Going Back Fifty Years, Politickler #7 and a Short Story about Lies

Once again, I am including a short story from my archives on the posting.  I would much rather have included something which one of you had written, but that hasn't happened, at least not lately.  In any event, you may enjoy this one.  It has a moral, I think. But first ....

Taking You Back Half a Century

Back when we were young  (wouldn’t that make a good song title!), many musical performers commented on the social and political scene about them with the songs they sang.  Who cannot remember the Weavers, Peter, Paul and Mary, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez and innumerable others like Simon and Garfunkle, Bob Dylan and of course, Woody Guthrie?  They told us what was “blowing in the wind,” and also let you know that “you don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing.”  They told us about the social injustice perpetrated on the likes of “John Henry, a steel driving man” and also reminded us that “the banks are made of marble, with a guard at every door.” (That was on the flip side of the Weavers’ socialist anthem “If I Had a Hammer,”) These people, although their politics invariably came from the left, were patriotic, and wanted to share America’s greatness with each other: “This land is your land, this land is my land, from the redwood forest to the New York island,” we all sang with Woody.  As the years passed and as music merged the world of protest into the drug culture, we had “American Pie,” “MacArthur Park” and that innocent ditty about marijuana, “Puff the Magic Dragon.”

But here’s some news for you.  That culture is not dead.  I heard it resurrected in a song from Tom Pacheco’s 2011 CD, Luminol (a tradename for phenobarbitol), entitled “We Looked the Other Way.”  It is straight out of the 50s or 60s, addressing today’s problems and of course, it is coming straight at you from the far left and could be an anthem for the “Occupy Movement,” if they need one. 

 

Give it a listen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdUSqnOROT0.  It runs a little under seven minutes and while the lyrics are a bit hard to make out at the beginning, you can eventually get them all if you turn up your sound and listen a couple of times.  It will take you back half a century.  You may not agree with everything Pacheco sings, but his message is worth hearing. 

Jack Lippman

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Politickler #7: Keeping Informed on TV

You cannot keep up with what is going on in the nation and the world by watching the major TV networks. With few exceptions such as ABC’s Nightline and the Sunday morning interview shows, ABC, CBS, Fox and NBC just don’t offer enough news coverage on their primary channels.  More comprehensive news and opinion does appear, however, on the Fox News Channel, MSNBC and CNN. (And of course in many daily newspapers.)

The Fox News Channel, although boasting that it has a “fair and balanced” approach, is significantly oriented toward the right wing conservative viewer, despite its dropping the overly partisan Glenn Beck earlier this year. At the other extreme, NBC’s MSNBC subsidiary is heavily weighted in a liberal direction, even with former G.O.P. Congressman Joe Scarborough hosting their Morning Joe program. CNN provides news on a 24/7 basis, and tries to follow a middle path, often unsuccessfully, but does try hard to avoid featuring opinionated hosts like Ed Schultz and Rachel Maddow at MSNBC or Bill O’Reilly and Sean Hannity at Fox. 

       


       

Clockwise from top left:  Bill O'Reilly - Fox News,  Ed Schutz-MSNBC,
Anderson Cooper - CNN,   Mika Brzezinski-MSNBC   
   

It might be a good idea for liberals to check out Fox once in a while and for conservatives to try watching MSNBC. Please, though, If you do this, start with just five minute doses and try to avoid throwing things at the TV screen, particularly the first few times you try it.  I have become a Morning Joe fan where I find co-host Mika Brzezinski to be a competent liberal balance to Scarborough.  Incidentally, I was turned on to Morning Joe by none other than a registered Republican. 

And speaking of Republicans, I see where the Democrats are running anti-Romney ads with the dual purpose of taking an early poke at him, should he be the G.O.P. candidate in 2012, and also weakening his position in his efforts to win the Republican nomination.  The Dems know that Romney would have a far greater appeal to the decisive independent voters than any other Republican aspirant, and that Barack Obama would have an easier time if anyone other than Romney were the nominee.  The problem with this strategy is the danger of getting what you wish for, and finding out that it is really not to your liking.

JL
 
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 LIES !

  0.

He put the cassette into the VCR, settled back into his recliner, and prepared to learn, once and for all, courtesy of Jack Nicklaus, how to rid his golf game of his recurring propensity to slice the ball off to the right, usually into a clump of trees or shrubbery, on about half of the tee shots he had been making over the past few weeks.   He thought he had that problem licked last fall, but it was creeping back into his game, and more importantly, it was getting into his head every time he set foot on a golf course lately and making a shambles of his efforts to get within twenty strokes of par.

“Herman,” called out a voice from the kitchen.  “I’m going over to the clubhouse to play canasta. I’ll be back a little after ten.  Marilyn is outside for me now.  Are you okay tonight by yourself?”

“Sure, sure,” he answered.  “I’m just fine. Got this golf tape I been meaning to look at. You have a good time, Stella. See ya later.”   And with that the door slammed and she was gone.

The tape was an excellent one, and Herman really got into it.  After watching it twice, he went out into the garage and took his favorite driver from his golf bag, gingerly removing the furry cover from it, and used it to caressingly wipe it off a speck of dirt remaining from his last visit to the golf course.  He brought the club into the family room, where the tape was still rewinding.  Standing over an imaginary ball, he positioned the head of the club on the floor about eighteen inches in front of him at a point midway between his left and right legs, which were firmly and comfortably planted, knees bent slightly, on the floor.  Keeping his head down and his eyes on the spot where the ball would have been, he firmed up his interlocking finger grip, his right thumb pointing downward on the club’s shaft. He then brought the club backward and upward, keeping his left arm as straight as possible, until the club stretched behind him, slanting down over his right shoulder-blade.  He then reversed the arc he had just moved his arms through, and ever so slowly brought the driver downward and forward until it reached the point where the imaginary ball sat.  Continuing his forward swing, in a liquid yet powerful slow motion follow through, his mind’s eye watched the imaginary ball sail two hundred yards, firm and true down the center of the fairway.  The drive, at least in his mind’s eye, had not sliced to the right at all so Herman’s face broke out in a self-congratulatory smile.

One more time, he said to himself.  And this time, with a little more oomph. This would be the way he would do it tomorrow on the course!  Keeping his eye on the imaginary ball, Herman once again brought the driver back, this time with more speed, and this time he would dream of it exploding off of his club with a rocketing drive which would approach within thirty yards of the green!  And as he, with increasing velocity, swung the club forward, he heard behind him a crashing noise as the driver’s head caught the edge of a capademonte figurine which his wife had only yesterday placed on a shelf in the open china cabinet which shared a wall in their family room with Herman’s recliner, across from the television set.

It lay on the floor in at least a dozen pieces, far too severely damaged for Herman to even contemplate looking around the house for the crazy glue.  He was panicking.  His wife had been looking for that particular piece of porcelain for several years, she had said, and had just found it in an antique shop on Dixie Highway in West Palm Beach.  She had paid well under a thousand dollars for it, but it was one of those things which to her way of thinking was irreplaceable.  And Herman knew she would be angry.  He did not know what to do, so he got into his car and drove off into the night.  He had to think about this for a while, outside of the house.

It was shortly after midnight when Sheriff’s Deputy Mendez found him, half dozing, over a plate of silver dollar pancakes and a cup of coffee at the all-night IHOP on Atlantic Avenue.

“Pardon me, sir,” the Deputy said, “But would you happen to be Herman Brown?  From the description I’ve been given, you look something like what I guess he must look like.”

“And if I told you I’m him, what would happen, officer?,” Herman answered.

“I would call your wife and let her know we’ve found you.  She’s half out of her mind, you know.”

“Officer,” Herman continued.  “I see you got a ring on your finger so I figure you’re a married man.  Maybe you could understand my problem.  I came out here to think.  I gotta come up with a good story, you see.”

“Sir,” the Deputy responded, “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.  Are you okay?”

“Sure I’m okay.  But maybe you should listen to my story and maybe you can tell me what I can do.”

“I’m listening,” Deputy Mendez said.

Herman recounted how he had been practicing with a golf club in his house and had accidentally smashed a porcelain figurine which his wife had just purchased.  She had quite a temper, he explained, and he was trying to figure out a what kind of excuse he could come up with which would make things a little easier for him.

The Deputy thought a while and turned to Herman, who was finishing the coffee and the last of the silver dollars.

“I know where you’re coming from, Mr. Brown, and I can sympathize with you. You know, you might say something like the doorbell rang, you stupidly opened the door thinking it was your wife coming home, and an intruder pushed his way in and said he was going to rob the house.  You faked that you were not going to put up a fight, but at the first opportunity, you grabbed the golf club you had been practicing with a few minutes earlier, and started swinging at him with it.  In the course of doing that, and driving him out of the house, you accidentally hit the cabinet, smashing the figurine.  The robber fled and you went chasing after him with your car up and down the streets around the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, yeah, That’s great,” Herman shouted enthusiastically.  “And I tailed him to the IHOP here and that’s where I lost him.  So I just sat down and ordered something.  And that’s where I was when you found me.”

“That’ll work,” the Deputy said. 

“Stella really called in a missing persons report on me? “

“No, it’s far too early to officially list you as a missing person.  But she did give us your description and asked us to keep an eye open for you. Look, Mr. Brown, you drive home and I’ll follow you and we’ll both explain to your wife what happened. Okay?”

“You would do that, officer?” Herman asked.

”Sure. I have a wife too, and I understand what it is to try to keep the peace at home.”

Much later that night in bed, Stella turned to Herman and whispered, “Herman, you don’t think for one second I believed that cock and bull story you and that cop told me, do you?”

“It’s the truth, dear, believe me.  How could you even think that I would make up a story like that?  I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”

Stella smiled, though in the dark, Herman could not see it, as she replied to him.

 “No more than I would lie to you about spending almost a thousand dollars on a piece of porcelain without talking to your first, dear.  Come off of it, Herman.  I bought the damn thing in the ninety-nine cent store.  No matter what I paid for it, the important thing is that you’re home safe!  Will you tell me the truth now?” she whispered as she kissed him gently on the cheek.

And he did.  He felt good about it too.  And that good feeling continued on into the next day on the golf course where he came within ten strokes of par for the first time in his life.

Jack Lippman

 

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The Need to Compromise and "Something to Believe In," a Short Story

Here’s a belated Thanksgiving story from my “archives” and a few words about the necessity of compromise in present day America.  You’re about to read what I have to say.  Now, let’s hear what you have to say about this.

What Happens When You Can’t Compromise

For compromise to occur in any area of disagreement, differing sides must not be firmly committed to ideological purity.  They have to be willing to give in on some portion of what they want, so long as they can walk away from the bargaining table with something that they do want.  If this is not possible, then rationality gives way to violence.

The Englishmen in England and the Englishmen in the thirteen English colonies on the western side of the Atlantic Ocean could not agree on the basis for taxation in these colonies.  Neither side gave in, and as a result, the colonies revolted, resulting in the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the United States of America.

During the following century, slavery in southern states paradoxically co-existed with the freeing of slaves in northern States.  (The Dred Scott Decision complicated this issue by declaring that a southern slave freed in Wisconsin was still nonetheless a slave elsewhere.)  And meanwhile, because of the economic dependence of the southern states on slavery, numerous areas of conflict arose.  The two sides were not so far apart, however, that compromises could not be reached.  The Compromise of 1820 and the Missouri Compromise held the nation together until the extreme positions of both sides in regard to slavery, states’ rights and economic issues prevented further compromise in the late 1850’s.  And then the bloody War Between the States, the Civil War, ensued.  America has not been the same since then.

For the past two years, opposing sides in Congress have been unable to compromise on important economic and social issues relating to taxation, government spending and so-called entitlements.  In the absence of rationality, the beginnings of violence have appeared.  That is what the “Occupy Wall Street” demonstrations are all about.  In another age, civil insurrection or revolution would be a definite possibility in the absence of compromise. Today, instead, we have young people peacefully complaining about lack of jobs, unmanageable debt and unfair wealth distribution.  They claim to be the 99% who are not receiving the more favored treatment that the top 1% of income earners routinely get.  

The United States must find a way, other than pepper spray, to deal with these demonstrators, whose arguments are no less valid than those which led to the Revolution and the Civil War.  The House of Representatives, the Senate and the President must find a way to compromise.  Otherwise, the slippery slope that we are on can result in our country having to face certain very undesirable consequences.

Jack Lippman

                                         

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Happy Thanksgiving

Something To Believe In    (From Jack’s original short story archives)

Wang looked up in amazement at the gigantic balloons which floated down the avenue above the paraders.  Some were in the shapes of elephants and clowns and characters he recognized from the TV shows he had been watching.  And the music!  There were blaring bands from all over the country interspersed among the floats.

“But, Mom, what is this parade all about?  Who are we paying homage to?” the thirteen year old asked the middle-aged woman who held his hand tightly.  “I remember parades like this in China, but they were always in honor of the Party or the working man.  I know you have tried to explain Thanksgiving to me, but who are we thanking?  Where are the leaders we should be cheering, like we did in Tiananmen Square on May Day?

“Wang,” she answered, “We are giving thanks for having the things which make our life so happy.  You know, the food on our table, our clothes, the nice apartment we live in.  Americans give thanks in many ways, some even thank God for what they have, but Wang, God personally won’t be part of the parade.”  Max, on the boy’s other side, gave Louise a jaundiced look.

“Oh,” the boy replied.  But it was clear that he was still confused.  “You mean I won’t be seeing Jesus in the parade?  He’s the one I usually thank for that kind of stuff. That’s what Reverend Lee taught us to do.”

“No, but if you want to be thankful to him, you can, Wang.”   

When Louise and Max had gotten Wang from the Mission Adoption Society less than a month before, they had been told that the Mission people who had taught him English also converted him to Christianity, once they had gotten him out of China where proselyting was illegal.  One of the things they had agreed to was to raise the boy as a Christian.  Neither Louise nor Max really practiced any religion.  They decorated a tree at Christmastime, but had never set foot in a church in their entire lives.  Max was born Jewish, but he lacked a religious background and was totally non-observant.  Louise came from a family of atheists.  So, when they paid the $25,000 adoption fee to the Mission Society, they didn’t object to agreeing to raise the boy as a Christian.  And the Mission people didn’t really care.  As far as Louise and Max were concerned, decorating a Christmas tree and hanging up a stocking Christmas Eve would suffice for his religious upbringing.  But Wang’s constant questioning was getting to be a bother.

The parade was drawing to a close, and the level of tension was increasing.   Wang felt it and didn’t know why, but suddenly, the final float of the parade came into view.  Mounted on a sleigh pulled by eight animated reindeer, and waving to all, was Santa Claus, resplendent in his white-trimmed bright red outfit, his snow-covered beard cascading down over his chest.  A loudspeaker boomed out his cries of “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas to All!   Ho, Ho, Ho,”

 

Wang’s eyes opened as wide as they could, as Santa rolled by their curbside position.  The cheers were deafening.  

“That’s Santa Claus.  I saw him on the TV yesterday.  Is he the one we thank for everything on Thanksgiving?”

This time Max answered him.  “No, Wang.  Santa may bring the gifts, but he isn’t the one who gets them for you in the first place.”

The boy looked puzzled.  “If I shouldn’t be thanking Jesus or Santa for the gifts, should I be thanking you, Mom and Pop?”

“Well, sort of,” Louise replied, but obviously, she wasn’t happy with that answer and the thirteen year old wasn’t either.

“Look,” he said.  “I know you two aren’t Christians, and until last year, I hadn’t even heard of Jesus.  So whether or not I believe in him really doesn’t matter. I can take him or leave him.  But now you’re telling me that I shouldn’t be thanking Santa either.  This is sort of like what things were like in China.  Everyone used to thank Mao for everything.  Now, that was before my time, but then they told everybody to thank someone else, and finally, just thank the Communist Party, and that’s what I did in the orphanage, but that was okay since they ran the place.  But who do I thank here in America?  I certainly have a lot to be thankful for, what with you adopting me and all.  I just don’t feel it’s enough to thank just you two for all you’ve done for me.

My God, Louise thought.  Perhaps we should have waited for an infant, not this boy with his inquiring mind.  Maybe he’ll end up being a scientist or something, she mused.  

Later that night, in bed, she turned to Max.  “Max, do you believe in some force that controls the universe, some original cause or something?”

“Like God, you mean?  No … let’s leave it at some kind of power that started it all, and forget the divinity part of it.”

“You’re more of an atheist than my Dad was, Dear,” Louise replied.  “I’m beginning to think, if only for the boy, we have to believe in something.”  Max answered, “Well, Miss Atheist, you’re not going to get me involved with Jesus or back to the smelly old shuls I remember from Brooklyn.  Let’s find something nice and non-religious to credit everything to, and give that to the kid.”  “At least then,” Louise continued, “He’ll have someone … or something … to thank on Thanksgiving.”

And so it was that Louise and Max joined an introspective philosophical group, which met in an apartment on the Upper West Side on Tuesday evenings, in the hope of learning some answers to the questions the boy was raising.  Wang eventually started accompany them to the meetings, and perhaps because of his Chinese background, quickly took to what was going on, and understood the discussions in perhaps greater depth than the adults there.   And he never again had to ask about whom to thank for the blessings which he received, but he did give great thought to whether the bounty he shared was indeed a blessing, or perhaps it should be looked at in another light.  He loved to talk about these things with Louise and Max.

Louise was very happy with the outcome.  Max turned to vodka.

JL

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More on Self-Sufficiency 

The item on this blog's last posting dealing with self-sufficiency really said that we might be looking forward to an era of austerity in the foreseeable future.  This will definitely happen in Europe, and because of our worldwide banking ties, it could spread to our country.

Many European economies (Greece, Italy, Portugal, etc.) are struggling because of a decrease in their gross national product resulting from (among other things) their inability to sell their products or resources outside of their borders.  Traditionally, countries in such a fix devalue their currency, making their exports less expensive.  This creates jobs and the resultant consumer spending and domestic debt reduction which salaries make possible.  In Europe today, however, this is not possible.  Greece, for example, cannot by itself devalue the Euro.  They are stuck with it.  The only way, then, to make their exports less expensive is go the route of austerity, which means less money for workers and fewer benefits, making Greek exports competitive and helping their economy.  In fact, European bankers are insisting on such austerity if they are to participate in "bailing out" Greece.

In the United States, if devaluing our currency doesn't work, and the Federal Reserve's present monetary policy amounts to that, the only alternative is asking Americans to adopt more self-sufficient measures, which translate as austerity.  Our present unemployment rate, in effect, accomplishes that.  Should the present rate of unemployment become a permanent fixture in our economy, it will become an "institutional" or strategic tool to promote austerity.  If that happens, an expanded government "safety net" will be needed, funded by tax increases, to catch those whose lives are already "austere" and will have to reduce their standard of living even further.

There was no Euro in the late twenties and the thirties in Europe.  Countries could devalue their currency, as Germany did drastically during the Weimar Republic.  But it didn't work.  At that time, economies were on "the gold standard," and if currency reforms were based on fiction, rather than on the yellow metal, they failed.  The resultant austerity in Germany laid the groundwork for the success of Adolf Hitler in gaining political support.   Monetary policy is a complex matter, something about which learned economists often disagree, but it can have a great, and often not fully understood, effect on history.

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JL

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A Thanksgiving Story, Self-Sufficiency and Politickler #6

Self-Sufficiency?

The continued growth of manufacturing in China compared with our minimal growth in that area makes it a certainty that the Chinese will replace the United States as the world’s leading manufacturing nation shortly if indeed that has not already happened.  There is only one reason for this and that is the low cost of labor there as compared with what labor costs in this country.  (Any other explanation is secondary and only serves to reduce unemployment among economists.)  The major result of this is an increase in unemployment in the United States, and the diminishing of compensation for those with jobs.  The price of China’s success is being paid by the American working person.

The first approach to dealing with this challenge which comes to mind is protectionism whereby tariffs on imports keep foreign-made goods outside of this country, creating jobs here when we manufacture those goods ourselves.  Unfortunately, in a world committed to a global economy, this course of action is impossible.  We are already too far down that path to go back.  The global nature of treaties, trade agreements, banking and finance will not allow it.   Therefore it appears that for our economy to flourish in a global setting, the price will have to continue to be paid by the American working person.  It is an oversimplification, but the availability of jobs for American workers is inversely proportional to the degree in which an American worker receives higher pay and better benefits than does his counterpart elsewhere in the world, including Asia and areas where workers have far lower standards of living.

If our economy manages to flourish in such a global environment, and I believe it can, the government must step in to make certain that a relatively decent standard of living is available to the American working person, whose compensation will be significantly reduced, if he or she is even employed, to a level in the direction of that received by the Asian worker.  To do this, extremely high taxation of businesses and individuals will be required.  This is an undesirable solution and one to be avoided.

Sooner or later, the answer will be found and I think it rests in a concept known as “American Self-Sufficiency.”   Whether it is on a local or national level, Americans must learn to depend on themselves, and those in their communities, for the food they eat, the clothes they wear and most of the things they buy.  “Self-Sufficiency” may be thought of as a gentler brand of protectionism.   

Certainly, some items will always have to be imported, but they will be the rare exceptions.  We will not have to withdraw from the global economy, but we should be less dependent upon it than we are now, even if things we make ourselves cost more. To succeed on this basis, we will have to live more austerely, making do with what we have, spending less and devoting ourselves and our resources to developing “American Self-Sufficiency.”  Think in terms of more backyard gardens, more sewing machines in homes and more cars with odometer readings in excess of 100,000 miles on our roads.  If someone has a particular skill (plumbing, electricity, etc.), there will have to be a willingness to share their skills with neighbors who will respond with whatever they are good at. I may grow corn in my yard and you may grow tomatoes; we can swap vegetables. This will amount to a communal approach to building a self-sufficient America.   

More about this will follow in future postings … and your ideas are welcome, since I really don’t know where I am going with this train of thought. 

Jack Lippman

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Politickler #6

Okay, the Super-Committee threw in the towel.  Hence, in 2013, in order to deal with the deficit, tremendous cuts in spending will be mandated to occur.  President Obama has said that he will veto attempts by Congress to reduce these spending cuts.  It’s odd that the Democratic President ends up on the side of new spending cuts and the Republican House seems to be aiming at reducing them.  Of course, the cuts the G.O.P. wants to avoid making are not in the area of Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid, but rather in future military budgets.  But the President is sticking to his position because, at the end of 2012, the Bush tax cuts, which benefited the wealthy, are scheduled to expire. 

This time around, contrary to his questionable 2010 position, the President will be fighting to let them run out, bringing taxes on the wealthy back to their Clinton administration levels.  The President’s insistence on the mandatory spending cuts occurring starting in 2013 is tied to the additional revenue expected from the expiry of the Bush tax cuts. His is not a leftward leaning position but rather a centrist position. Together, increased revenues from taxes on the wealthy (leftist approach) and broad spending cuts (rightist approach) will be giant steps toward deficit reduction.  I am certain that if the President is unable to succeed in letting the Bush tax cuts expire, he will change his mind about going along with spending cuts.  This is the issue over which the Super-Committee failed to come together. 

Some people think that the best way to solve this would be with a giant super-committee, not consisting of Congressmen and Senators, but with a committee of all Americans making the decision.  I believe such a committee will indeed meet in November of 2012 to solve this problem when they elect a full House of Representatives, one third of the Senate and a President for the next four years.  Vox Populi, Vox Dei.

(I note that a lot of Democrats are blaming lobbyist Grover Norquist, who has exacted a pledge to constituents from most Republican Representatives and Senators that they will absolutely oppose any and all tax increases, for the Super-Committee’s failure. Be that as it may, please note that many months ago, this blog told its readers all about Grover Norquist, with all of his blemishes, including his Islamist activities.)

JL

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TURKEY DAY

Harvey Sage

(author of Tuna Food, available at Amazon Kindle.  Please feel free to forward this story to your friends.) 

Blessings!        

Nana shot him a glance of disgust. “ You should be ashamed of yourself. Don’t you have any feelings?” She continued mixing the corn bread in the large bowl while telling her husband of forty five years, “It’s murder. That’s what it is. Murder!”

No,” said Papa, squaring his large shoulders, “it’s killing. People gotta eat and meat is what we eat. It’s God’s way.”

“There are other ways Papa. Murder or killing. What’s the difference? He’ll be just as dead.”

           

Papa was resigned to his task at hand. He was a man and this was a man’s job. He looked out the kitchen window and clenched his teeth. There was Tom, strutting his stuff, thinking that the world was all his. Papa walked by Nana, her attractive body bent over as she placed the bowl into the oven. Normally he would have pinched or patted Nana. But her mood was anything but playful. His stomach growled in anticipation of the Feast. The tray of candied sweet potatoes garnished with roasted pecans smelled too delicious. Dinner was hours away and the main entree was plump and ripe for pickings.

           

“Papa, do you really hafta?” Her plea was almost a wail.

“Yep. It’s only right. We’ve been raising Tom since he was a young ‘un. Now it’s time for harvest. Time’s wasting Nana. I gotta pluck and clean him. That’ll take an hour. It’s getting on toward noon.”

           

She snorted, “Harvest! Tom is Part of the family. Yer gonna commit murder. Shame on you Papa.”

He walked to the box near the door and got “it”. Still feeling the heat from the confrontation he strode outside, weapon in hand. He approached Tom with leaden steps.

The pickup truck came around the house and skidded to a halt in front of Papa. “Hi Pop,” Jethro called as he bounded out of the cab. He gave his father a hug.

“How’s the missus?” Papa asked.

“Amy is fine. She’s resting a bit. Being a mom is draining. So I brought the kids over to see how you old timers put together a feast for Turkey Day. ”

“Papa! Papa!” Two cherubs and a dog flew out from the other side of the truck’s cab and ran over to grandpa. As he knelt to hug and kiss them, Pooch turned to run over to Tom. The greeting they shared was a dance paradigm, practiced over the years. Pooch crouched low in front of his friend Tom, barking and wagging his tail in a frenzy. Tom proudly spread his feathers and scratched some gravel in a makeshift aggressive posture as they playfully circled each other.

           

“Watcha got there Papa?”

There was a spate of silence till Sammy, the older child stated “That’s an ax Bella.”

“An ax,” Bella squealed in horror pushing away from her grandpa. “Papa, you’re going to chop Tom’s head off?”

“I. I….” Papa dropped the ax, weakened by her outburst.

“Papa,” she continued to scream, “No. Not Tom!” Her young body did a 180 as she ran to where Pooch and Tom were playing. She threw her little arms around the big turkey’s neck. “No Papa, no!” She began to cry, shaking violently as rivers of tears washed down her pudgy cheeks. Pooch and Tom joined in, adding to the cacophony with a series of howls and gobbles.

           

The old man’s face had turned into a stone mask. Shouting over the din Jethro asked “Pop. Do you really have to do this?”

Papa gazed at the ax at his feet. “I dunno. We’re supposed to have turkey for dinner. We’ve been fattening him up just for that.”

           

“But Pop, that’s Tom. You gonna kill ol’ Tom?” Jethro was choking back tears.

In a quiet voice Papa said humbly “I was supposed to. It’s the man’s job. I guess we could buy one in town. That OK with you?”

           

“No way Pop. That’s abetting murder. Remember, ’Thou shalt not kill.’ Why don’t we just feast on vegetables, soup, bread and cider.”

           

“Vegetables. Since when did you start eating vegetables?”

           

“For about a month now. Ever since we saw a TV special on animal cruelty.” Jethro cleared his throat. “Look. Mom and Amy can cook up a bunch from our fall harvests. We don’t need no turkey.”

           

“That’s right Papa. We don’t need no turkey,” chimed in Sammy. “We can have veggies. Mamma says they’re good for you.”

Bella ran over. “I love veggies Papa. I don’t want to eat yucky turkey meat ever again. Besides,” she cried, “turkeys have a right to enjoy Thanksgiving too. After all, it’s Turkey Day. Think how happy Tom will be when you give him some extra corn to eat.”

           

Papa leaned over to hug his granddaughter. His tears mixed with her tears. Tears, the elixir of love. Sammy and Jethro joined to make a sacred circle.           

Looking out from the window, Nana wiped tears from her cheeks. “Oh God, if only you would change the hearts of men from killing, just like you did Papa’s.” Then she bowed her head, lit up by the noon day sun, the promise of a beautiful day.

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