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The Lost Art of Americansim
The Dilution of the Breed
I was fortunate enough to be born into a family to whom the truth was vitally important. I could do almost anything and suffer few consequences, if I just told the truth about what I did. I’m going to give some personal examples and I know this is largely boring, but it makes a bigger point, a much, much more important point than the fact that I’m happy with the upbringing I had, so bear with me.
When I was four years old, I ran away from a daycare at a time when daycare was largely unknown. I ran away, because they wanted me to take a nap, something I never did. To encourage me, they faked a phone call with my mom, who, they said, told them that I always took a nap. I knew then, that they were evil liars and while the other children napped, I refused and was sent outside to play. I immediately planned my escape, got all the way across town, waved to the cops looking for me, at one point. But our neighbor captured me and took me back about the time my parents were there to pick me up. With the police, who had been searching for me, standing by, my mother asked why I ran away, I told her that the people who ran the daycare were evil liars and I had to escape before they did something bad to me.
Twelve years later, the cops arrested me, because I gave some guy a ride who tried to hock some stolen radios and they booked me for possession of stolen property, because the rest of his stolen radios were in my car. They called my mother down to pick me up and she read them the riot act, because she knew I wouldn’t steal anything from anyone and if they didn’t release me, she was going to sue them for defamation of character. They let me go.
This isn’t just to tell stories. There were numerous such instances in my life, moments when it called on members of my family or people I knew to stand up to injustice or defamation. My father once bent a patrolman backward over his squad car thumping him in the chest with his middle finger (I’d gotten that treatment a time or two myself) for making an uncalled-for insinuation about his workplace.
The point is, this USED to be America, where Americans didn’t take lies and false accusations from punks just because they wore a badge. I know there’s cops out there thinking that they’d thump and cuff anyone who tried that sort of thing, but that’s only because they haven’t had to deal with real Americans for a long, long time, if ever. While the cops used to be tougher, so were the Americans with whom they dealt.
The downside of mass immigration since the 1960s, is we’ve imported a lot of compliance-oriented people and watered down the original stock. People from other countries, who lived in lawless nations, who could be killed and dumped by any number of government goons, don’t understand a nation that relies on the rule of law, they only know how to comply and they’ve infected the American population and that’s influenced the American police force.
Real Americans are massively jealous of their freedom and real American cops respect the fact that the citizens have rights. Where that’s gone wrong is largely with the citizens themselves. When I’ve gotten a ticket for seat belts, or some imagined moving violation, I’ve taken the cops to court. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose, but it’s the fight that matters. It’s the injustice that cannot be shrugged at and passed by. When the cops pull me over, I hand them the registration, proof of insurance and my driver’s license. I don’t talk, unless it’s to argue, but that argument is better done in court than the side of the road.
I understand that a lot of people are going to recall the cops in the 1960s being pretty brutal. Yes, of course, but not with regular citizens, unless they were known trouble-makers. One could be an upstanding member of the community and get something done by fighting back. If you were a known pedophile, they might just find your poor body beside the road, the victim of a hit and run. Today, we tolerate pedophiles in the Oval Office and the Supreme Court and I’m not necessarily talking about Ketanji Brown-Jackson.
I’m not trying to aggrandize myself, or my family, I’m just trying to give personal experiences so the reader will know that I’m not suggesting things to be done, that I wouldn’t or haven’t already done, or witnessed being done. When the cops were right, when I’d done something wrong, generally out of mischief, I owned up to it and took the beating, but when I was innocent, it was a different matter.
What I’m trying to point out is that we ALL used to be that way, everyone I knew. That was America to me, a whole nation of people whose first instinct was to demand freedom, demand justice, take a beating if it gave one the opportunity to tell them to pound sand. When I look at all that went on during the lockdowns, I just don’t understand it. In-N-Out Burger joints never caved, never made their customers wear masks and when California told them they had to ask for vaccination status, they told them to pound sand. That was an American act of hostility toward injustice. I believe a lot of Americans have forgotten what it means to be American, to be hostile toward authority when it’s doing some injustice, cooperative when they’re pursuing justice. Understanding the difference used to be common sense.
Our two nations are not compatible. For those who demonstrate and encourage sexual deviancy in children as young as three years old are not compatible with those who find it firstly criminal, but also offensive, cruel, sadistic and damaging can’t live together. They can’t share the same laws, the same schools, the same government or treasury. They can’t enjoy the same television programs or sports activities. The openness with which this sexual perversion of little more than toddlers takes place is already a national disgrace, but that disgrace belongs to the Americans who’ve forgotten how to be Americans. It’s a lost art. For heaven’s sake, revive it.