I remember in my younger days the reverence teachers were held in. They were universally understood to be underpaid and under appreciated. Many a radio program would end with some sort of tribute to our teachers. I compare that vision with our current vision of teachers: a militant political force hell bent on setting policy for every school district, city council, state government, and our nation in total. What happened? How did Johnny’s third grade teacher change from the kindly mother-like figure who patiently taught Johnny the three R’s into the raging political force issuing outrageous mandates to the country every day? The answer is simple and I can tell you with one word: “union”.
The aftermath of the public murder of George Floyd was horrific. Riots, looting, assaults, violence of all kind in city after city became so routine that it was almost boring to watch the daily news. In Portland, people rioted every single day (night, actually) for over 100 consecutive days. This violence was virtually condoned by liberal city mayors and other officials if not outright approved by others. Some referred to it as “reparations” for slavery while other less ludicrous claims included justice for George Floyd as if burning down a Wendys or looting a Walgreens would somehow bring him back to life.
Being temporarily laid up with some mysterious pain in my back, I find myself once again in front of my pc with time on my hands and you know what that means. This story is about my amazing grandmother, my mother’s mom who we called Grammam or just Gram when we were kids. Having already raised one generation of kids – my mom and her two brothers – she found herself raising a next generation family of two of her own late-in-life girls, technically my aunts, and my sister and me in the 40’s in Long Beach, CA. She was an all seeing, all knowing force of nature who could handle anything – ANYTHING – by sheer will power and what she referred to as “elbow grease” – meaning hard work.