes he get heavier. He puts his arms like a baby as though I am going to pick him up. A few more pounds and he is going to be a back breaker. We gotta teach him to walk.

    Heh. But not today. The word is that he woke up at 4 this morning. So his synapses ain’t up to snuff. So me an Angelman is gonna be on light duty. I put him in his walker and think, let’s just get out to the swings. If you can get to the swings I will swing you.

    The swings. There is a special swing for a handicapped little rascal. I gets him strapped in and gives him a pull. I like to swing him from a pull rather than a push. I can communicate with his laugh better that way. Don’t know if you can envision it.

    His laughter envelopes me.

    A little black girl shows up captivated by it. She wants to take over. I let her.

    What a day.

    Thank you Jesus.

  4. Michael Eden Says:

    dog walker,

    Well, I can tell you this much: I read all of your comments and they brought tears to my eyes. You shouldn’t do that to an old man. It’s undignified.

    I can tell you that I know what you’re wife sees in you now. She married a man who could look at that kid that most people would walk past without looking at and have a merciful, compassionate heart.

    If you tell me that you’re wife changed you into a better man, I’ll believe it. But you have to have a bedrock root of decency to ever BE changed or even be changeable.

    There’s a passage of Scripture about Jesus that comes to mind with you and that angelic little boy with so many problems desperately needing love. Matthew 9:36. It says, “When He saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were confused and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” The word “compassion” is “splagneezomai.” It literally means, “His guts churned” for them. Jesus looked at those who were the most down and the most rejected and he felt compassion in a way that He literally felt in Hs guts. I remember once riding my motorcycle and seeing a jackrabbit in the middle of the road, just lying there. It had been run over by a car and it had been torn wide open. It was still alive, and it was just sitting there, waiting to die. It had no fear of me at all; all I could do to it now was end its pain.

    And my guts churned for that poor animal. And I stopped, and I did the only thing I could do. I found a big rock and I ended that creatures suffering. With tears in my eyes. Because nothing should have to suffer like that.

    That’s the way Jesus looked at people in need.

    And that’s the way, I think, you are looking at your little “Angelman.”

    Now, you go anywhere on this planet, and there is NO respect for the truly dependent and needy child other than where Christianity once took root and still holds some sway. You go to India, where people starve on the street and where you have the untouchable class and where people don’t help anybody lest they interfere with that person’s “karma.” You go to China where Mao murdered sixty million of his own people by starvation. You go to the former Soviet Union where Stalin did much the same. You go to any socialist country: the individual doesn’t matter; only the STATE matters. That’s why Stalin once remarked, “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic” and murdered people by the millions. It’s why Mao boasted that “China has many people. They cannot be bombed out of existence. If someone else can drop an atomic bomb, I can too. The death of ten or twenty million people is nothing to be afraid of.”

    People don’t matter to socialists. Not individual people. Only the State matters. And whenever socialists say they are doing something “for the people,” you ought to know what they really mean.

    But in Christianity, every single man, woman, boy, girl, baby, fetus, embryo and zygote are created in the image of God and are of incommensurable worth. All the wealth in the world is not worth one single soul.

    Two things most distinguish Christians from every other religion on earth: 1) the joy we take in our LORD; and 2) the resulting love and burden we have for people not like us, not of our skin color or our culture or our language. And we send missionaries out all over the world to even the most hostile places on earth to demonstrate our love and our burden for humanity. How many atheists are doing that? How many secular humanists? How many Buddhists for that matter?

    Why is that? Because the Bible presents a very beautiful story about a very beautiful God. God the Father has a plan that could be described in 7 words: “Look at my Son! Isn’t He wonderful?” He had a plan to glorify His Son and that plan resulted in creation as the Father wanted a creation that could appreciate and worship the Son. And the Son created the universe and humanity according to His Father’s plan. And the Son created humanity in His image knowing that one day He would assume humanity’s image. Jesus would become one of us, represent us, so that He could literally take the blame for us in our place. Why? John 3:16: “For God so lived the world that He sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him would not perish, but have eternal life.” Jesus literally came to love the hell out of us. And you see His heart in the Gospels. And it is the most beautiful heart that ever beat in the world.

    Philippians 2:3-11 says this and I quote it from memory because it means so much to me: “Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Do not look out for your own interests, but also for the interests of others. You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though He was God, He did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, He gave up His divine privileges; He took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When He appeared in human form, He humbled Himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross. Therefore, God elevated Him to the place of highest honor and gave Him the name above all other names, that at the name of Jesus, every knee will bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

    Think about what Jesus did. When we were at our worst, at our ugliest, at our nastiest, He loved us. He literally laid aside all the powers of His deity and came to us as a helpless child. If abortion is good the Incarnation of Christ was bad, because His teenage mother Mary should have killed the Son of God like a bug the way millions of modern mothers do today. But I digress. There’s a poem that says, “He came to die on a cross of wood, yet made the hill on which it stood.” That sums it up. He came to help us because apart from Him we are absolutely helpless to save ourselves from our sin. Only His righteousness lived in our place can save us. And so He came, the greatest hero in the history of the universe, and the omnipotent Creator was tortured to death by the very creatures He created to save us from hell. And there is and can be no greater or more powerful love story in the world.

    And that’s the essence of it, dog walker. That is the Jesus your wife and I have come to know. We would do anything for Him because there is nothing we could do for Him that would come close to what He has done for us.

    I don’t follow a religion; I follow Jesus.

    Because the Jesus I know is worthy of following to the very ends of the earth

    My Jesus cares for me. And the more down I am, the more at some deep level I know He cares. He proved it in His Incarnation; He proved it in His perfect life; He proved it in the way He died and in the reason He gave His life; He proved it over and over again. He’s proven it in my own life. And I go to church because there are people all around me who have the same stories about what Jesus has done in their lives.

    Your story about Angelman and your experience being touched by these children touches me deeply, dog walker. And it touches me most because it so reminds me of my Lord and how He works through broken people to make broken people whole again and give people dignity that otherwise would never have any dignity.

  5. dog walker Says:

    Madman, ramblings of a madman.
    I go camping. Maybe I should admit that I am a little bit feral. I go outside. I stay outside. I sleep outside.
    I spent a few days at my “altitude camp” since I last posted. I think you would get a kick out of my altitude camp.
    People sees me where I go and they are all like “What! What the heck is an old guy on his bicycle doing way out here?”
    My altitude camp is between 9 thousand and 11 thousand feet. I spend a lot of hours slogging away averaging 10 thousand feet.
    I got a road that I can spend hours on before I see anyone. That is how I like it.
    I go up it and who is the guys I see after a few hours? These guys rents these OHVs called Razrs. Googling ain’t getting me what they are so I might have the name or spelling wrong. But anyhow these guys have beat themselves half to death riding them little motors up to where I am. They see me. Literally they express, “wow!” An old man on a bicycle. That invalidates everything I have ever done that I figured for physically epic.

    Nevermind that.

    I sleep in the dirt. Well in a tent. Hey, that is how it is when your retirement didn’t pan out to a motorhome.

    So I am laying there in my tent staring straight up waiting for darkness to get darker.

    Flash! The brightest brightness I have ever experienced. I was blinded by it. Seriously, I could only see black for a few moments afterwards. When my vision started to come back it was like just fading in with the geometric pattern of my tent ceiling.

    It was a lightning flash and I thought I was hit by it. As my vision was confused, I wondered if I was in the next life or the afterlife or whatever. Man o man!

    Weird. I think about Angelman a lot. Right before that flash I had the thought “I wonder if I am hurting him?”

    Flash! Is that just a weird coincidence? I mean after all I am a madman. Sometimes I think that as close as I get to sanity is my connection to that little guy.

    Now I wasn’t exactly praying when I was thinking that thought, but dang that flash would have been a dramatic response had I been.

    I gotta resolve that. Is that just a natural thing or is that Divine Punctuation to my question?

    Altitude camp… I seen a bear there back at the end of July. Cool! I took his picture. Stupid me. I told guys about him. Big old black bear, I guess 300 pounds. He is easily two of me. I come up on him he is eating berries on the side of the road. He sees me and ambles off down the bank a bit. He ain’t running and he ain’t running away from me. He ain’t scared. He is looking at me “hey, maybe a little protein after I am finished with these berries.”

    I shouldn’t have told those guys about him. Now they are hunting him. Of course it is just bow season. So get this, they are hunting that big old black bear with bow and arrow. I am ok with that and I say this and I said it to that crowd. If you are bow hunting that bear, no fair wearing a sidearm.

    Hey, you are either bow hunting or you are not. This high stakes or world class hunting here. Shoot a bear with your damn arrow you don’t get to coup de grace with the 45 you got in your pocket.

    If the rascal comes back at you pissed, you had better apologize or finish it without violating the constraints of the season.

    I didn’t really hit it off too well with the hunt camp guys.

  6. Michael Eden Says:

    dog walker,

    We should figure out if one of us is the other one’s clone.

    Sounds like you’ve got a couple of years on me. Which logically means I’d be your clone rather than the other way around. Dang. I hate being a clone.

    Nearly every night I go “dog walking.” And I don’t just mean two houses down and then back; I mean ten miles. And I do it at night. Only time I do it in the day is if something screws up my night. And I hate it when things screw up my nights.

    I’ve never once met anyone hiking when I’ve been hiking. Because most other people are sane. People who walk at night do it in their neighborhood; not in the desert way out of phone range.

    The night works for me. As a paratrooper, we ran ops more at night than we did in the day. I tell you what, if you want to learn to FOCUS, you go out at night when you could potentially run into a rattlesnake at any moment. That will keep your senses working, especially if you’re simultaneously got to be worried about what your dog might be getting itself into. But there are no distractions. None at all. Just me and my dog and GOD.

    I’ve learned about the fear of the LORD. Because I know every time I set out that something could happen that is beyond my ability to deal with. Not just rattlesnakes, but people. People are the very worst snakes of them all – and the ones with the worst bites never rattle first. I pray and put myself in God’s hands and I go out there. And there are no distractions and there are no other voices telling me anything. I hear God. I sort out the day. I put things – including my role in the giant universe full of stars – into perspective. I walk along with my backpack and my flashlight and my 5′ staff and I am at peace unless something happens in the desert in the middle of nowhere in the dark that freaks me out.

    To whatever extent I’m sane, it’s my hikes.

    I’m you without the bike. I’m your non-biking clone. Shoot. I see guys on quads going past. Looks like fun. Can’t afford one. I could afford a dirt bike but then I couldn’t take the dog. And the dog has vetoed that will her executive authority.

    Anyway, I’ll say a prayer for your bear buddy. And I mean it. It sounds like he’s just one of us, just wants to be in the woods where people will leave him the hell alone.

    Angelman needs you. I think that’s what God was saying with such emphasis. He needs somebody to love him, to prove to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that yes, HE IS WORTHY OF LOVE. If you have that, you have your self esteem and you have a sense of belonging and connectedness that any worthwhile life desperately needs.

    My nephew Brian, awesome young kid. 21 years old. Still runs up to hug me like he did when he was a little boy and doesn’t give one flying damn what others think. He’s one of the best young goalies in California, but he’s gentle and caring and compassionate. A severely disabled kid loves hockey. Brian noticed him coming to the games and watching and came out and talked to him. He brought other guys from the team to meet the kid and they gave him one of their jerseys and you’d think he was the star scorer of the team. Because Brian made him one of the tribe. And now he feels like he belongs. His mother tearfully told my sister in law that Brian gave him HOPE. And that is far more precious than gold.

    So you keep giving Angelman your love. I leave you with 1 Corinthians 13:

    If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

    4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

    8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

    13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

  7. dog walker Says:

    Michael,

    I read most everything you ever wrote. Sometimes I want to argue and don’t. I am just argumentative I think. Maybe I am getting a grip on my clanging, resounding gong.

    Maybe I will get a grip on my boasting. I think I will start tomorrow or maybe next new year’s resolution.

    Ain’t no school in July so my wife accompanies me to that altitude camp. She gets altitude sickness so I have to be careful how I take her there.

    Ain’t no school so Angelman is left to his family for care and support. Apparently he had a seizure so his summer is spent pretty much sedentary. I think frequent seizures are part of his malady. I think I have seen him seizing up before so I know which way is the nurse’s office. I also think that seizures are common enough with his malady that you just gotta keep moving. Sedentary summer ain’t no good for a little guy.

    July altitude camp is at 10,500 feet. It rains a cold rain every day. My wife sits in the tent and alternates between reading her Bible and sleeping. She has Christian fiction as well. I think they are kind of like romance novels of the Christian genre.

    I want to take her up the road that I am working out on. She hates that road. She won’t go very far up it. I think they call it acrophobia. But that road does go pretty close to a cliff. And that cliff is like a thousand feet of straight down. The road right there is blacktop but it ain’t a full two lanes. The blacktop along the edge is kind of crumbling so there are like potholes on the edge but the pothole has the depth of… oblivion.

    I take a lot of pictures up there but I don’t have a pothole picture. I am totally intimidated by the idea of standing right there with camera out and having a car drive by. People that drive there are a bit erratic due to either fear or hypoxia. So not even I stand by the edge.

    But this is where the old guy can run his metabolism and heart rate experiments all the way up to 14,200 feet. Yup when I was 63 I could still ride my bike up a 14 thousand foot mountain. Actually several times in the course of a week.

    Man o man!

    Riding a Bike up a stiff grade in rarefied air… riding a bike, is not an advantage over running. My bike is 30+ pounds. That’s my handicap over a runner. I am heavier and those gears and wheels don’t give me any leverage or advantage over a runner in that climb condition. It bugs me to get passed by a runner when I am on my bike.

    -The runner.

    I think this is the last of my trips up the mountain for the week but there is this parking lot at like 12,000 feet. I take a break there and eat an apple like anyone would and notice a runner getting out of her car and gearing up for a run. I figure I better get going or I am going to get passed by a runner. So I takes off I figure maybe ten minutes ahead of her.

    Well guess what? Maybe 40 minutes later she passes me. I remark as she goes by, “I hate getting passed by runners.” But this region of climb between 12 and 14 thousand is a bunch of hairpins and switchbacks. So I am riding up the “hill” and she is one switchback above me standing but leaning forward hands on knees trying to get her breathing regulated. OK, so I comes around the hairpin and try to pass her back. I get to within 20 meters or so and she takes off running again. Pattern repeats all of the way up to the summit.

    Here is what I like about it. My breathing was regulated. I was at my “meander climb” pace. She was running all out.

    Get this, The runner is a twenty something endurance trail runner who has won ultra marathons. I don’t gotta drop names. Now that would be boasting and I never passed her back anyway.

    Every bit as weird, at the top were a couple of endurance athletes from my gym. They weren’t running. One of them was my old cardio trainer. You should have seen the smile on her face. I don’t think I told anybody I was going there. i mean I told them about that altitude camp last year. I even journaled it in a web page. But that was weird. Get to the top and see people I know. Acquaintances. I think maybe they thought my last year’s claims and journal just plain preposterous or outlandish. Maybe it was just coincidence. I never resolved that. Probably never will.

    Weird. I am an old guy. I get Social Security and sleep in a tent.

    That’s a memory I will be clinging to. I don’t know if I will be going back to that camp. I do kind of think that road is a bit age inappropriate for me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: