A script for failure

I listen to a lot of talk radio, in the morning, the afternoon, occasionally, depending on what I’m doing, in the early evening.  Needless to say, they are conservative radio shows…except for one.

In the afternoon, one of our local radio stations has a program with two hosts—I call them the neocon and the dummy. Sometimes, in my own mind, I have other descriptions for the dummy.

I listen because most of the time, the issues aren’t political. They discuss local news items, other news from across the the country and cultural issues. The neocon has over the last year or two, become more conservative, fiscal and social. The dummy is a former TV ‘journalist’ frozen in the liberal mindset.

Much of the time, the show is worth a few laughs. That is one reason that I listen. The other reason is that it’s too much trouble to change stations. It’s an old radio and the slide-rule dial doesn’t work anymore.

This week, the two hosts had a blowup. According to reports in the following days, it included one host, the dummy, throwing things at the other during off-air time during a commercial. Libs do that when they aren’t winning the argument.

What was the argument? Supporting kids when they have unreachable, or apparently so, dreams. The neocon apparently called the dummy a dream-killer. The dummy replied that it was a waste of time and effort for the kids to pursue dreams manifestly impossible to achieve. Yes, she’s a helicopter mom.

I pity her kids. She has several kids, teens and near-teens. While the dummy thinks she is preventing her kids from the pain of failure, she refuses to recognize that failure is only a step on the path to success. But…her kids will never know how to cope with failure.

No, the dummy has cocooned her kids. They are not allowed to achieve because they may fail. They aren’t allowed to have dreams because mommy thinks those dreams are silly and unreachable. They aren’t allowed to fail because mommy thinks failing can’t teach anything.

Mommy knows best. She will insure her kids never know the joy of working towards a dream, will never know the pain of failure that teaches the kids to stand back, analyze the failure and make a new plan to achieve the dream, or to modify the dream to one that can be achieved.

The dummy lives her liberal principles. She knows best. Only she has the ability to decide what her kids can do, can achieve, in what manner, and woe betide any of her kids, her chattel property, that deviates from her chosen path. It’s a script for life failure.

In the not too distant future her kids will finish high school. Will they be allowed to choose their path in life? No. Mommy knows best. I’m sure she will push them into a suitable, liberally cultured university, who will continue her philosophy of life micromanagement. They will insure her children graduate, maybe, with a useless degree, probably social work, with no life skills necessary for them to survive on their own.

Her kids will not know how to handle failure, and fail they will. They will expect mommy to bail them out and when mommy won’t or can’t do that, they’ll look towards mommy’s mommy, the government, to bail them out.

What the dummy has bred is another generation of social dependents, incapable of success because they’ve never been allowed to succeed. She has created a new generation of failures, dependent on government.

What a detestable life. The neocon had the temerity to point this out to the dummy and when she couldn’t support her arguments, she threw things, a typical reaction from a lib whose life is one of control and who fears the consequences of her micromanagement.

I find it hard to have sympathy for her. No, that’s not right, she deserves no sympathy. Her kids, who she has forced onto the path of failure, a path not of their choosing, do deserve sympathy…until they have kids and repeat the cycle of life failure, lessons taught to them by their mother.

Range Report: Our Church’s Afternoon at the Range

Marlin Model M-39A

Our Church celebrated D-Day yesterday with an afternoon at the Range—the Pioneer Gun Club’s McBride Range specifically near Bates city, MO. When I announced the event a month ago, almost half the church said they wanted to come. The invitation was from all members age 12 and up. Several ladies, widows in fact, wanted to shoot—mostly for fun, but also to learn gun handling and safety. As expected, there was some attrition and when we arrived at the Range, we numbered nine shooters including me and Mrs. Crucis.

The Range was hot. I mean, it was hot with temps at 95 according to the thermometer in the Tahoe. The humidity fortunately was below 50%. That helped a bit.

We had four “new” shooters. I qualify the “new” because one shooter, Jim W, 78, once carried a .38 revolver as a USPS employee. He had never owned a weapon and it had been over 30 years since he had last fired one. The remaining three were a teenaged brother and sister, 15 and 13 respectively, and their mother. The mother had a severe case of Hoplophobia. She wanted to overcome some of that fear and before the day was out, she had fired three 10-round strings with my .22lr rifle.

The boy had been shooting with the Boy Scouts. The girl wanted to see “what the fuss was all about”. She had some fears like her mother but was young enough to overcome most of that fear and shoot. She did quite well, as good as her brother. In fact she fired a number of different .22lr rifles from a scoped bolt action Marlin to my lever-action Marlin M-39a.

We started with a 1 1/2 hour safety and gun handling session using Cooper’s Rules, the club’s Range rules, loading/unloading of pistols, revolvers, rifles and dry-fire with snap-caps.

We shot rifles until just before dusk. Towards the end, I hauled out my AR-15 and M1 Garand. The boy wanted to shoot the AR. My shooting buddy Dave, wanted to shoot both. Mrs. Crucis took some pics and if I can get them I’ll post them in a later blog-post.

As a final act while packing up all the ammo, rifles and accessories, the kids picked up all the brass for the club’s brass bucket, cleaned up all the trash and we left the firing line cleaner than when we arrived. That last bit taught was almost as important as the safe gun handling and shooting.

We brought more than a case of iced-down bottled water. By the time we left the range at dusk, there weren’t many bottles left that were unopened. I got a bit hot and drank three bottles myself. We spent a few minutes in the air-conditioned club-house, washing up, cleaning up and just cooling off with some Klondike Bars we bought from the club’s stash.

It was dark when we got home. I was just whooped. My clothes were as wet as if I’d been swimming in them. After gulping two 16oz mugs of iced tea, I felt much better.

It was a great day at the range.

‘Weady on the Weft?’

From time to time, a posting is found on the net that is just perfect. My grandson is nine and my granddaughter is six. I’ve had a conversation with their mother about taking them to the range. It’s not yet, but soon. This letter is really how kids should be raised and taught gun safety.


MArooned: Letters, We Get Letters…