Frederick Pankow - Lifelong Educator and GREAT Grandpa

We lost a great great man, today.  My grandpa, Fred Pankow.

I have many memories of my grandpa.  I spent most summers with him and Grandma in Michigan when I was younger.  I didn't get out there nearly as much as I should have as an adult.  But, I still looked up to him more than any other man in my life outside of my dad. 

I could share many of those memories with you, now.  Of fishing on Lake Miramichi, of trips to Florida, Canada or Mackinac Island, of hatching ducklings, or of the many letters he sent me offering me a quarter for every spelling error I found.

Instead, I would like to present you with another story.  Grandpa loved to tell (and write) stories.  This one is my favorite.  Grandpa was a lifelong educator.  He started as a high school teacher and retired superintendent.  He even has a school named after him.

I regret that I wasn't able to have him meet Owen in person.  I will miss him.  I will miss his stories. 

Please enjoy.

_________________________________________________________________   

I REMEMBER My First Year as a Teacher, 1948-1949 

By Fred Pankow 

　 

Joyce and I drove many miles on Michigan highways visiting several school districts seeking interviews for my first teaching position. Interviews were also conducted at the placement office of Central Michigan University; it is the school from which I graduated. Our first child (Gary) was born during final exam time at Central and the timing of his birth got me excused from one examination. With graduation my hope was to find a physical education teaching position. I soon learned that there were none, however, there seemed to be jobs for those who would accept positions which included coaching boys athletic teams. In those days girls had no competitive teams in most school districts. To find a teaching job I had to become a coach. I soon found such a position. On my first visit to Byron it seemed it was a long way into the countryside. I mentioned to Joyce, “We are going to run out of road before we get to this town.” After a few months the rather long drives to the big towns were a pleasure through the beautiful farmland. 

　 

In 1948 teachers were hired for whatever salary they agreed to. There was no union or salary schedule. There was no extra pay for and no bargaining about extra duties which may be assigned. A typical teaching assignment was one of, or a combination of, these subject areas: social studies, English, commercial, agriculture, homemaking, mathematics, wood shop, etc. My contract was as teacher of social studies, and sports’ teams’ coach. I looked forward to my assignment at $3,000 for the school year and was very happy to have found work. 

　 

As the coach for all sports it soon became apparent that field preparation, hiring officials, and recruiting ticket takers for home games was also my responsibility. It was on the job training. 

　 

The football team was 6-man football. I was coaching the first 6-man football team I had ever seen. We lacked some things: but never lacked team spirit or support from the community. A team father, John Dyer marked off the football field for me; his son Bill played on the team. We even had a lighted field which was built by the community. I continue to hear from Wanda (Dyer), Bill’s sister, and her husband Darrell Barnhart to this day. 

　 

We had two basketball teams. Games were played in the Town Hall where the playing court was less than regulation size. The team dressed in a room which was, at one time, a small storage room in the basement of the hall. There were no showers only a few benches. 

　 

Spring brought with it preparation for the baseball season. I learned to drive a school bus; at times I transported the team to away games. For home games it was my duty to coach the team and prepare the ball diamond. The equipment and much of the labor, for preparing the diamond, came from members of the community. Our home game umpire (only one was used standing behind the pitcher) was a full-time farmer and part time umpire, Henry Bird. Mr. Bird had the full umpire uniform and was totally aware of the rules of the game. He taught me a few things. 

　 

Shortly after we first moved to town (July. 1948) the Superintendent asked me to go to the Chevrolet auto dealer, in Owosso, and obtain the driver training car for the year. When I spoke to the dealership owner he informed me, “I am not providing a driver training car this year.” He felt there had been a problem the previous year, however, he was nice enough to once again provide the automobile for our students. Perhaps he felt sorry for the new kid on the block. 

　 

As the social studies teacher my assignment included 12th grade Civics (government), American History and World History I was also assigned the teaching of a chemistry class because I had taken college chemistry classes. As the chemistry teacher I began to clean the glass fronted chemical storage cabinets. There were mysterious powders, and bottles of liquids of unknown purpose with labels long gone. 

　 

As the 12th grade Civics teacher I became senior class advisor. No big deal, right? However, I soon learned that after graduation the graduating class takes an annual school bus trip to Washington, D.C and I would be the chaperon in charge. More on the job training. Other chaperons were the bus driver/mechanic Lyle Fisher and his wife Mae and another teacher (female). Lyle and Mae had taken the trip in previous years which relieved me of much anxiety. The students had saved, in the class treasury, from kindergarten for this trip. Housing during the trip was to be school district supplied tents which were packed in the rear of the bus. I was informed, by the superintendent, that the girls should wear dresses on the trip. The father, of one class member, privately informed me that his daughter, had but one dress. In preparation for the trip I informed the girls that they must wear dresses “on the day we left town.” (From then on they wore slacks.) Thanks to great chaperons and cooperative students we had a ball and all went well. We never used the tents. We slept in motels paid for from the class funds. 

　 

The annual community potluck athletic banquet was also the responsibility of the coach. The dinner went well except one table, loaded with food, tipped when people sat on the bench type seat attached to one side of the table. The families set up again and we went about our business. The number attending exceeded our expectations, however, there is never a shortage of good food at a farmland potluck. 

　 

In the middle of this first year I was named school principal. No specifics were given; but it seemed to be for all grades. The reason for the appointment was that someone had to be in charge during the absence of the superintendent. There was no change in any other assignments or salary. I was now “Principal”, “Teacher”, “Coach”, “Senior Class Sponsor”. My office was a former cloak room 8’ x 8’ with all the coat hooks still on three walls. The room would do as I was seldom there. 

　 

As principal I assumed student attendance was one of my responsibilities. For example, there were two brothers with a single parent father. One morning one of the boys told me his brother was still in bed. Knowing the father was at work out of town I went to their apartment: threw the covers off the sleeping brother, got him dressed, and off to school we went. Try that today. On another occasion a young man was not in school. His mother told me he had told her there was no school and he went fishing. I went to the pond, stopped the fishing, and marched him to school. I love this scene because a teacher, who saw us, said, “Tom Sawyer, if I ever saw it. The boy in coveralls and the principal in a suit and tie marching single file back to school from the fishing hole.” 

　 

Near the end of that first year I learned that annually the seniors took a “Skip” day. In the absence of any outside advice I made my first administrative decision. I informed the senior class of 22 members, that they could be excused from school for their skip day (cheers), however, there was one stipulation. I would “skip” with them (no cheers) and it would be a planned day. We went on an all-day trip in four automobiles, first we went via the bridge to Canada and back via the Detroit/Windsor Tunnel. We visited Metro Airport, went to dinner, then back home. Only negative, one busted headlight. The “skip“ day was a great success. Eleventh graders asked if they could do it next year. Some of these students had never been far from home and to visit Canada was to go to a foreign country. 

　 

Somehow, I became the announcer for the annual school/community Christmas program. The parents always love the performance of their children which made the announcer look good also. At one Christmas time, while I was at the Church Christmas service someone had tied a live, old, toothless sheep in my life sized lighted manger scene. (Joyce was home ill but was sworn to secrecy). It turned out to be the Board of Education President (Robert Wiles) and Secretary (Lee McLaughlin) I got $9 for the ewe and Lee did not charge me for hauling it to Detroit to the stockyard. There is a follow up to that story. Several weeks later I kept an appointment with a medical doctor in Gaines, a neighboring village, as I entered the doctor’s office and gave my name he said, “Oh! You’re the sheep man.” 

　 

Not only did I have many opportunities to fish in the local Mill Pond, in a borrowed row boat, but I also learned a great deal those first few years: thanks to the superintendent who found plenty for me to do; the students and community adults who made my years there mostly fun, and the staff members who could not have been more helpful in this farming country surrounding the little town of Byron, Michigan. 

　 

P.S. Having lost many more games than we won I was soon replaced as coach. Eventually I was relieved of some of my other responsibilities. During my last two years in Byron I was promoted to Superintendent of Schools (final salary $6,000). With the help of an excellent “school law” attorney, and a dedicated Board of Education, we annexed two and one half primary school districts (closed one room schools). Soon thereafter the Byron Agricultural School District built a new elementary school, a gymnasium, and a new modern football field. During the years in Byron, Joyce gave birth to our daughter (Colleen) and son (Brian). Joyce was always my support and a wonderful mother and homemaker. 

It is possible I acquired more practical knowledge in Byron than I had in four years of formal college class work. The old three story (basement plus two) brick school building is gone now and the district has grown in size and added several modern school buildings. I wonder if the community is having as much fun and as few heartaches as we had during the seven years the Pankow family was in town. 

My Grandpa is Cooler than Your Grandpa

Clearly, coolness runs in the family.

My Grandpa, Fred V. Pankow, likes to write.  I remember many letters that he would send me when I was young.  Often including a misspelled word here or there, offering me a dime for every one I found. 

Later in life, he wrote a regular newsletter for his community as well as stories that he would send to his great grandkids.  Desmond has taken some of these into school and the teacher has read them to the class. 

Here is a new short story, by my Grandpa Pankow.  I like it.  I think you will, too.

___________________________________

I Remember: The Swing and Our Town. by Fred Pankow

Bill and Mary were newlyweds when they hung the wooden swing on which they now sat
each evening. It is fastened, by chains, to the ceiling of their porch. A porch that crossed
the entire front of the house as many porches did then. This house was their first major
purchase at a price of $4,000. Four thousand dollars was a big chunk considering Bill’s
salary was $3,000 a year. But that’s the way it was 67 years ago.

Bill and Mary often talked about how things had changed during their marriage. He fretted
about what he considered his lack of accomplishment. A doctor could cure illnesses, a
policeman could solve crimes, a fireman could save lives. It seemed he failed to do
anything truly noteworthy. He spent most of his working life in a factory, in Detroit,
where he helped produce small parts for automobiles.

Mary reminded him that the new automobiles couldn’t move without the parts he made.
He agreed but felt he contributed little; such as would a teacher, airline pilot, or scientist.
“Even politicians did important things, they build buildings and pass important laws.”

Bill and Mary continued to swing and talk about the many changes they had witnessed.
They saw many good things happen and some happenings weren’t so good. A swing
tended to make one relax and Mary got to thinking about regular people such as
themselves. Those who raised families and did the things that good people do without
fanfare.

“Bill, we often overlook what’s right in front of our faces.”

“How so?” he asked wondering if he had missed something.

It appeared she had given this subject considerable study.

“There was our work on the fund raising at the elementary school even though we had no
children attending,” Mary explained. “Then there was your work with your union that
resulted in new safety measures for the workers, and how about the recycling committee
on which we both served for years, and there are the taxes we pay. We paid our fair share
toward the building and operation of the schools, the Art Center, the Zoo, the County Park,
not to mention the roads and we don’t even drive anymore.”

Mary was on a roll. “You and I have done many worthwhile things during our lives here.
We have helped build a community. We don’t have a building with our names on it but
perhaps the town square should have a plaque honoring all the people just like you and me.
It could say, ‘In recognition of the common people. This is their town. The seeds they
planted will bear fruit forever.’”

Bill agreed that he had overlooked the contributions regular folks, like Mary and he, have
made.

“You’re right Mary this is our town. Folks like us built it.”

Then he thought. It wouldn’t have to be a big or fancy plaque. Put it in the park. What
would it cost? We could place a jar near the cash register in the Food Mart and ask people
to drop their loose change. Just some simple words like...

“WITHOUT THOUGHT OF GLORY

THEY BUILT THIS COUNTRY ONE TOWN AT A TIME,

WE CALL THEM CITIZENS.

NO NAMES APPEAR HERE, THERE ARE SO MANY,
TO KNOW THEM YOU HAVE ONLY TO LOOK AROUND,

THEY ARE YOUR NEIGHBORS.

********************************


TO THOSE WHO GO UNRECOGNIZED: To each of you in recognition of your life long
contributions to the towns in which you have lived and the seeds you have planted for
that’s the way it is.

My dad is cooler than your dad.

A few months back, my dad started a pretty rad routine. 

One day, I received an email titled, "Sideways Stories from Wayside School Chapter 1."

I open up the email to find an audio recording of my dad reading a chapter from Sideways Stories From Wayside School.  I don't think he knew at the time, but this was a book I thought was pretty hilarious when I was a kid.  Regardless, he picked a good one.

Desmond loves being read to at night.  It's one of his favorite things.  In fact, he gets really bummed when he doesn't get a story.  There have been plenty of nights when he has had to forego stories because he spent too much time playing video games or farting around.  So, he's gotten pretty good at wrapping things up when he knows it's getting late because he doesn't want to miss his story time.

So, when Grandpa started sending stories, it fit right into the nightly routine.  Now, every single night Des is home with us, we curl up in his bed and hit play on the latest chapter.  Basically, it's our nightly audio book as narrated by Gary Pankow. 

Not that long ago, we finished Sideways Stories.  Did you know it has a sequel?  I didn't.  Not until Desmond told me.  "Do you think Grandpa will send the second one?" 

Sure enough, once we finished book 1, Grandpa started sending chapters from Wayside School is Falling Down.  Lately, he's even been including photos of the chapter pages so Des can see the pictures.  As you can see, Marley gets to enjoy the stories as well.  I'm also saving all the Chapters for Owen to enjoy when he's older. 

Desmond has become quite the reader in his own right.  Many nights I have had to pop in his room and tell him off because he's still reading at 10 or 11 at night.  One night I had to go in there at midnight (it was a weekend, but still)!  I am pretty sure he gets it from his Grandpa. 

It was a big day for me

So...today was a pretty big day.

No...I didn't win the lottery.  No, I didn't get promoted to Vice President.  No, my kids didn't cure cancer.

BIGGER!

You see, I have certain heroes in life.  Heroes that, to me, are the epitome of manhood.  Heroes that, with very little effort, are able to make people all over the world say, "Damn...there goes a real man."
These heroes are:

My homie, Andy Palmer

My Cousin-In-Law Gary (he's the one on the right)

And Commander William T. Riker

What makes these men heroes, you ask?  Well, Andy is building his own house.  That's pretty manly, but that's not what it is.

Gary formed his own highly successful marketing business that thrives in Seattle today.  Totally manly...but, whatever.

And, Riker...how many times has he saved the universe  Still...this is not what impresses me.

No...clearly, my admiration for these men is due to one thing.

THEIR DAMN SEXY BEARDS!!!

By now, you may be wondering, why is today so special?  Well, I will tell you.

For many years, approximately 40 now, I have tried to grow a beard.  Tried in college, tried as a young adult, tried as an old adult.  I could grow mean sideburns and I could manage an ok chin strap.  But, there were way too many patches.  I looked like a 16 year old...with bags under his eyes and grey in his beard.  But, I kept trying.  Lord knows why.

In late 2017, I decided to try out a goatee.  It looked dumb, but it was full, so I ran with it.  The people at work were nice and humored me.  Kim told me she "didn't hate it."  But, she totally hated it.  A few dudes at work have nice beards.  In my envy, I have told them so on a few occasions.   One of them told me, you should grow a full beard!  I was like, I can't!  He said, do it anyway!

So, once again, I tried growing a beard.  I'm not sure what's different this round.  But, something happened today that made me acknowledge that today, FINALLY, I officially have a beard!

I was chatting with a couple new teammates (I recently joined a new team at Google) about new seating arrangements.  All 3 dudes, all 3 joining this new team and will soon be sitting together.  One dude has an amazing beard.  One dude is totally clean shaven.  The last dude is me.

Says bearded dude to unbearded dude, "Dude...you're gonna need to grow a beard if you're gonna sit with us."

Did you see it!  Did you see what happened there?  Unprovoked, unbeckoned, a person who doesn't know me that well, who is not familiar with my unbearded face implies that because he, a well bearded man, and myself will be in this seating pod, the clean shaven person must grow a beard to join us!!!  I HAVE A BEARD!!!

Kim still hates it.  But, I'm gonna ride this for a bit.  Maybe I'll go build a house.

Have I mentioned how cute my kids are?

Not to mention my whole family.

Thanks to Nikki Womac, OLG mom, photographer and all around awesome person.  She donated a photo session to the school auction which Kim and I purchased.  She's one of those great photogs that take candid photos while you live your life.  Unfortunately, Kim and I are terrible and awkward models.  At least our kids are adorbs.  Take a look.

Merry Christmas from the Pankows

Greetings!

The end of the year is approaching.  But, before we close, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!  I hope you get to relax and I hope you find some peace during this time.

I will (hopefully) get my annual end of year post up next week.  But, in the meantime, please enjoy this Pankow Christmas Jammies picture and this video of Opie giving baby kisses.

Look how cute my kids are.

No, really.  Look. 

First school photo for this dude.  Nailed it!

This one gave us a legit smile this year!  Lady killer, I tell you!

Farewell my Quincy Pants

My dad once told me, our pets give us thousands of the happiest days of our lives...and one of the worst.  Today was one of the worst for me. Today, I said goodbye to Quincy Pants. 

Quincy was 13 years old.  If you knew him, or even follow my blog, you knew that he drew the short straw in life.  Rarely could that poor dog catch a break. 

He was allergic to human dander, so he was ALWAYS itchy.  Even after a routine of allergy shots and a lifetime of prednisone to ease his symptoms.  Then, he developed cataracts and after a few years was completely blind.  Then went his hearing.   

But, he was always still happy, smiley Quincy Pants.  He was the first to greet me at the door, bouncing all over the place and shaking that stump despite his old age and arthritis.  He was always there to snuggle with me during the most trying times of my life and just when I needed a pooch to pet.  He was always there.

Now he's not.  And, it hurts. 

You may wonder what happened?  Well, it all started after his surgery.  I look back and I wonder if I should have made this decision then.  The surgery was pretty traumatic for him.  He lost a step or two after that.  We could still enjoy snuggle time.  But, the giddiness was lost.  The "morning make outs" ended.  Those morning when I would just pet the heck out of him and he would love up every moment of it.  He didn't like that, anymore. 

He stopped going up to Desmond's room where his favorite bed in the world (the Ultimate Sack) was.  The half body shake I would get when I got home lessened to just the stump. 

Then, one day, he had what we thought might have been a seizure.  I wasn't there for it.  My in-laws saw it and described it.  He went to the vet and, hundreds of dollars of tests later, they had nothing.  Today, I kinda wonder if that was actually a stroke.

It was the move that really sent him into a rapid downward spiral.  Everything he knew was different.  He was losing his way around the old place, too.  But, now...everything was wrong for him.  We tried helping him explore.  We even set him up in his own corner of the house with his bed and the old couch for him to lay on.  Close to the action where he could do his thing (which is usually simply sleeping) while we did ours (cook dinner, feed the baby, whatever).  Then we would bring him to the living room and let him rest on the couch. 

But, these last days, he couldn't rest.  He couldn't sit still.  He would walk in circles, over and over and over.  He would walk in circles so much and so fast that he would get dizzy and fall over...then he would get up and continue to walk in circles.  We tried to put him in his favorite spots.  He would get up and, if we weren't right next to him, fall off the couch or the bed and then keep walking in circles.  He stopped eating and drinking.  Just circles. 

Today, I took him to the vet clinic...the one where my cousin Kelley works.  Kelley was there for us.  She did the procedure herself.  I was with him when he passed on, off to torment his sisters who went before him.

I miss him, terribly.  It's still the first day, but I keep thinking I hear him.  I know it will pass.  In the meantime, I will remember what a great little puppy pants he was for 13 years.  Thanks for thousands of happy days, Mr. Pants.

 

 

This baby has a clear favorite person

Owen has picked a favorite person in the whole wide world.

It's not his mom.

It's not his dad.

Not Quincy or Grandma or Grandpa or any of his teachers.

It's his big bro.

Here's an example of how happy Desmond makes his little bro.


Baby giggles from Jason Pankow on Vimeo.

Farewell to our Junction Home

So...we've recently made a pretty big (HUGE) move in our lives.  We have purchased a new house! 

I will post pics of the new place soon (hopefully).  We are fully moved in.  With the exception of some remaining unpacked boxes, we are officially living at the new place.

And, with that, we are in the process of saying goodbye to our old home.  Our little Junction home in West Seattle.  It's very bittersweet.  While we weren't there long, it was our first home as a family.  Kim became a Pankow while we lived in this house.  Opie was born.  We made a ton of memories here. 

We moved into the house in September of 2014.  Kim and I were dating and had gotten engaged earlier that year.  Desmond was in Kindergarten.  Opie was a twinkle in our eyes.  It started out as a rental.  The lease on the place I was renting was coming up and I needed a new place.  Kim owned her own home, but moving in there wasn't really an option as it was far away from Desmond's school.  So, we started looking. 

Rentals in Seattle are not cheap.  Finding a nice place with room for 2 adults and one kid (not to mention a guest room for Grandmas), in a decent location, at a price we wanted was not easy.  We came really really close to renting one place with an AMAZING yard and a SPECTACULAR view of the Puget Sound.  We were one pen stroke away from signing a lease when the fact that it was only 2 bedroom (1 if you didn't count the room that didn't have a closet) and really really dinky made us wise up. 

Our home kinda fell into our lap.  Kim was talking to a friend of hers who had another friend who had a brother.  This brother owned a house.  He and his family lived in the house until his job required him to move to California.  Since then, they had been renting out their house.  The previous tenants had jumped ship and they were looking for new ones.

The rent was affordable and the location was amazing.  Central West Seattle near the Junction (essentially, West Seattle's "main street).  

We rented this home for a year.  During that time, we got married and started talking about purchasing a home.  Home prices were on the rise, but not so much that they were not affordable to us (yet).  Around this time, our landlords called us to ask if we wanted to renew our lease.  We mentioned that we had started thinking about buying.  What a coincidence...they had started thinking about selling! 

It worked out very nicely!  They offered us a great price (one where they made money but we weren't priced out) and we did everything without much hassle.  We were homeowners for the first time as a family!  Yay, us!!!

Well, Desmond got bigger, Owen decided to be born, and the Junction started to grow rapidly in population.  2 years after buying our house (3 years after moving in) we were wondering if we should branch out.  Find something a bit bigger in a neighborhood that's not so crazy. 

Here's the hard part...the Seattle market is currently the fastest growing housing market in the US.  This was both good and bad for us. 

Bad because, in order to find a good house for us, we needed to look outside of Seattle.  I don't mind leaving the city.  Taxes are high and I think Seattle politicians (and most voters) are dumb.  The problem with this is...we love Desmond's school (in Seattle), we don't want to be too far from Desmond's mom (who lives in Seattle) and our commutes are already long (to Seattle...and Bellevue for Kim).  As I said, I'll talk about the new place in the future, but we are no longer Seattleites.  We now live in Burien. 

Now, let's talk about the good part. 

In 2 years, we installed 2nd bathroom and re-fenced the entire backyard.  We also replaced some appliances, but I don't think that impacted much.  With those additions and the huge growth in Seattle, our house was appraising at $200k more than what we bought it for!  Holy CRAP! 

Now, we did things a little backwards.  Our agent was so confident that we would sell our house, that we used this equity to take out a home equity loan to use as our down payment on the new house.  Therefore, you can imagine our stress as we waited for a buyer.  We were looking at potentially having to pay 2 mortgages and a home equity loan payment at the same time.  This right after Kim spent 4 months on unpaid maternity leave.  Not ideal. 

We put the house on the market for a week and were set to review offers on a Wednesday.  Come Tuesday night...nothing.  There were some people that had expressed interest.  But, so far...no offers.  I didn't sleep much that night.

But, our agent was right.  Come Wednesday morning, we had 2 offers!  Apparently a third person was interested, but did the math and decided that she couldn't afford the payments.  But it turns out that 2 offers was enough.  They competed with each other enough to bump the price up $45k over our list price.  So, if you're doing the math...in 2 years, we made $230k.  Minus the cost of the bathroom and the fence.  But, still...a significant profit!  It is a GREAT time to be a homeowner in Seattle. 

(I apologize if this is braggy...but, I figure it's all pretty public.  All you have to do is pull up Zillow in a few weeks.)

Now, before you get too excited, we have to pay back that home equity loan, plus agent fees and money to other folks it's owed to (stagers, repairman, credit cards that we had to use while we were broke during this process, etc).  So, the money we are actually pocketing is not as great as it originally appears.  But...it's still pretty great. 

Anyway, it's a very happy time for us, but we will miss our old house.  It gave us a home for 3 great years.  Now, it will be home to another family.  I hope they enjoy the plums, Horatio the Squirrel, the new bathroom, Happy Hour at Shadowland, songs emanating from Jeffrey's living room, the kids up the street passing by on their bikes, Ercolini Park, Fairy Land (if they can find it), and the general warmth that comes from the home.  A place that has seen so many families come and go and has kept them all sheltered and warm. 

Thank you 4456! 

My Facebook boycott will be harder than I expected...

I seem to have forgotten exactly how much I have tied to my Facebook account.  So, an all out disabling won't work.  Tried it yesterday and was locked out of 2 of my phone games and my Zillow account.  I'm still boycotting.  I just have to find a different way to do it.  I feel if I just stop looking at it, that won't be nearly dramatic enough.  But, that's where I am, now.

Peace

I'm taking a break from Facebook

I think it's pretty safe to say that I am a Facebook addict.  Have been for a long time.  Most of it is probably narcissism.  But, I also use it to keep tabs on the people I care most about.  You see, I have never been good at staying in touch.  Ever.  I don't text.  I rarely call.  I use Facebook.

But, I can't take it anymore.  Facebook is no longer a good tool for watching my friends' kids be all cute and stuff.  Now, it's a place full of hatred and ignorance.

And, I can hear my bubble now!  "I'm not ignorant!  I closely follow the news and I know what's going on!"

Maybe.  But, you are still ignorant to the thoughts of others.  I know that it's at a particularly low point when I find myself feeling the urge to defend Trump.  I effing despise Trump.  But, there have been multiple times when I have come very close to saying, "That's not what he actually said," or "you took that out of context" or "Let's dispense with the hyperbole, here." 

I still don't like Trump.  He's still an ass.  He's still a horrible person. 

But, the amount of vitriol that comes from my friends on the Left Coast has gotten to be too much for me. 

Nobody actually debates, anymore.  All anyone does is attack and insult.

Remember all the "I Stand With Planned Parenthood" profile pics?  I am avidly anti-abortion.  Imagine if I put up a profile pic that said, "I DON'T Stand With Planned Parenthood."  Who would be the first person to call me sexist? 

I saw someone call John McCain a coward because he voted to move forward with a vote on Health Care.  Forget that he voted (twice now) to uphold beloved Obamacare.  He's apparently a coward for insisting that Congress do it's job and actually vote on something.  He, a man who suffered years of torture for his country, is a coward for daring to do something the Left disagreed with.  Because if we disagree, it shouldn't even be brought to the floor.

I've seen people called sexist for refusing to vote for Hillary.  Or racist because they didn't support Obamacare.  Yet, only a handful call for the (allegedly) child raping mayor of Seattle to be removed from office.  Total silence from the left.  I ask why and the response is "Well, look at this Republican that did something similar." 

And now there is this NFL thing. 

I understand why the players are sitting/kneeling/hiding for the national anthem.  I sympathize with their goals.  I acknowledge that there is a significant problem.  I also understand how it could be considered disrespectful. I won't boycott the NFL.  I enjoy football too much.  Someone else's expression won't drive me from that enjoyment.  But, it doesn't mean that it's irrational for a person to dislike the protest.   The players know they are causing as stir and, I suspect, it's their goal to do just that.  Create a conversation around the topic. 

The problem is...we're not having a conversation.  We're yelling at each other and calling each other names.  And then justifying our name calling because FUCK NAZIS! 

When did we become such assholes?  When did we stop caring about dissenting opinions?  When did we get to the point that only our opinion matters? 

Russia is winning this war.  What a brilliant piece of espionage that we've all fallen for.  Facebook has become a tool to close our minds.  And, I hate to tell this to all my, supposedly enlightened, liberal friends...but, you are just as much a part of this problem.  Russia got you, too!  You've stopped discussing and debating.  You've simply started spewing.  And, I'm fed up.

I'm taking myself out of this pool of incestuous opinion.  I will continue to follow the news and make up my own mind.  Perhaps I'll even find some friends to have a beer and a philosophical discussion with.  If you're interested, send me a note!  Perhaps some of you will even change my mind or maybe I'll change your mind on something.  Perhaps not.  But, at least we'll talk. 

Debate is healthy.  It's American!  This Facebook crap that's going on...not so much.  I'm out.  Peace!

Reasons I will Quit Google: Kombucha

I overheard this one from someone else.  So, I guess it should actually be titled, "Reason someone else will quit Google."

"I hate when they don't have the kombucha flavor that I like."

It's obvious Google doesn't care about employees.  I mean, I bet she could get the kombucha she likes at Amazon.  She would have to pay for it, but she could get it.  Forcing her to settle for free kombucha that she doesn't like is completely unacceptable.