What’s wrong with white men?

What is wrong with our white men?

Don lemon the mixed race black man said White men were the greatest threat to America. Of course, Mr. Lemon can get away with making race-antagonizing comments because he’s a lefty and that’s what lefties like to do. Of course, having the leftist owned media backing him has enormous benefits.
This isn’t the first time, leftists bashed white men, and they do it without fear. White men after decades of being labeled as the oppressors and racists, and browbeaten by their single mothers have gone effete. Not one squeak of protest was made against Mr. Lemon who surely senses how psychologically weak white men are. In this present day, it’s open season for shaming white men, and they take it like the broken men they are.
Not that I bash Mr. Lemon completely because he’s right to a certain extent- White men can be bad boys, and I mean real bad boys. But, what white people haters like Mr. Lemon don’t understand is without those bad boys AKA White men there would be no Western Civilization.
And, without Western Civilization, people of color would not enjoy the prosperity the white men made possible and they would die by the tens of millions like their forefathers did from famine, diseases or remain in bondage.
Yes, white men were oppressors much like the Mongols, the Arabs, the Turkomen, the Vikings, the Jews albeit much more sinister and deceitful, and the disgraced Nazis. Yes, they did cruel things just as others done. However, and there is a big however, it was White men who elevated humanity to the level it is today, and that is quite an accomplishment unmatched by all the other races of the world.
Leftists along with people of color taunt white men that they are no longer the bastions of power and might. If that’s the case then we can kiss this country goodbye. As much as the left sings their praises, people of color don’t have what it takes. Sorry.
So, if we’re going to survive white men must be bastions of power not just in political office but in the community, schools and home. We need them to be.
So we need our white men to be what they were meant to be- protectors, mentors, leaders, husband and most importantly- fathers. But they are faltering. Its a serious problem not only affecting the USA but Europe, Australia and New Zealand.
White men don’t have kids.
Black men do. Mexicans, Asians, Hindus, Muslims have kids- lots and lots of kids, but not so with white men.
I hike a lot. For me, hiking is like a small glimpse of the world. What I have been witnessing for the last 5 years is Western civilization going into retreat. Most of the people I hike with are white and half of them are men. The majority of the men have no children. And, Its not because they can’t afford them- they certainly can. They just didn’t want children. They view children as a burden. I can see the look of disgust on their faces at the mention of children. Forget about marrying. It’s startling and depressing. Only white men act like this. To me it’s a disease – a white man’s disease.
So, what caused this sickness? Is it easy living? Too many distractions? Maybe to some point. But something else is going on, and in my opinion it has to do with white women.
I’m stepping into dangerous territory but someone has to address it so it might as well be me.
Within the population of white women, there are those who are toxic, and its not due to personality but indoctrination. I’m ashamed to write that I was part of that toxic culture, too. It started in the late 60’s when I was very young. T
Sadly, that cultural indoctrination continues today. White women were encouraged to turn on their men, to view their men as the enemy, and treat them as the enemy by bullying, taunting, disrespecting and so on. Many caste aside the roles of mother and wife as if those roles were demeaning, That’s exactly what the left wanted and it had a bad effect on our men who saw us as creatures to be fearful of. I don’t know about other women but I don’t want men to be fearful of me. I want them to love and respect me as a woman.
The leftist indoctrinators who inhabited our high schools and universities went into high drive. They put into our minds very cleverly that marriage was just a piece of paper and having children was putting nature at risk. Unfortunately for western civilization, only whites listened. While non whites continued to populate, whites held back.- to save the planet, of course.
Year after year, decade after decade, leftist educators pushed an anti white men narrative. Women don’t need men, they would say, and we cheered because we believed our educators had our best interests at heart. They didn’t.
After researching on my own, I realized that we were being played for fools, women still are. Leftist propaganda had ruined, and continues to ruin our society by creating a divide between our men and us.
White women can easily reject the anti white men trend, and once again embrace family and marriage. We can regenerate our weakened society by standing up for our men. I’m not a feminist. I recognize that we are tribal animals, and the foundation of tribal life is based on the nuclear family- mother, father and children. We need our men to be a part of the family or there is no family. If there is no family then there is no society.
Destroying the family is a goal of communism. The left’s intense focus on destroying the family indicates that the family is of vast importance or else they wouldn’t bother. I wish white men and women would understand that because we are in their cross hairs. They want to take us out.
Traditionally, men are the provider, and women are the nurturers. Nurturing not only replenishes the family but society as a whole helping to keep it healthy. The left knows that and that’s why they want the roles of mother and father destroyed.

Men have historically protected the family, and so have women- at different angels. The woman’s role as both nurturer and protector is crucial. Women have the ability to protect their men from the leftist hate agenda. They can shut the left down very easily by standing up to them instead of joining in to shame their own men. It’s a woman’s duty to stand by her man and she shouldn’t hesitate to do so because lets face facts- its us against them. Through proper nurturing, women can coax men back to what nature meant them to be. Women are the glue that holds our society together. We have so much power in our hands and if we use it wisely we can restore confidence back to our men and rebolster our society.

That cat, Blue. A horror story

That cat, Blue
A horror story.

So you want to hear my story? Well, I guess I can tell you. Why not? I have plenty of time on my hands. Most prisoners do especially the ones waiting for their trial to get underway. You know what I’m accused of – murdering my dear wife, Mattie. You know some of the details but not all. The details I’m going to give are much more gruesome than what lawyers know.
You want to know how I was discovered? Hah. I’m here because of a cat. You look surprised. You’re probably thinking I’m playing with you but believe me I’m not. It’s all because of Blue that I’m here. Blue was my wife’s cat. Oh, I’m so angry for being done in by a little cat. I should have been more thorough. But that cat was on to me. She was much more intelligent than what I gave cats credit for. You want to know what happened to that cat? Let me tell my story first then I’ll tell you.
My wife had a thing for animals. Every Monday and Tuesday, after she finished work, she volunteered at the SPCA. Wednesdays and Thursdays, she volunteered at the wildlife center. When she wasn’t doing her volunteer work she was with her dog. She took her dog everywhere when it was ok for her to bring him- hiking, biking, trips to the beach- you name it. She named her mutt who was more pit-bull than anything- Dave. You know, Dave was the one the cops found with my wife, right? Dave loved my wife. He died protecting her. Did you know that? I bet you didn’t. He was the last dog. Mattie had two other dogs before she saved Dave. Her other dogs had run away- at least that’s what she thought. She was so heartbroken. I was the one who put into her head that they probably ran away. Dogs do that a lot, I consoled her. Still she couldn’t understand when she had loved them so much and they had loved her. It took so much discipline not to burst out laughing whenever I saw her eyes reddened and swollen. I tried hard not to snicker when she took her leash and went out into the streets calling out for Ben and later George. You see, my dear, her dogs had not run away. I killed them. Oh, stop looking shocked. You should know by now what I am. And just so you know, I laughed as I killed them. I love torturing creatures. Its something I loved to do since I was a kid. First it started with flies. I loved pulling off their wings and drowning them. Then I moved onto birds, mostly sparrows. I loved to drown them, too. I loved to listen them chirp crazily as they struggled in my clinched hand, pleading for their insignificant lives. It didn’t take long before I grew bored with birds and flies. Killing them didn’t give me the thrill I craved. I think I was about 13 when I moved onto dogs and cats. Nobody noticed. Who cares about strays? Oh, come on now. Spare me your tears.
You ask me why I’m so evil? Was I abused? Was I neglected? No. No. I was born evil!
Mattie and our children had absolutely no clue. Neither did our family or our neighbors. As far as everyone was concerned, I was the model husband. I was the model neighbor. If there was handy work to be done, I offered. If there was a lawn to be tended for a sick neighbor, I did it. Our neighbors adored us. They invited Mattie and I into their homes for bonfires, dinner parties, birthday parties and trips to the shore.
For a long time, my wife and I got along so well. Mattie fussed over the kids. She fussed over me. If I felt a cold coming on, Mattie jumped to action-making homemade chicken soup, cooing over me like I was a helpless child. If I felt fatigued, she rubbed my shoulders or my feet without hesitation. Every morning without fail, my clothes were set out and my shower started. When the kids and I came downstairs, breakfast was ready. Every evening, she had supper on the table. Our house was always clean. She worked but she made sure she was home before the kids got off the bus. She was what you would call a super mom, a super wife.
Then things changed. The kids grew up. Our two sons married and bought homes close by. Our two daughters went to college. They stayed local but lived at the dorms. Suddenly, we were alone. We were still young though with lots of years ahead. It was my hope now that we were empty-nesters, Mattie would settle down I like I had. But she didn’t, and that’s when our troubles started.
She joined a hiking club. She joined a biking club. On weekends, she hiked or biked or did both. She joined a gym and worked out during the week. She left early in the morning and was back in the house before I was out of bed. She was like an electrical charge that never lost its power. So it was that I aged but not Mattie. She grew more youthful, more vibrant.
Mattie begged me to work out with her, to go hiking and biking but I blew her off. I said I was too tired. Actually I wasn’t really tired. I just wasn’t interested in the gym or the outdoors. What I wanted was to play on my computer. I love computer games. Everyday like clockwork, after I ate dinner, I headed straight for my computer. It was my addiction. Everyone has an addiction. Don’t you agree?
After awhile, Mattie stopped asking. She had new friends now- much younger friends. Quite a few times, her cycling buddies came to our door for her. When they showed up, Mattie’s demeanor suddenly changed. She no longer walked but pranced. Her voice was no longer monotone. Her eyes shone with joy. She was a young girl again. She never acted like that when she was alone with me. I think that’s when I began to hate her.
On the weekends, she was gone for hours. I hated when she went out, and I hated that she had friends. She left me alone and I hated being alone. I wanted her home with me. Early one morning, she left with a promise to be back by the late afternoon. She left Ben home. That was a bad mistake. I told you that I killed strays when I was a young man. Well, I never stopped. I enjoyed killing too much although I never killed an animal that I knew. But Mattie leaving me alone to hang changed all that.
Ben was a big German Shepard, a beautiful dog. I know Mattie adored him. What better way to get back at her then through Ben? He was outside in the yard barking. He was too involved with the cat that was taunting him to notice me. I walked up to him from behind and stabbed him into his ribs over and over. He gave a startled whelp then crumbled to the ground. I don’t think he knew what hit him. Months later, Mattie brought home a Doberman Pinscher that had been dumped off at the SPCA. Mattie claimed the dog was too old to be adopted so she decided to take him. She named him, George. She loved him, and he loved her too. George’s eyes would actually sparkle when Mattie came home. And when she took out the leash he would go absolutely nuts. He loved going on day hikes with Mattie and practically became Mattie’s hiking group’s mascot.
Mattie had signed up for a hiking trip. It was an overnighter. She asked me if it was OK if she went. I told her to go and enjoy herself but inside I was fuming.
No dogs were allowed so George stayed home. As soon as he saw Mattie getting her hiking boots and hiking stick, he jumped for joy. But when he realized he wasn’t going, he whined and carried on. Mattie felt bad so she brushed him, and gave him a treat. But George was desolate when Mattie gathered her stuff and walked out to the car. He ran back and forth from window to window whining as he watched to Mattie pull out of the driveway. Despite being upset at leaving George, Mattie was excited. I was excited too. This was my opportunity.
There are those that say dogs don’t shed tears. But they do. Believe me, they do. George did.
Mattie cried. Oh, how she cried for her handsome dog. She looked for George. Her friends helped but George had disappeared. I comforted her, of course. I played the role of the supportive husband.
Not too long after George’s disappearance or so Mattie honestly believed, she showed up with Dave, more pit bull than anything. Dave was rescued from a kill shelter, and Dave seemed to understand it was Mattie who had saved him. Everywhere, Mattie, he followed gazing at her with that same adoring eyes of Ben and George
I’m no fan of dogs. I tolerated them until I killed them. Haha. You don’t appreciate my humor, do you? You hate me. I can tell. But that’s OK. You can hate me all you want. Let me continue- the one animal I truly hate is a cat. Mattie knew it. So on the day she showed up with a stray kitten, insisting it was not a big deal because the kitten was hers to take care of, I went berserk. We fought. I swung at her. I would have hit her in the face, but Dave rushed at me and caught my fist in his mouth. There was no adoration in his brown eyes only a warning. He growled softly as he held my fist firmly in his mouth. Mattie stroked his big head and murmured, “its Ok, boy. Let him go.” Dave opened his mouth slightly and I yanked my fist out with a terrified squeal, but Dave was unmoved. His eyes never left mine.
So the kitten stayed. I will admit she was a beauty. Her body was typical of a tabby cat. Her forearms all the way down to her paws were charcoal black and downright dainty. And, those eyes! It was her eyes that caught everyone’s attention-so big and blue- all the more big and blue against her black chocolate face. It was no surprise to anyone that Mattie named her – Blue.
Mattie made a fuss over that kitten who went from an adorable little kitten to an adorable little cat in a very short time. Her looks were striking and she seemed to know it. Whenever anyone made a remark about her she tilted her head upwards, softly narrowed her eyes and mewed in agreement. Mattie bought her toys and played with her for hours. Even Dave played with her. Sometimes, in the early morning I would hear Mattie singing songs to that cat with Dave howling softly like a backup singer. Who ever heard of people singing songs to a cat? Well, Mattie did and it annoyed the hell out of me. Blue enjoyed the songs and the fuss. She loved Mattie. That was obvious. But she didn’t like me. Quite a few times, she would follow me from one room to the next like a spy gathering information. She kept her distance staring at me so intently it made the hairs on my arms stick me. I knew she knew about me. She knew all my secrets. She knew all about my obsessions, my misdeeds and my crimes. That cat with her enormous blue eyes that I hated was always watching me. Once, I reached my hand out and called to her. But she sprang backward and scampered away in fright. She knew I wanted to hurt her. Ha-ha. Imagine that? That cat knew.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Blue had to disappear just like Ben and George had. It was time for that cat to go where the dogs had gone – an abandoned shed in the woods not too far from our property. It was the perfect spot. No one ever checked there because no one ever suspected.
Saturday came, and Mattie was preparing to go out despite the bitter cold. I was in the living room watching TV. I had downed my third can of beer, and it was still early morning. I saw Mattie getting her coat out from the closet. “Rushing out to meet your boyfriend? Huh?” I tried to sound jovial. Mattie glanced at my empty beer can then at my belly hanging over my belt. I saw the look of disgust in her eyes and laughed. I grabbed my belly and shook it at her. “You like it, huh? You like the big belly? “ Mattie wasn’t amused. “You have no shame. And no, I don’t have a boyfriend. I wouldn’t go near another man if you paid me.’ Dave walked slowly to her side and nudged her hand. She patted him, “its alright, boy.” Dave looked at me. He was not amused either. Mattie was silent as she took out the leash and put it on him. Dave didn’t wag his tail. He stared at me as he walked with Mattie toward the door. “When are you coming back, my dear?” I called after her sarcastically. “What do you care?” she answered. I could barely hear her.
I went to the frig and took out another beer. I looked out the window and watched until Mattie and Dave walked out of view. I popped open the beer and guzzled it down.
In the dining room, I heard the jiggle of little bells. I went to investigate. Blue was so engrossed with playing she didn’t see me. She eyed the jingle ball tenderly then pounced on it then lightly tapped at it with her soft paws only to whack it hard and send it spinning across the floor.
Blue was adorable to watch as she played and played. She was so soft and fragile and beautiful. Suddenly, I felt that urge to destroy that beauty. I could not control that urge and didn’t want to. I reached down and grabbed her. She looked up at me with wide eyes, her body rigid with horror. She struggled against me. She bit my thumb and clawed against my arms. But there was no escape. “You stupid cat,” I screamed, “ I got you, and now you’re going to die.” I laughed. I grasped her throat and pushed down hard. Her blue eyes bulged in absolute terror. “See, you were right about me the whole time. I’m evil, and you knew it. Shame you can’t talk. You could have told someone. But you can’t. You’re just a cat.” Blue withered in my grasp too exhausted to fight. I took her to the kitchen and put her on the table. I loosened my grip slightly as I pulled a butcher knife from the kitchen drawer. She mewed softly, weakly, and pathetically as if begging for mercy. But there was no mercy in me when it comes to killing. “You love those big blue eyes, don’t you ? But I want them and I’m going to take them.” I held her head tightly and brought up the knife. Blue knew what was coming. Now she was in an absolute frenzy. I angled the tip of the knife perfectly and pressed hard. Her eye popped out just as easily as George’s had. Blue screamed and it gave me such a delight. I brought the knife up again and angled it toward her other eye. Blue cried out agonized, and bite my thumb hard. I yelled in pain. That would be the first and last time that cat would bite me. I lifted her up and slammed her hard into the table. I heard a crack. Behind me, there was another scream. It was Mattie. I was confused. I thought she had gone hiking then I remembered there was no hike today because of the cold. She stared at me then at Blue. “What have you done to my cat? You bastard. You rotten bastard.” She screamed and then she was rushing at me. I was waiting for this confrontation. She hit me with every bit of her strength but she was no match. I grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. She was unfazed, and continued to claw at me. Her adrenaline had kicked in, and so had mine. I hit her in then Dave was on me. He tore open my leg and bit hard into my arm. I grabbed the butcher knife and stabbed that worthless mutt repeatedly. I have to give it to that dog. He fought hard. He loved Mattie so much that he was willing to die for her and that’s exactly what he did. Mattie was in shock, sobbing for Blue and now Dave. “You killed my killed my dog. You killed Dave.” I couldn’t help myself . Now was the chance to tell her what I wanted so badly to tell her before,, “Fuck Dave. I killed him, and just so you know I killed your other dogs. They never ran away.“ It took a moment for this to register in her mind. Her mouth fell open then closed as shock morphed into explosive rage. “You’re going to burn in hell!” She lunged at me. I knocked her to the floor, and hit her in the face until it was a bloody pulp. I felt her teeth crack with each pummel, and it felt good. There was no stopping me now. I never had the urge to kill a human but I did then. I cannot describe the thrill I gave me. And I hated her. I realize that now. I hated her for being popular and loved. I hated her perfect skin. I hated her perfect body. Well, she wasn’t so perfect now.
She continued to struggle. I stabbed her in the chest. How many times? I forget. Yet she still continued to fight. I grabbed her throat. and pressed down. She grabbed my wrists in an effort to free herself but it was hopeless. She sucked in one little breath then struggled to get another. “Mommy,” she moaned as her tears mixed with her blood. I was annoyed she would call for a woman who had died when she was just a little girl. Yet the moan had been so perfect, so melodic, I became aroused. I wanted to hear more. I relaxed my grip slightly but there was no more from Mattie. She was dead. In her last moments of life, I noticed, she had clutched Dave’s ear.
Blood was everywhere- on the floor, the cabinets, the walls. Pools of bright red blood, thick and gelatinous – had formed around Mattie and Dave. The floor was so slippery I had to use the table to keep falling flat on my face. I laughed as I looked over the fallen dead- the dog, the cat and my bride of twenty-three years. I looked down at her. She was barely recognizable as the woman I had shared my life with. I know at one point she had loved me, and I must have loved her but now I felt nothing. I put Blue’s limp body on Mattie’s serrated chest, and pulled them close to Dave. There was no movement. I unfolded a blanket and rolled the three of them unto it. I used the rest of the rope to tie the blanket at the top and bottom then I put them on a tarp making it easier for me to drag. Mattie had loved her pets so much, I thought. Well, now she would spend eternity with them.
The moon was full and I was able to see where I going without the aid of a flashlight. It was really bitter out but I was sweating profusely by the time I got to the shed. I opened it and dragged the dead in. The shed was built with cinder block years ago and was still in great condition. The far corner was where I buried Ben and George. I thought the least I could do was bury all of them together. Mattie would have liked that. The grave was a shallow grave and I was grateful for that because the ground had frozen and it was hard to shovel. I dug until I saw the remains of the dogs and dragged the bodies next to them. The blanket had torn, and Mattie and her pets were exposed but I didn’t care. I covered them as best as I could. I figured when the weather warmed I would come back and bury them properly. There was no hurry. No one knew about this place.
I went back to the house. I spent hours cleaning up the blood. When I finished, I was so exhausted. I fell immediately asleep as soon as I got into bed.
Voices woke me up. They were coming from the kitchen. I got up. I walked down the steps and saw my daughters, Melissa, and Claire, home for the weekend from college, in the kitchen drinking coffee. They saw me and got to their feet. “Where’s mom, “Claire, inquired. I played dumb, “I don’t know. Maybe she went out. “ Both my daughters looked out the window. “But her car is here, and she knew we were coming this morning. “
“We spoke to her early yesterday. She asked us to hike with her,” Melissa added. I shrugged my shoulders, “she’ll show up,” and went back upstairs. I wasn’t concerned. Nobody had a clue.
Hours passed. The girls were frantic. They called their brothers, Bruce and Brian. They were at the house within the hour. The police were notified. Word went around the community. The phone rang non stop. Mattie’s hiking and biking buddies called for updates. Her co-workers called then stopped by. “Our mother would never go anywhere with telling one of us. This isn’t like her. I know she’s in trouble,” my son Brian could not hide the fright in his voice.
Harry, the guy Mattie usually hiked with came by. I didn’t like him. If people didn’t know Mattie and I were married they would think this creep was her husband. He grilled me worse than the police. “So you saw her leave?” He asked a little too aggressively. “No, I didn’t.” He stepped close to me and whispered, “I don’t believe you, and neither does anyone else.” He left me standing on the porch and went into my yard. I should have thrown him off the property but I was too stunned to do much of anything except watch him. Did he suspect anything? Even if he did what proof did he have? I took a deep breath and calmed myself. Harry walked slowly over the grass as if he were looking for clues. But even if he were, he wouldn’t find any. You see, I am very meticulous in covering my tracks. My children followed behind him like he was some kind of guru. He suddenly stopped and looked back at me, “So where’s Dave?”
“I’m sure Dave is with my mom,” Bruce replied. I smirked when I heard that, “He’s with your mother all right.”
Harry moved on deep in thought. “So Dave is with your mother. So where is her cat, Blue?’
Melissa and Claire began to stutter. “Where is Blue? She’s not here either. Oh my God, something is wrong, terribly wrong!” Clair wept. “Mommy’s dead. I know it. I feel it in my heart.”
Neighbors, friends and family did their best to comfort my children but They were distraught, too. They knew just as Claire knew- Mattie was dead. Harry tried to give them hope although I could tell he was struggling to stay composed. “We don’t know that, Claire. Please, we have to be optimistic. Can we pray? I think we should do that for your mother.” Everyone gathered together and Harry lead them in prayer. I hated Mattie even more then. Even in death, she got all the attention. The prayers seemed to have a soothing effect on the crowd but suddenly Claire broke down weeping uncontrollably then collapsed. I watched in disgust as Bruce carried her into the house.
Not only did my kids and family spend the night but that creep, Harry did, too. They stayed up late talking. No one bothered me. They assumed I was distraught with worry and wanted to be alone. Finally exhaustion overtook them and they fell asleep. It was after 3 am, when the howling began. Melissa and Claire were on their feet seconds after the howling started. “Did you hear that?” I heard Melissa ask. “it sounds like a cat,” I heard Brian say. Then Claire said with a bit of hope in her voice, “ Maybe it is Blue.” The howling was pitiful. I could barely stand it. Claire spoke again. I could hear the panic in her voice. She was so young, only 18 and sensitive-the apple of her mother’s eye. “Maybe it is Blue. Suppose she’s hurt and she’s calling to us to save her or maybe she wants to take us to mommy?”
“You might be right,” I heard Harry interject.
That got my attention. I sat up in bed. The howling was louder, more desperate. There was a rushing of feet toward the door. I heard Bruce say, “its right by the door. Open it.” Someone opened the door. “oh my God,” I heard Melissa gasp, “it is Blue.” I was on my feet. I ran to the steps and saw what they saw. How was it possible? Blue was dead. I knew that for a fact.
Melissa and Claire advanced to Blue slowly and carefully so not to startle her, talking sweetly. “Someone hurt Blue. Her eye is missing,” Claire held her tears in. They were close enough to grab her but suddenly Blue bolted. My kids ran after her but she disappeared.
The next day the police were back. It was apparent now that a crime had been committed. Mattie had not run away. Her credit cards and debit cards were untouched. Her car remained in the driveway. No one had seen or heard from her. They began to ask more in depth questions but I answered them without hesitation. My voice was firm, and confident.
I’m proud to tell you that I played the part of the grieving husband perfectly. I think I missed my calling as an actor. I had posters made of Mattie and put them up in the supermarkets and malls. I told my story to anyone who wanted to hear it, and most did. I poured on the tears when I was interviewed by the news. What a show I put on. And to tell you the truth- I loved the attention. It made me feel special. No one suspected a thing.
The next night, the howling returned. Once more, Blue made her appearance only to bolt away and disappear. My kids were beside themselves. They refused to eat claiming they had no appetite. I was the only one who had an appetite. I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. My kids watched in sad amazement but said nothing. “I guess that’s his way of coping, “ I heard Melissa console them and they believed her. They waited. What else was there for them to do? If only they knew. But I would never divulge my dirty secret.
The police continued to grill me relentlessly but I never faltered. They would never break me. They would never find Mattie. My crime was too well hidden. Nearly a week had passed since Mattie’s disappearance. The police called again to inform me the FBI was involved now and they would be making a visit tomorrow evening. It was obvious to me they were trying to scare me. But I wasn’t scared. I sniffed at the idea of the FBI coming to interview me all because of Mattie. Ha. She was just an ordinary person. Why did they care?

I told my kids and they said they already knew. They wanted to be there. That was fine with me.
The sun had already set when two FBI agents arrived along with two police officers. I was annoyed that the cops came. Did they suspect something? My kids sat with in the living room. They asked me the same questions the police asked. They were hoping to catch me at something that would lead them to arrest me but it didn’t happen. After an hour of basically interrogating me, they realized they were getting nowhere. They wrote what they had to write and were packing up to leave when the howling started. The agents and the police stopped what they were doing and listened. My kids listened, too entranced. The anguished howls were like a call to prayer. They sounded almost human. “What is that?” a woman FBI agent asked.
“My mom’s cat. She howls at our door but runs when we try to get her,” Brian offered. The howls grew closer. “Its outside the door,” a cop said. “Open it,” the lady agent requested. The cop opened the door and there sat Blue. The agent carefully approached Blue and knelt in front of her. She choked. “She reeks. She smells like decomposed flesh. Her right eye is missing. She’s in really bad shape. She has to be in pain.“ She looked at Blue tenderly. “Oh my God, you poor thing. Who did this to you?” she reached out to touch Blue but Blue backed away then stopped and looked at the agent imploringly with her remaining eye. She mewed then walked toward the agent only to walk away again. “I think she wants me to follow her,” the agent said to the cop.
Now, I had had enough. I rushed toward that cat and tried to kick her. But the agent and the police office with hands on their guns shoved me out of the way. “Stop where you are,” the cop commanded. I stopped. He motioned to the others. “We’re going to follow the cat. This is too creepy to pass up. And you’re coming with us,” the cop leveled his blue eyes at me almost daring me to resist. The other cop and agent took me by my elbows and led me out of the house. I didn’t give them a hard time. I thought then what could they possibly find?
My kids were more intrigued than frightened. They followed close behind.
The odor that emanated from Blue’s body was nauseating. I gagged and so did everyone else. She staggered as she walked. It was obvious she was in great pain and that made me glad. It was comical to watch as she weaved lopsided like a drunken sailor through the yard. It was when she went into the woods that I began to worry.
Blue led us down one path and then another. She mewed frequently as if to signal to us. Finally, she reached the shed. She stopped and looked slowly at the agents, the cops, and my kids then accusingly at me. I lost my temper then. I screamed. “you damn cat. I killed you. I know I did. “ I jerked away from the cops and lunged at Blue. I was fast but the cops were faster. They threw me to the ground. They pulled my arms back and put plastic ties around my wrists.
“The door is locked,” a cop announced. “Break the door down,” the other commanded. With a kick to the center of the door, it broke open. Blue stepped in. it was dark. Flashlights were turned on. Blue howled like a grief stricken child. She staggered over to the burial site. The bodies were exposed. Blue must have dug them up. Ben, and George were decomposed but still recognizable as dogs. Dave was still intact, the cold weather certainly helped. Beside him, lay Mattie. Blue went to her. She touched Mattie with her paw. She purred with a great love as she licked Mattie’s grey disfigured cheek. The cops and the agents stood transfixed. Tears slid down their cheeks. My kids came in fearfully, tentatively knowing what they would see but knowing that had to see. What they saw they should not have seen, and they would never had seen if it weren’t for that cat. They looked over the bodies. They saw their mother. They wept hysterically and clung to each other for support. They did not look at me as I was led away. That was the last time I ever saw them.
So, that’s it, my dear girl. The End. You know the rest.”
“So, what happened to that cat, Blue? You said you were going to tell me?” the young reporter inquired. She re-positioned herself in her chair and waited.
“Hah, you’re going to think I’m crazy. Wait, I’m already crazy. But, not in regards to Blue. I wasn’t the only one who saw. But why would I waste your time? You not going to believe me.”
The young woman cleared her throat and replied, “Try me.”
“Ok, I will. I was already in the custody, sitting in the back of the cop car so I’m telling this story second hand from the cops. The lady FBI agent asked where Blue was. She was told Blue was still next to Mattie. I got the impression the agent wanted to adopt Blue and take care of her. She went back into the shed to collect Blue. She found Blue laying on Mattie’s chest. She called to Blue but Blue didn’t respond. At first, the agent thought Blue was sleeping. She lifted Blue up and was startled to find Blue frozen, desiccated, stiff as a board. You see, Rigor mortis had set into her tiny body. She had been dead for over a week.

How to tame your whigger.

Socialists AKA the left are crypto communists and they have an agenda – the collapse of Western civilization. Since America unlike Europe has the right to bear arms and would have no problem using that right if and when threatened, the left has a problem. If they were to open fire on Americans, Americans would respond in kind. So the left had to come up with something else before they could initiate genocide on America like they did in Russia and it worked remarkably well – the indoctrination of children. They hit the colleges then moved on to high schools and now they have infiltrated the primary schools. The propaganda went extremely well. After indoctrination became a staple in American education, White guilt was introduced- again with great success. Its so easy to browbeat a race that sees itself as the evil oppressor, and make it submit. Many whites fell for it. They’re ashamed. They work hard to appease the ones whose ancestors were victimized by their ancestors not realizing that victimization happened throughout history. When non-whites riot, rape and murder, the white self hater searches for excuses. They readily embraced the leftist agenda and have learned the art of kowtowing to non whites while undermining the nation their forefathers built.Through appeasement they appease their God of political correctness and that makes them feel so good. Whiggers have to feel good. For them, its all about feeling good even if it means damning their own people. There’s quite a few names I can use to describe these traitors but I don’t want to get foul. So a more benign term that had grabbed my attention is ‘whigger’- its amusing, its insightful, its perfectly descriptive,and thoroughly insulting.
I started my nursing career at a large medical center in NJ. The nurses I worked with were nice albeit liberal but I had no problem with that because most women are. But there was one nurse who was more than liberal. She was a leftist- a sweet talker until you disagreed. If you dared to disagree, you were in for it. I found out the hard way when I told her I was against racial blending. She stopped talking to me after that and told whoever would listen that I was a racist and Nazi. I was flabbergasted. It got to the point that working with her was intolerable and I left. I saw her as a mean individual too naive at that time to comprehend that I was dealing with something much bigger.
Throughout my career, I encountered one nasty nurse after another – every single one was a leftist. I never had another confrontation but I witnessed them.
Deceitful leftist nurses who while pretending to promote sisterhood undermined other nurses for the sheer joy of causing angst and pain. Still I didn’t get it. It wasn’t until I became a home health nurse that things began to make sense. I learned through observation and interaction that I was dealing with a culture- a culture comprised of whites who hated who they were and what they were, who hated their history, their faith, and their civilization but not the goodies that went with it. They were and remain a culture of kiss asses who scorn loyalty, dignity and honor, and want the white race to disappear. That’s whiggers, for you and we don’t have to tolerate their nonsense.

They’re everywhere. They surround you. They surround me. You know they’re no good but you don’t know what to do because you don’t know how to defend yourself when you’re called a racist or a Nazi. For most Americans, being labeled with such derogatory terms is worse than being dispossessed or beaten. So its better or so you think to shut up and go about your business. Wrong. The problem is whiggers will call you a racist or Nazi no matter what. You’re white. You’re conservative. You’re Christian. On the day, You were born you were already designated an enemy combatant.
Everyday, pestiferous masses from Africa, Asia, India and Islamic countries flood into the USA. These invaders are a threat to the common good but the whigger doesn’t care abut the common good. He or she embraces them with open arms. These invaders are dangerous because of whigger support. Whiggers don’t know about the culture of the 3rd world and they don’t want to. They’ll bend over backwards accommodating them out of racial self hatred. Plus, they think its cool and nothing is more important to a whigger than being ‘cool’.

While I was at McGee rehab I had a black woman who was my age as a roommate. She rang her bell frequently. With each call, the nurse aides rushed in and cooed over her like she was a newborn. I had to laugh. They were absolutely ridiculous in fawning over this woman who was a frequent flyer at the facility. It was so obvious why. I lost count of the times I saw whiggers kowtowing to blacks. It’s downright comical.
One morning, a nurse’s aide came in to help my room mate wash and dress. My roommate made a derogatory racial comment about me knowing I was still there. Instead of ignoring the woman, the nurse’s aide chimed in with her own derogatory remarks about ‘white privilege’. That’s in violation of HIPPA laws and I’m sure the nurse aide knew it. But what do you expect from a whigger who’s trying to make an impression? I listened then pulled the curtain back. I looked them both in their eyes, and said, “the both of you need to shut up and I mean now.” They shut up.

After I was discharged from McGee rehab, I didn’t return to nursing, but I did go back to hiking. One Saturday, a new member joined us. She walked with me. She told me she was a nurse. We chatted amicably about nursing then she brought up politics. She hated trump and cried when Hillary lost. I thought what am I doing to attract these morons? I held my tongue not wishing to get into a polital debate. About two miles in the hike, she pulled from her pocket at least half a dozen photos of her grandchildren. Her grandchildren were black. She watched me closely. She was obviously looking for some kind of something. I looked the photos over. I said, “nice, ” and handed them back. She was annoyed. I said, “What’s wrong?” She snapped, “I was expecting a better reaction than that.” I wanted so badly to say what I really thought but didn’t want an annoyance to escalate into a battle. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “What do you want me to say?”
She never came back and that’s typical of a whigger.
Whiggers want to be praised, and petted, and when they aren’t praised, and petted they go elsewhere (or get revenge.) They are children, vain children.

Standing up to a whigger is not for the faint of heart. Wiggers love- absolutely love -attention. They puff up like bullfrogs during mating season when a crowd gathers. They croak louder and more belligerently as the crowd swells. Conservatives are usually intimidated and I don’t blame them. Whiggers are violent when they have backup. Not only that but they‘ll do whatever they can to shout you down.
So how do you stand up to a whigger? It’s is not for the faint of heart- I’ll tell you that. You have to be very strong and courageous, and I don’t mean just physically strong and courageous although that does matter. You have to be mentally strong and courageous, too. That comes with confidence in knowing.
In order to tame a whigger you have to know what makes a whigger tick. You have to understand the depth of the indoctrination that takes place in our country on a daily basis whether it’s in entertainment, music, media, commercials, and our education systems especially universities. Pay close attention. The left owns all social media including the traditional ones. Their propaganda is not benign.
You need to know who is the force behind this propaganda and why.
More importantly- You have to know what makes you tick. That ‘s where history comes into play. Knowing dates and places where battles took place don’t cut it. You have to know our history- who funded both sides of the civil war, how Andrew Jackson and Abraham Lincoln stood up to the Rothschild bankers, the truth about the Federal Reserve, why JKF was murdered, and so. You have to know and understand the history of communism. Who were the founders of communism, who were the real criminals behind the genocide of Russia and the Ukraine, who really started WW2, who inaugurated the genocide of the Sudetenland Germans, and who were the profiteers of white slave trade and the transatlantic African slave trade, and who really runs the US Deep state. The list goes on and on. By increasing our knowledge base, we learn about the enemy and also ourselves.
If we don’t recognize how important we are, its over for all of us -even the whiggers who are working so hard to ruin this country.
Now, don’t be alarmed when a whigger laughs at you or calls you a liar or mocks you when confronted with historical facts or truths. Whiggers don’t believe in truth. They prefer lies, myths, nonsense, bullshit, and fairy tales. They’ll scream. They’ll rant. They’ll call for their buddies. They’ll insult you with stuff like this-
#1- you’re nuts/crazy. (with whiggers, if you don’t agree with their agenda you’re branded as a nut or as crazy.)
#2- Did you take your medication today? (comical at best because most whiggers are on medications especially antidepressants.)
#3- You need to be hospitalized (note- the Zionists believe if you question their agenda you’re mentally ill and need to be hospitalized as per Sigmund Fred and his ilk.)
#4- You’re a Nazi! ( the left’s favorite go to defamation word. Of course, the commies did nothing. LOL.)
#5- You’re a white supremacist! (may I ask whats wrong with a white man/woman who want to save their country?)
#6- You’re a fascist! (Do Whiggers even know what a fascist is? I doubt it)
#7- you’re a liar. (Anyone who confronts a whigger with facts is automatically branded a liar.)

The point is you have to stand firm. Truth will always prevail. Let me stress once more – knowledge is your greatest weapon. Laughter is second greatest weapon. Whiggers don’t like being laughed at.
Taming whiggers is like taming wild horses. Eventually wild horses get tired and so will whiggers. They may never speak to you again but why would you care?

Nineteen years isn’t enough.

I am near the art museum. I am going to see a patient. I had intended to see this patient and then another one before taking my nephew out for breakfast. I had spoken to him last night. He was depressed. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. All he did was cry. I was worried. I asked him to go to breakfast with me. We could talk face to face. I told him not to worry whatever was happening we would take care of it. He wept hard then and said, “I don’t think there’s anything you can do but I’ll be there.” And me, always the optimist and the one who thinks she knows everything, replied, “ We’ll handle it, don’t worry, Tommy.” Because I’m your aunt and I’m a nurse. I heal people. I’ll make you better.”

I saw my first patient at 7 am. She’s a diabetic. She’s blind. I check her sugar. It’s 355. I give her an insulin shot. I check her feet and do her blood pressure. I make her breakfast. Not because I have to but because I want to. I’m that kind of person.
I see my second patient. He has wounds on his legs. They drain terribly. They hurt him so much he cant get a decent night’s sleep. I comfort him the best that I can for he’s an old man, alone, having outlived his wife and children. I wash his legs. I pat them dry. I apply medicine to his painful wounds, cover them with dressings, and then I wrap his legs. He says he feels much better and off I go.
I’m in my car. I travel on the back streets to avoid the rush hour traffic that is now bumper to bumper.
I turn onto Spring Garden Avenue and that’s when I get a call from my husband. I pick up the phone. “Hi, what’s up,” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Are you driving?’
“Yes, Of course, I’m driving.” Now I’m really annoyed.
My husband’s voice is deep and serious devoid of its usual jovial tone. “Pull over.”
I don’t ask any questions. The annoyance has left me. I’m scared.
“What’s wrong?”
“Turn off the car.”
“What’s wrong?” I begin to cry because I know something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.
“Tommy. Tommy is dead.”
I wail, “ No. No. That’s impossible? He was meeting me for breakfast.”
“He went to hang out with friends. When they woke up they found him dead.”
“I’m heading over,” I weep.
My heart fills up my chest. It is beating so hard I can feel my carotids pulsating with blood.
I cry uncontrollably. I claw at my face. Then I calm down into a numbness. I drive on the avenue and wipe away tears. Then Tommy as a little boy flashes before me and I breakdown all again.
I was going to treat you to your favorite breakfast, Tommy- Thick slices of toast dipped in egg and cinnamon and vanilla, cooked to perfection then dusted with powered sugar, dripping in syrup. And sausage- almost crispy- nobody loves sausage like you.

My mouth is twisted in agony. Tears dribble down my cheeks like rivulets of rain against a windowpane. People stare at me with worried looks. I want to tell them, “My Nephew is dead. He’s only 19. How can a 19 year old be dead?”
This is a mistake, I tell myself even though I know there is no mistake.
I pull up to my sister’s house. There is a huge crowd. Immediately they surround me. Kids are crying. Adults are crying. My sister’s sister in law tells me Tommy was found on the third floor, the back bedroom. “He’s still in the house. Do you want to see him?”
I nod. She takes my hand and leads me to the house my Aunt and Uncle once lived in.
Another crowd is standing outside the house. This was a close neighborhood when I was growing up and it still is. The crowd steps aside to let me through. All of them knew Tommy since he was born. I know these people, too. I grew up with them but now I can’t remember a single name.
I go into a house I had not stepped foot in since my aunt and uncle passed away- that was many years ago. It was a well-kept house back then but now it’s filthy. It reeks of urine, and garbage. My throat burns and I sneeze over and over again. What were you doing in this house, Tommy?
I walk up to the third floor and step into the bedroom. Dirty mattresses are scattered on the floor. Trash is everywhere. The cops are there. A priest is there. My sister and my brother in law are there, too, standing in a corner, staring with large wide eyes; too shocked to do anything.
But I can do something. I’m a nurse. I’m a healer.
I look down at my nephew. His body is gray and stiff, dry vomit and blood have caked around his mouth and nose. Broken blood vessels that look like a mass of spider webs have darken his sweet handsome face.

I’m here, Tommy. I took care of you when you were a little boy and I’ll take care of you again.
I kneel. I put one hand on my nephew’s frozen chest and place the other hand over it. I press down again and again. I lean forward. I tilt Tommy’s head back. I lift his jaw. The cops are stunned at first then one- a young man of no more than 25 years takes me by my shoulders and pulls me up. “He’s gone, miss.”
“Gone? How can he be gone when I was talking to him last night? We were supposed to have breakfast this morning- French toast and sausage.” The cop gives me a sad, sad look as he pulls me back. I jerk away. I’m not disrespectful but I’m firm. “No, you’re wrong. I need to do CPR. That will revive him.” I am very controlled or at least I think I’m controlled.
“Miss, please. I have to ask you to stand back.”
I ignore the cop. I go back to Tommy. I have to save him. I know I can. How many people have I saved in my career? “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. I’ll get you cleaned up and out of this hellhole. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

The cop gently takes my hand. “You’re his aunt.”
“Yes,” Hysteria rises in my voice, taking control of my body.
“Miss, there’s nothing else you can do. Please don’t make this difficult.”
I look into his eyes. They are pleading. I wail then quickly stop. My mind suddenly clears. Its like the sun finally pierced through heavy clouds. Ambulance drivers have arrived. I look at the priest then back at the cop. “Can I please kiss my nephew goodbye?” The cop nods. I kneel once more and press my forehead against his. I’m shocked at how cold and hard it is. How can that be when once it was so warm and soft? I can barely breathe. My body has separated itself. My mind no longer controls it. Tears drip onto Tommy’s face and gently cascade down his closed eyes and onto his cheeks.
“Come on, Tommy, get up! You’re just messing with me. I know you, Tommy. You were always a joker. How many practical jokes did you play on Brittany and me? I lost count. Please, Tommy, open your eyes, and laugh. I won’t be mad. I promise. “
I hear a stretcher being unfolded. A silver bag is being opened. They’re going to place Tommy in that bag. This is not a practical joke. This is for real.
I stand up. There’s only one thing left to do. “Father, can you pray with me?” My voice is so quiet and still. The priest takes my hand and I bow my head. To my surprise, the cops and the ambulance drivers, my sister and my brother in law, and his sister gather around and pray, too.

I leave the room so the EMT’s and the police can do their job. I slowly descend the steps. My hand slides down the wall to steady myself. How many times did I run up and down these stairs when I was a kid? I don’t remember. It was a happy house then- full of people and parties but now it’s an ugly house.
As I walk through the pallor, images of Tommy dance before my blurry eyes- Tommy at the beach, jumping the waves holding Brittany and his sister’s hands; looking up at me as I read him bedtime stories; tormenting Brittany only to be tormented by Bill; using Brittany’s dead, desiccated rabbit for a football then pleading forgiveness when Brittany crying her eyes out told me; his blue eyes sparkling, his chubby cheeks and those dimples so perfect. How could I not forgive him? I always forgave him.
Then he turned 16 and he slipped away from me- back to his mother and his old neighborhood. Why did I let him go?

I’m outside now. I step into the crowd. People take hold of my hands and squeeze lightly. I feel their grief and that comforts me.

The door opens. The priest steps out. The police step out. My sister and her husband step out. Then the paramedics carrying a silver bag on a stretcher step out. Wails erupt. I try so hard to be stoic but I can’t. I’m shaking uncontrollably.
A young man, his eyes swollen from tears, approaches me. He says he was Tommy’s best friend. He tells me he and a bunch of other kids were with Tommy last night. He was the one who woke up and found him dead. “We were just having fun. You know getting high, just a few pills and booze, that’s all.”
That’s all? Just having fun?
I blink at him in amazement then I lunge at him. The boy makes no effort to defend himself. Instead he covers his face sobbing and collapses to the ground. I stop. The urge to beat him to a pulp is gone. He’s already been beaten.

Your Aunt and Uncle’s old house is a crack house.
Liar.
Your nephew was there almost every night.
Liar.
He was popping oxycodone like they were candy. He was snorting crack and meth.
Liar.
The money you gave him was used to get high.
Liar.
Everybody in the neighborhood knew except you.
Liar.

My nephew would never take drugs!! Never. Never. Do you hear me? Never. Lies. All lies.
People stare at me. There is pity in their eyes. They knew about Tommy and they knew I didn’t know.
I look at each one of them then it hits me. Tommy was a drug addict. It wasn’t bullshit. It wasn’t a lie.
I refused to see what everyone else saw- the slurred speech, the weight loss, the inability to hold a job, money stolen, the glassy look in his eyes, the haggard look. Why didn’t I see?
Oh my God. Why didn’t I want to see?

That night, after I spoke to my nephew, he went to my Aunt and Uncle’s old house. He drank a large amount of liquor. He took Oxycodone, Xanax and Motrin. Sometime, during the night, he began to retch- too much Motrin can tear your stomach up- but he was in such a somnolent state- due to the Xanax and Oxycodone- he was unable to wake up. He aspirated his vomit. The vomit went into his lungs. He suffocated.

Just 19 years old. 19 years isn’t enough! No, no!

We all watch as Tommy is placed in the ambulance. We watch as it slowly pulls away and then disappears.

I have to leave. I can’t stand to be where I am. People are talking at me but I don’t hear a word. I’ll see them soon enough I say. My eyes can’t focus. I can’t make out faces. I can’t make out anything.
I make it to my car and get inside. I don’t have the energy to start it. Instead, I cover my eyes. I want to blot out my last image of Tommy. I don’t want to remember the vomit and blood, his mottled skin or how hard his chest was when I pressed into it. God, please erase it. Please, don’t torment me. As if on cue, my son’s christening flickers before me. Tommy was so proud of being chosen godfather. That was less than a month ago.
Oh, you silly boy. You thought you were a Peter Pan. You were immune from death. But you were wrong. Now, it’s too late. No second chances. No college. No walk down the aisle. No children of your own.
I grasp the steering wheel hard to control my shaking. How am I going to go on without Tommy? How is Brittany going to go on? She doesn’t even know.
Then I feel something. It’s sweet and light like a warm breeze brushing against my skin. It’s a whisper. I know that whisper. It’s Tommy. I hear his voice calling for me- from years ago. He’s a little boy again. He’s looking for me. Then I hear his voice again- this time in song. Oh what a voice he had.
At the age of 13, he sang solo- “Ave Maria” at St. Anne’s church. The evening sunlight streaming into the church illuminates his handsome face. He’s so close I can reach out and touch him. His voice resonates loud and clear.
Now another memory more recent- he’s a young man dancing at Zak’s christening. He has a microphone in hand and he’s belting out one Elvis Presley song after another. People are oohing and aahing over him like he’s a superstar himself. My mind is now full of song-happy songs. Tommy has reached out to me. I know it. I can feel it.
I laugh at the memories. There are so many. Tommy’s life passes before my eyes like a summer night ablaze in stars.

In my grief, Tommy has come to my rescue.

Dear Tommy, I thought you would bury me. If only I had known I would have saved you.
If only I had been there… if only…

Don’t underestimate a mountain; deadly hypothermia

Don’t underestimate a mountain; deadly hypothermia

I can’t believe how quickly time passes. A week has gone by since I went to New Hampshire and climbed to the summit of Mt. Washington.
There are bigger mountains to tackle but Mt Washington, the tallest mountain on the East coast, isn’t easy.

It’s famous for its brutal sudden weather changes. As a matter of fact, the highest wind gusts ever recorded were taken at its weather observatory.

I did my homework before I went on this hike. I made sure I had gloves, good hiking boots, long pants, and sweater, ski pants and jacket along with the usual food and water.
To me, that’s common sense but a lot of the hikers I ran into– mostly young adults- were dressed in shorts, sneakers, and short sleeve shirts.
Half way up the mountain, the temperature dropped. Those same hikers were now turning back because their hands were burning and they were cold.
At 6,000 feet, the temperature dropped into the thirties and it started to sleet but my hiking buddy and I pressed on. It wasn’t so physically strenuous as it was dangerous. We had to climb up and over slippery rocks. Some of the climbs had drops of ten feet or more. If you fell you would either die or suffer serious injury. A few times, our feet slipped but we were able to hang onto the crevices we dug our fingers into. I’m not exaggerating when I say we were scared. Thankfully, we ran into three Canadian men- they were lost, too. They never left us even though I’m sure we slowed them down. What a Godsend they were.
As soon as I finished my hike, I headed straight for the coffee shop. Inside, there was a poster that listed the names and ages of those who died on the mountain. Most were in their twenties. A few died from falling –at the same areas I had just hiked through- yiii!

But, the majority of deaths were due to hypothermia.
The last death occurred not in the dead of winter but in JULY!
What happened to these unfortunate hikers?
They underestimated the mountain. They weren’t careful. They didn’t have proper shoes or clothing. They got lost. They got caught in a storm and become disoriented. They went hiking alone.
I had a scary experience. My hiking buddy and I got caught in sleet and strong winds. We got disoriented and began to panic. If it weren’t for the Canadian men, we would have been in trouble.

Fortunately, this hike was a triumph for me. I made the summit. I also learned a few lessons.
#1- Never go hiking alone in rugged terrain. At least three people are optimal. If someone gets hurt, one can stay and another can get help.
Injury was a great concern for me. Suppose, one of us fell, broke a leg, or got stuck in between the rocks, it would haven taken hours before help arrived.
# 2- Communicate- Always tell friends or family members, where you are going and what time you expect to return. We had no reception on the mountain. Our cell phones were worthless. Next hike, I’ll bring my walkie-talkies – in case of an emergency. (Three of our group turned back- they could have had a walkie talkie and we would have been able to communicate).
Carry a whistle. If all else fails use your whistle to get attention. Someone is bound to hear you- hopefully sooner than later.
Mark your trail – make a rock cairn, use ribbon or chalk to mark a tree so you don’t get lost. If you do, your family or friends will know where to start looking. (We took the Lions’ head trail, which turned out to be the most strenuous trail- we didn’t know that- LOL. It was poorly marked and we got lost.)

#3- Be prepared for the worst. Never assume. You never know what’s going to happen. Bring proper clothing, water, socks, snacks, food (Dried foods can be bought at Eastern Mountain sports, and REI) compass, first aid kit, all weather blanket, waterproof gloves, waterproof pants and jacket.

#4- Know your body. It will tell you when it’s had enough.
Don’t ignore the symptoms of hypothermia- sometimes they creep up on you.

Signs of hypothermia are –

You’re cold. You shiver then you shiver uncontrollably- this is your body’s automatic defense. It’s telling you to seek shelter or dress properly. Keep in mind as your core temperature falls, shivering stops.

The nose, ears, fingers and toes are the most vulnerable and will be the first to indicate trouble. They burn/sting and then go numb. Eventually, the tissues freeze then die. This is known as Frost bite. When frost bite happens- the nose, ears, toes and/or fingers blackened then literally fall off/snap off- this doesn’t happened right away – sometimes it takes weeks or months and it’s extremely painful.

As the hypothermia progresses- confusion, unsteady gait, slurred speech or mumbling set in. If hypothermia is severe enough, the brain cant function properly. Vision blurs. Decision-making is impaired. Hikers wander off aimlessly. They lose sense of self and do crazy things like taking off their clothes.

In an effort to increase body heat, the body increases its metabolism by increasing respirations. The heart beats harder and faster. Unfortunately, this dramatic attempt to maintain body heat leads to extreme fatigue and eventual collapse. Panic sets in. Confusion increases. If help doesn’t arrive, the vital organs freeze, the blood freezes, and the body dies.

Deaths from hypothermia are avoidable. It doesn’t just happen while hiking in mountains, it can happen anywhere even in your own home.

Being aware of your body and being prepared for severe weather even in July is key to keeping yourself safe.

What the Left did to Whites (especially White men and boys)

A video recently posted on YouTube shows a black man approaching a middle aged White woman sitting on a bench minding her own business. He begins to harass her and then without warning hits the poor woman so hard he knocks her out cold. It was horrifying thing to watch but what was particularly horrifying wasn’t the black man, it was the White men.

No one came to the woman’s aid. No one defended her. As a matter of fact no one even bothered to look as the thug’s friend filmed the assault laughing and giggling. It was surreal. Whites men just stood there acting like nothing happened. This would never had happened when I was a kid, but that was a different America.
Today, America is a New America- home to the new politically correct White coward.

Black violence- flash mobs, knock out games, rapes- is nothing new. Blacks have been attacking Whites for generations. My grandparents told me stories of racial attacks during the 60’s- neighborhoods ruined; mobs rampaging through the streets, buses, and trains randomly attacking whoever caught their attention. Man or woman, young or old, it made any difference. What Blacks do today isn’t much different from what their parents and grandparents did. So, the problem in today’s America isn’t with Blacks. They haven’t changed. The problem is Whites- for they most certainly have changed.

Yesterday’s White man was a fighter and today he’s a whiner. What happened?
I’ll tell you- decades of anti Christian, anti White American propaganda. To the Left, Whiteness is bad and Whites have been taught that being White automatically makes them bad.

Under the tutelage of the left, Whites have mastered the art of self-loathing. They not hate only who they are, they hate their core faith, history, and traditions. They cower whenever a non-Christian calls them out on the genocides of indigenous Americans, Jews, the inquisition, the Crusades and the Nazis; so indoctrinated in ‘white guilt’ that they don’t have the courage to call non Whites out on their bloody history of rapine, genocide and European/African slavery of which that master of leftist propaganda, the Jew had a heavy historical involvement in.

But doesn’t matter if Whites confronted non-Whites anyway, because what non Whites did and continue to do means nothing. Only what the white man did matters.

American and European history has been rerouted and subverted to make the White man appear more evil and cruel than he actually was. The Leftist version of White history isn’t meant to tell truths- only lies. Lies, told so convincingly that school age White kids believe whatever they are taught.

When I was growing up, White men were confident not only in battle but in Marriage and fatherhood. Back in my day- and I’m not that old- men were expected to marry, have children and protect the hearth that they themselves built. Not anymore, not only are White men afraid to fight, they’re afraid to marry and have children.

This phenomenon isn’t part of the natural scheme of things. Its been deliberately orchestrated. Not to marry and have kids was planted into the minds of Whites starting in the 1970’s when the feds took over the education system (Guess who was behind that?). Suddenly, schools were no longer a place for education but indoctrination. Having more than 2 children was bad for the planet. Having no children was even better.

White boys especially listened to the propaganda. I say this because in my travels, I have encountered so many white men past 40 who haven’t married or had children. Yet virtually all Muslim men, I meet, some as young as 19, are married with children. To a Muslim it’s a disgrace not to marry and have children. For many White men, it’s just the opposite. Why do they are so anti-family, anti- fatherhood?

Journalist Dana Milbank recently wrote, “the United States is experiencing a rapid decoupling of race and nationality: Whiteness has less and less to do with being American. The disassociation of Whiteness and American-ness is to be celebrated. Indeed, it is the key to our survival.”

Now, that’s a racial comment if I ever heard one. “Our survival?”
What the hell does that mean?
Whose survival?
Why, Jewish survival of course. Milbank is celebrating Jewish supremacy over a Christian land. The Jew hates the Christian. He hides it but its there. Ready to lash out like a trap door spider on its prey. Jew hatred is not new. It didn’t emerge after the Nazis. It goes past the centuries, past the millennia, past Jesus Christ; back to the days of Ester when the Jews murdered over 75,000 unarmed Persians in a pre-emptive strike. Why they felt so threatened is anyone’s guess. But the Jews view this particular massacre as a watershed in their history; celebrated as ‘Purim’.

The left can disguise themselves all they want but there’s no hiding it- the Jews hate the Aryans. Most Europeans just like most Persians are Aryan. Iran is the land of the Aryans; Eire (Ireland) is a land of the Aryans. The German nation is Aryan.
Recently, Merkel and the EU opened the flood gates to millions of Muslims. Diversity and Multiculturalism is meant to divide and conquer a fabulous civilization and ultimately destroy the White race from within.

Jewish Activist Barbara Spector recently stated, “ Europe has not learned to be multi cultural. And I think we’re (Jews) going to be part of the throes of that transformation which must take place. Europe is not going to be the monolithic society it once was. Jews are going to be at the center of that.”

Why are Jews pushing so hard to make Europe Multicultural? There’s a reason and it should make all Whites shiver in their boots.

The Left/ Jew Bolshevik wants to destroy American whiteness just like they are destroying European Whiteness but there’s this nasty document called the Constitution that says Americans have a right to defend themselves and their property AKA the 2nd amendment. The Left is well aware that ‘right wing’ Whites wont hesitate to shoot back if fired upon so for now they lay low knowing their chance will come soon enough when America is overwhelmed by low intellect invaders and degraded to ‘failed nation’ status.
Meanwhile, as they wait for the great American collapse, they have implemented another plan. There’s more than one way to skin the Whiteness off of America and that’s to destroy Whiteness from within- psychologically and emotionally.

In the crowded malls and streets of our major cities, I see well-muscled Black, Mexican, and Muslim boys strutting with confidence, and arrogance. They’re strong and they know it. Not so with White boys. They’re effete. They’re weak. They’re scrawny. The White boy is scared and he’s especially scared of his overprotective mother who bullies him daily. There’s no father in his life and so, he copies the mannerisms of his mother – much to his detriment.
For a White Boy born into a single parent liberal household, life is doomed right from the start. If he wants to play with a toy gun, mom gives him a doll. If he wants to play outside, he can’t because there’s a boogey man waiting to drag him away. If he dares to act like a wild man or to step outside the liberal box, Mom will beat the crap out of him. Yep, the White boy has been rendered a ‘tutti fruiti’ not only by propaganda, but also by cruel feminist elements.

The Left works hard to subvert the manliness of the White male yet supports the manliness of Muslim and Black men. As a matter of fact, they advertise it. You can see that when you watch TV. The Black man is the strong man. He’s the one the white girl hooks up with. And then there’s the Muslim, so misunderstood even though he’s obligated to cut your throat as part of his Jihad duties. And of course, there’s the Jew- that creature of deceit, treachery, usury, and slave ownership. He is above reproach because he’s the ‘chosen one.’

The Left thrives on hate and that’s why they promote Anti Christian symbolism and belittle the White man on their TV shows with such vehemence. The Left supports ‘Black lives matter’ and Islam because they see Blacks and Muslims as a means to knock Whitey off his high horse. Blacks and Muslims are the left’s ‘noble savages.’ They are needed to shatter the confidence of soft-fleshed White men and lay them to waste.

And, lets not forget sexualization- nothing works better than the constant bombardment of smut/slut. I’m sure most have noticed the shameless promotion of homo love on television- like its been a part of American normalcy since forever. We all know that’s a lie but our kids continue to see it then they will think that it is normal. The incessant promotion of Homosexuality is nothing but a stake into the heart of Christendom.

And why not make a profit while weakening the psyche of gentile boys and girls through an entertainment industry that Jews totally control?

Fifty years is a blink in world history but the blink of world history that me and you are living in, is experiencing cataclysmic upheavals that usually take place over a millennia. Since 9-11, the USA has been deliberately flooded with people from cultures that collide with the USA’s White European Christian society. Entire neighborhoods, and towns have been transformed from White to Asian, African or Hispanic. Whites look the other way and pretend all of this is for the good of the nation. They believe the nonsense the progeny of the Frankfurt school taught them and so can’t comprehend the reason behind open immigration- the Bolshevik left needs the lower strata of the 3rd world to divide America and accomplish their agenda.

The war against Whites didn’t start with Obama. Its been going on for a long time. Its been presented with such a subtleness and genuine validity that few notice. Those who do, raise the alarm but are quickly shut down by leftist bullying that is so relentless, it has created a psychological fear in many Whites who are so afraid of being demonized. So they remain silent as their heritage is attacked as being illegitimate in America’s new multicultural society.

Propaganda has poisoned the soul of every American no matter how conservative or Christian. Those who protest against illegal immigration, Islamic indoctrination, the banning of Christian symbols/ celebrations, gay marriage, and abortion are branded as haters, right-wingers, Tea baggers and racists. The left says White conservatives are the ‘enemy of the people and vulnerable minds fall for it.

The Left should be proud. They have effectively shut down conservative conversations almost as completely as they have shut down Christian prayer. They have censored us in the same way their Bolshevik forefathers censored dissenting minds in Russia and Eastern Europe (well, not quite that bad…yet). The Bolsheviks had gulags in Russia but they don’t need gulags in America. Many Whites have already capitulated. Call Whites- racists, Anti- Semites, White supremacists, or worse a Nazis and they’ll shut up – real fast.

In the Talmud, it is written, ‘kill the Goy.” Who is the Goy, you’re probably wondering? The Gentile is the Goy, and the Gentile European is as hated by the Jews as much as they hate Jesus himself. According to the Talmud, the Goy must be eliminated. But before the Goy can be eliminated, the ‘best of the Goy’ must be eliminated.

Who is the best of the Goy? Why, it’s the Christian White male- the protector, the hunter, the innovator, the warrior, the family man- that’s who.

“The lord is angry at all the Gentiles; he will deliver them to the slaughter; their land will became burning black pitch; it will become a wasteland, soaked with their blood; there will be no nobles in the land; their princes will die out.” (Isaiah 34)
This biblical passage has a special meaning for those who want the White ‘princes’ to die out, and America to become a wasteland. They cant help but think that the old testament predication is about to be realized now that they have beaten Whites down with their tongues – those nasty, vile tongues.

The Left knows how to tear apart their prey without remorse or regret. From America’s Ivy league to the sports arenas to our public schools to all levels of government, where the Left reigns supreme, it revels in tearing apart the ‘best of the Goy.’

Jews are just 2% of the population yet they control the media, entertainment industry, Neocon groups such as freedom house, National endowment for democracy among others, and the porn industry. They look upon ‘the Goy’ as their whores. White Christian men are their “war” whores. White Christian women are their “porn” whores.

Gentile children are nothing but animals; easy to train.

In 1941, before the USA entered the war and the concentration camps were built, a Jew, Theodor N. Kaufman, wrote Germany Must Perish. Kaufman set out a plan for the total destruction of the German population. This book, which laid the foundation for the Morgenthau plan, is free for download on the Internet. Read it because Germany is actually a code word for the White Christian West. What Kaufman advocated is happening right now.
It was White men who advanced humanity but none of that matters -the faster they are laid in theirs graves the better; for this earthy paradise belongs only to the ‘chosen people.’
That’s what Milbank meant when he wrote, ‘the disassociation of whiteness…is key to our survival.’
The Left wants the proletariat to conquer over the existing order with them at the helm but they know this is impossible until they destroy the White man’s love for God and country first. Once that happens all memory of American exceptionalism,; its celebrations, traditions, heroes, and history will be forfeited.

After generations of being battered by vulgarity, bullying, ridicule, mockery, and personal attacks, Whites- even the most Christian conservative among them- lack the resources and imagination to counterattack. But all is not lost, they still have a chance to rectify their situation even though the witching hour is fast approaching. Its time for men to stand up and for their women to stand up next to them or face eradication.
So how do we save White Christian America? The solution lies with White women. That’s right; those daughters of the pioneers and frontierswomen; those daughters of the women who fought in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War; those daughters of the women who manned the factories during WW2, and nursed the fallen on the battlefields of Europe, Philippines, Korea and Vietnam.

So, its up to White women to save the day and they can do it if they can cast aside all the evil liberal indoctrination that has filled their hearts and minds for the last 50 years. There’s no shame in being a patriotic, traditional Christian wife and mother while achieving other goals. Stop worrying about what non-white, non-Christian children are doing and concentrate on your own because Charity starts in the home. But follow the examples of Muslim, Sikh, Hindu and Buddhist moms. Do they worry about your children? Do they cower under the sword of lefty propaganda? Do they apologize? Are they kiss-asses? Hell no!

Ladies stand by your men and rebuild our shattered family structure. Men and women together, husband and wife, lets teach our boys what it means to be real men- how to defend themselves with knowledge, fist and gun; to appreciate America. Lets teach our daughters the same. If our children know who they are, the left can’t hurt them and our Republic will be salvaged.

If Americans can get past political correctness and white guilt rhetoric, they can experience a metamorphosis that will empower them to be the brave, unapologetic people their forefathers were. But that is going to require great courage; a fine piercing mind that can see through the fog of deceit and lies and not buckle under the left’s savage bullying.

Once White men were the world’s Titans, masters of the sword and the pen. Now they are Lemmings.

…I really miss the titans.

References:

‘ a fine piercing mind…’ Clausewitz

Ester 9:24-26.

Isaiah 34

“All Gentile children are animals.” Yebamouth 98a

“The best of the Goy should all be killed.” Soferim 15,10

‘Lemmings and Titans’ (heading) retrieved from www. Whitelocust.wordpress.com

Milbank, D. (2015). A welcome end to American Whiteness. Owatonna People’s Press. Retrieved from www.southernminn.com

Kaufman, T., (1940) Germany must perish. Free download on www. https://archive.org

Kill the Goy = kill the White European Christian

Jews are white yet they call for the destruction of white America. Why is that? it goes all the way back to ancient history. The Jews who are semites have a deep hatred for Aryan Whites. Way back when, they murdered 75,000 unarmed Persians and have been killing Aryans since. When they aren’t killing, they are using Aryan whites as slaves or whores (Our women are their sex whores. Our men are their military whores). Yep, they are heavily involved in the porn industry (Miley Cyrus’ agent is a Jew), Homeland security and the film industry not to mention our schools and media. Pay attention, everyone. they are after us. The only thing that keeps the Jew Bolshevik elite from forcing us out of our homes and into cattle cars (they did it to the Armenians first then the Russian Kulaks; Nazis copied) bound for the killing fields or Fema gulag death camps is the 2nd amendment.
The Jew Bolshevik speaks softly like Muslims do but if you listen carefully, they’ll tell you straight up what their plans are – Kill the Goy AKA the Christian White European (Aryan). The Jews who effectively use Multiculturalism, White Christian guilt and diversity propaganda to shut down any white groups who dare to oppose them (ex. Tea Party) know what most Christian Whites don’t- when America ceases to be a white Christian majority nation, it will cease to be a prosperous viable nation.
Sorry, Semites but Asians, Africans and Hispanics don’t have what it takes, and you know it, too. Some may be smart. They may even be brilliant but as a collective whole, as distinct races, they are not exceptional. Only white Christians are- Western Christian civilization is proof of that- and so great has been the white man’s prosperity that they have allowed others who don’t have the intelligence to make it on their own- to ride on their backs.
White Americans are so busy doing nothing, they don’t notice what is happening all around them. Maybe they don’t care but their children will when non Whites kick down their doors and wipe them out- just like they are doing in South Africa which has basically slipped into the abyss of decay, poverty and thuggery. Guess who was behind that? Jews. They want to rule over us like masters over slaves. they did it once and they intend to do it again. But for now, they cant. you see our founding fathers knew one day, Americans would face off against the great vampires (Benjamin Franklin called Jews vampires) and thats why we have the 2nd amendment. Govermnet is corrupt and when you have Jews running the show, you can expect double corrupt and vulgarity as the icing. Since they cant get out the big guns cause they know we’ll get ours, they use propaganda, lies and deceit to weaken the naive and gullible in our race mentally. they drive the stake of ‘whtie guilt’ into our children. They want to wipe us out and install their NWO- my opinion of course but I’m a very good judge of character and unlike most Americans I do my homework. You make your own choices but you have been warned.

#wakeupAmerica #white Genocide @Dana Milbank​

Gossip whores (its not nice to gossip)

GOSSIP WHORES (ITS NOT NICE TO GOSSIP)

Gossiping is bad. I know that and so do you. It ruins reputations. It destroys families and friendships. It breaks hearts. Sometimes, it does even worse. I know. I saw what gossip does up front and personal. I let girls tear apart a friend with their gossip. I was too afraid to do anything to stop it. So I guess I’m just as guilty.

My friends were just kids who should have known better but didn’t. But their mothers were another story. They knew better but that didn’t stop them. And, their gossiping didn’t seem to bother their friends and neighbors either because they were the most popular women in our area.They were invited to all the parties, and were involved in all the community events. They were the ladies all the other ladies wanted to be seen with and because of who they were, people listened to their gossip and believed whatever they were told. Their daughters followed their example and did what their mothers did. You can’t blame them though cause most girls adore their moms and want to be just like them no matter how bad they are.

Sticks and stones may break my bones
But names will never hurt me.
Call me this. Call me that…

You know the lines but they’re all wrong. Names do hurt. They hurt real bad but gossip hurts even worse. Christine, Betsy and Jennifer should have known it’s not nice to gossip.

Two years have gone by, and now I finally got the guts to set the story straight about the triple murder that happened right in my neighborhood. I knew the women. I saw them practically everyday. Their murders were in the news for weeks so there is no way anyone could have missed it. People are killed all the time but this story was so gruesome the media wouldn’t let it go. For weeks, they blasted detail after detail. The victims were wonderful community leaders. They were involved with the PTA and the Girls Volleyball team. They were successful fundraisers. They sponsored numerous 5K runs for Breast cancer and MS. The media repeatedly showed pictures of the women at the beach, at parties and community picnics. They were the best of friends smiling smiles of shiny white teeth; their hair and makeup perfect.

Then there was Paula- Paula the killer. The media tore her apart. On the streets, in the malls, at the school, people who knew nothing about her cursed her over and over. They never bothered to ask why Paula did what she did.

Let me tell you this- Paula wasn’t evil. She was a good person. I know that for a fact. And, I’m sick of the news making heroes out of the murdered moms. They weren’t angels – I know that for a fact, too. And Paula? Was she really the demon the media made her out to be? You read my story and tell me what you think. It’s taken me some time to get up the courage to write my story. It’s going to piss a lot of people off but I don’t care. My neighbors still refuse to admit that they had a hand in what happened. My story is going to remind them that they did.

I’m only 15 and I’m not sure where to begin so I guess I’ll just start at the very beginning.

Paula’s house is gone. The community bought it and had it torn down. I can’t blame them for that. Terrible things happened in that house and I guess they wanted to keep weirdoes and gawkers away. So the house is gone but not the memories. I go there a lot, and just stare. Sometimes, if I stare hard enough I can conjure Paula’s house up in seconds. I can see Paula pruning her rose bushes and Abby jumping her rope. I stand there for as long as I can stand it then I say a prayer because praying makes me feel better. Sometimes when I’m praying, Abby’s face flashes before me. Abby crying. No, not crying but sobbing. She’s alone and she’s in pain. Not physical pain but a heartache kind of pain and that’s the worst pain of all.
And I helped to cause it. I dumped her, and I was supposed to be her friend.
I wish I could go back in time. I would make everything all right. But it’s too late. Nobody can go back in time not even God.

I try to block out Abby so I try to focus on the good times but its no use. The ugly times push their way through and they engulf my mind. I cry, then I run till my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. Running feels good because it makes the bad memories recede till I cant see them anymore.
I swear I’ll never go back but the next day comes and there I am again.

My neighborhood is what you would call upscale- beautiful houses, beautiful cars and beautiful families. My school is beautiful, too. It’s a blue ribbon school, one of the best in the state. The school is what attracted my mom and dad and I guess that attracted Paula here, too.

I lived here since I can remember. I know everybody- the adults and kids- at least by name. I was pretty popular in the neighborhood. I had friends but there was trio of girls that I couldn’t stay away from. As soon as they stepped foot outside, I dumped the kids I was playing with and rushed to be with them. They were the cool kids in our community. That’s no exaggeration- they were cool. So many girls wanted to hang out with them; to be included in their little group but they were rebuffed. They didn’t make the cut but I did. Being part of the cool girl gang made me feel special. We called our little group, the T’s. There was Tabitha, Tamara, Theresa, and me- Tracy. The T’s – I had the same first initial as they did! How often do you see that?

I knew we were meant to be together as best buddies. The T’s -now that was very cool. The girls were a year older than me. I adored them like a little girl full of adoration for her older sister. I loved the way they walked. I loved the clothes they wore and the way they styled their hair. I loved the way they talked and the music they listened to. Whatever they told me to do I did. That’s right- I was like their little puppy dog- that’s how much I admired them. I was so wrapped up with the T’s that I lost my awareness of my own self. My life back then was consumed with being a part of them. Oh, I loved them so much it blinded me to how mean they were. Man, I wish now I didn’t love them the way I did. But it’s too late for that- way too late

Unless there was practice after school, we would get together. After we finished our chores and homework, we took walks in the neighborhood. Sometimes, we would go to the playground to sneak a few puffs of a cigarette Theresa stole from her dad or go to the stream and catch frogs.
There was a house for sale on the other side of our community playground. It had been empty for months. We never paid attention to the house until the day we spotted a large truck and a group of men moving furniture through the front door. We stopped to watch; eager to see who was moving in. The newcomers finally made their appearance and they immediately got our attention. The woman was black, tall and heavy set. The girl who ran in front of her was white with long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She was muscular and long legged. All four of us squinted as we watched the woman talking to the men and the girl dashing through the front yard and then into the house and then back outside again. She looked excited and so did the lady. We’ve seen mixed race couples before but this was the first time, we saw a black woman with a white child who was obviously no relation to her.

Theresa took a step forward. “I’m going to see who these people are.” She was in a huff, but then Theresa was always in a huff. Why? I don’t know. I’m sure the other girls noticed too but they never said anything. None of us had the guts to ask Theresa what her problem was. We would never admit it but we were a little afraid of her. Theresa had a mean streak like her mother, a tongue and an attitude that could reduce the toughest girl to tears. We watched as Theresa crossed the street with her hand on her hip just like her mom. We followed behind.
The girl was jumping rope in the front yard that was full of rose bushes smothered under the weight of heavy vines. Her long hair had fallen out and hung luxurious down her back. She saw us and put her rope down. She went to the gate and opened it. “Hi, my name is Abigail but you can call me Abby, that’s what my mom calls me.” She excitedly extended her hand to us. Theresa shook it and then introduced herself with her usual arrogance. Tabitha and Tamara weren’t much better. Everything Theresa did they did.
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Paula,” Abby chirped, oblivious to Theresa’s attitude.
Theresa frowned. “and who’s the black woman?”
“Oh, that’s my mom.” Abby said as if Paula being her mother was the most natural thing in the world.
“She’s your mom?” Theresa was incredulous.
“She’s not my birth mother. She’s my foster mom but not for long,” Abigail replied in a singsong voice. “What do you mean- not for long?” Theresa grilled Abby like she was on trial. “Oh, she’s going to be my real mom soon after the adoption goes through. “ Abby beamed. She looked at me and I smiled at her. It wasn’t hard for me to smile at Abby. She was adorable. “That’s great,” I said.
Abby leaned toward me as if I was the only person there. “ I love my mom. She saved me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead.”
My eyes widened. The other T’s were silent. They were as interested as I was. “My mom’s a prosecutor in Philadelphia family court. I was in foster care for years and when I finally came up for adoption, she decided to be my mom.” Abby gushed all full of pride.
There was such a twinkling in her eyes. I had to fight the urge to hug her and kiss her like I did to my little sisters.
“Wow, Paula sounds like such a wonderful person.”
“She is. She’s the best mom in the world,” Abby was practically humming.
“So, don’t you think about your real mom? Theresa jumped into the conversation. I shot a look at Tamara and Tabitha. Why was Theresa being a jerk? “Nope, Paula is my forever mom. I love her and she loves me, “ Abby replied without missing a beat. I was amazed.
“Abby, come on. Time for lunch.” The woman who was going to be Abby’s forever mom appeared at the door. She smiled a charming smile at us. “Oh, hello, ladies. Would you like to have a bit to eat?”
We said nothing, feeling a little shy.
“Abby, can you please introduce me to your new friends.”
Abby was bouncing up and down like she was on a trampoline; all full of energy. She named each of us then introduced us to her mother.
“Well, ladies you’re welcome to join us.” Paula smiled. I couldn’t take my eyes off her long neck and her full lips. They reminded me of the models I saw in the Vogue magazines I browsed through at the library.
We stepped forward.
Paula held the door open and mentioned for us to come in, “Come on, ladies. Don’t be shy. I know you must be hungry.”
We were hungry. We walked in. We had never been in this house before. It was beautiful. Bright, shiny hardwood flooring went the front door to the back door. I could smell fresh paint. Large porcelain ceiling fans buzzed above. In the living room was a large stone fireplace; above the mantle was rifle that looked to me to be pretty old. I was impressed but not Theresa. When she stepped into the living room, she froze. “I think I need to go home,” she said suddenly all jittery.
I was surprised. “I thought you said you were starving. What’s wrong?”
“I have to do something. I just remembered.”
I was totally baffled. I should have known it was nothing but a lie. Silly me. I fell for it.
The other girls were nervous, too but that was only because Theresa was nervous. “I got to go,” she insisted. “So do I ,” Tamara jumped in. Tabitha said the same.
“Oh OK then go, “ I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t about to leave.
“You’re not coming?” Theresa gave me a dirty look.
“No, I’m staying,” I replied. It was the first time, I didn’t let Theresa tell me what to do.
Unfortunately it was my last time, too.

Abby was surprised but not upset when the girls decided to leave. We walked them to the front yard. Abby waved goodbye then she turned her full attention to me. I was the one she was interested in. Now, that should have made me feel special.

Paula was sweet but not an overly phony sweet like the three T’s moms. Paula made me feel comfortable as soon as I walked in. It was like I had known them all my life. Abigail was smiling ear to ear. It was obvious that she adored Paula and I could tell Paula adored sweet Abigail, too. Abby showed me her room. Boxes were everywhere. Her bedroom set was light cherry wood and brand new. “ I love it,” I said as I slide my hand along the Chest of drawers top. “I love it, too” Abby squealed as she jumped on top of her mattress, “ but this is what I love the most.” She bounced up and down and smacked her palm against the ceiling. “Come on, Tracy.”
I didn’t hesitate. I jumped up and down on the mattress, too. We held hands and giggled like best forever friends until Paula yelled at Abby to get off the mattress. “That mattress is brand new, Abby. Now I told you.”
“Ok, mom. “ Abby moaned then grinned at me.
“Come on, you two. Your sandwiches are ready.” We rushed out her bedroom door but I saw something that caught my attention. On the wall was a painting of a baby. I stopped. “oh, she’s beautiful.”
“That’s me,” Abby announced beaming. “I never had any pictures of me when I was a baby so my mom hired an artist who was able to imagine how I looked as a baby.” I stared at the painting. It was incredible. No question in my mind that was how Abby looked when she was a baby. “You’re so lucky to have Paula as mother. She loves you so much.”
Abby grew thoughtful, “ I know. I love her, too.” We gazed at the portrait in silence.
Paula yelled again. “Girls, please.” The spell was broken. We raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. Paula laughed as we slid on the newly polished wood and into our seats.
“My mom makes the best sandwiches” Abigail bragged. She was right. They were the best I ever ate.
I stayed until the sun set. I promised Abby I would come for in the morning. The look of glee on her face would stay with me forever. Dear Abby. Sweet Abby.

Theresa was right. She did have something to do. As soon as she left Paula’s house, she rushed home to tell her mother, Jennifer what she had seen. Jennifer was incredulous. Tamara and Tabitha confirmed what Theresa has seen. Jennifer wasted no time in alerting Tabitha and Tamara’s mothers then they called my mother. By the time I left Abby’s, the news was all over the neighborhood.
When I walked through the door, I was shocked to see my mother waiting for me.
“Where were you?’ she demanded.
I was dumbfounded. What was the attitude for? “I was with our new neighbors. Paula and Abby.”
My mother glared at me, “ I don’t want you in their house again. As a matter of fact, just stay away.”
“What?”
“You heard me, young lady.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Mom, you don’t even know them. Why are you acting like this?”
Mom walked briskly into the kitchen and I followed after her.
“Listen to me,” she thundered as she put the dishes into the dishwasher.
“I need an explanation. I just can’t stop being friends with Abby when I just met her.” My mother straightened herself. She towered over me. I gulped as she stared straight into my eyes. “I just got off the phone with Jennifer. She said Theresa was scared too death.”
“What?” I thought. Was this is some kind of joke?
My mother was getting more annoyed by the minute and so was I.
“Mom, you’re talking in riddles. What is going on?” Now it was me who raised my voice.
My mother took a step closer to me. I shut up. “Theresa said she saw a gun in that woman’s house.”
“Oh that. It wasn’t a gun. It was a rifle. It was hanging over their fireplace.”
My mother let out a groan. I looked at her baffled. “Whats the big deal, Mom? Its not like she was pointing it at us?”
My mother looked like I had slapped her. “Oh my God. So Theresa wasn’t exaggerating. There is a gun in that woman’s house.”
“Mom, please. You’re blowing this all of proportion.” So that’s why Theresa left in such a hurry. I shook my head in disbelief.
“I mean it, Tracy. Don’t go in that house again. I don’t want you around people who have guns.” My mother snapped.
“Mom, please.”
But she didn’t want to hear anymore. She raised her finger to her lips. That was her way of shutting me up.
“Fine.” was all I could say.

So Theresa was the one who started the trouble. I should’ve known. The little bee ran home to her Queen bee who alerted the other Queen bees. Before the night was out the swarm had gathered. But this swarm wasn’t a swarm of honey bees. It was a swarm of killer bees readying their stingers to strike at an unsuspecting woman and child.

My mom told me to stay out of Abby’s house but not out of her yard. So in the morning I went over to Abby’s and walked with her to the bus stop. Paula was with us, too. She wanted to be there for Abby’s first day going to school. She took at least a dozen pictures of the both of us smiling like models for a Teen magazine. I have two of the pictures. I keep them on my dresser mirror.

After soccer practice, instead of waiting for the T’s, I headed straight for Abby’s house. We played ball in the front yard as Paula put her green thumb to work. Right before my eyes, she transformed a dilapidated front yard into an English garden. I loved to watch her pruning away at her roses. Once, she saw me watching her. She giggled embarrassed, “ Oh, don’t mind me. I just love Roses.” I told her I loved them, too. The next time I stopped over, she gave a large bouquet wrapped in a red silk ribbon.

I took the bouquet to my room and put it in a vase. The roses filled my room with their sweet smell. I kept them for as long as I could. Just before I tossed the roses I managed to save one for me and one for Abby. I dried them out and put them inside my bible. I still have them.

At school, I introduced Abby to all my buddies. I brought her to eat lunch at our table. I saw Theresa exchange looks with the other girls but decided to ignore it. Throughout the week, I took walks with Abby. We played basketball and soccer together. She was an athlete and so was I. She liked the same music I liked. She liked to read and so did I. She loved the same sports that I did. I knew we were going to be great friends.

I hoped that Theresa, Tabitha and Tamara would make Abby feel welcome, but they never did. When Abby tried to talk to them they would walk away leaving Abby dumbfounded. At first, I thought they were just being snobby and they would get over it. But they didn’t. Whenever the five of us got together, you could cut the tension with a knife. Theresa would roll her eyes but I ignored her.

I was stupid back then. I thought the girls would eventually warm up to Abby despite their initial scare over the rifle. Besides, what did having a rifle in her house have to do with Abby as a person? Nothing. At least that’s what I thought. But the girls had a different opinion.
One day, they walked past my house. They didn’t stop. I was surprised. I called to them. They stopped. I rushed up to them. “What’s going on?” Theresa rolled her eyes but said nothing. I got in her face. “What’s going, Theresa!” She looked at Tabitha and Tamara. They burst out laughing. I wasn’t laughing. I was fuming. “What’s the problem? You walk past my house and you don’t knock for me?”

Theresa grinned a nasty grin. I wish I had the courage to slap that grin off her face. But I didn’t. My anger turned into fear.
Finally, Theresa put her hand on her hip. “OK. I’m going to tell you. If you want to hang out with us then get rid of Abigail. We don’t want her around us.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t like her. So make your choice -us or her,” she snapped. I was shocked. All I could do was stare with my mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. I hated Theresa then and there but belonging to the T’s was the most important thing in the world to me. “and Tracy, if we stop hanging out with you then our mothers will stop hanging out with your mother and your mother wont have anyone to talk, too. Our moms are the most popular in the whole area. You don’t want your mother to be an outcast, do you?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Well, there you go then. Make your choice.”
I felt like a child being reprimanded by her mother. I made my choice. I had to be the Cool kids. Theresa won. Abby lost.

Gossip is ugly and the T’s were the biggest gossips in our school. They gossiped all the time but I just ignored it because it had nothing to do with me or anybody I cared about. Mostly it was just stupid gossip. But with Abby, they took their gossiping to a more terrible level. I never imagined how much pain it would cause.
I had no idea what the mothers of the T’s were up to either. Their gossiping was the worst because others believed everything they said. But, I didn’t pay attention to them. They were adults and adults didn’t interest me. Besides, I had problems of my own. I decided that being with the T’s was more important than Abby. But I didn’t have the nerve to tell her to her face that I didn’t want to be friends with her anymore.

I did what I thought I would never do. I dumped Abby and she was the one who loved me like a sister.

The day after I made my choice, I simply stopped talking to Abby. I stopped going to her yard. I simply stopped being her friend. She was astonished at first. I don’t blame her for that. I would have been, too. She called my house but I never answered her calls. She knocked for me but I told her I was busy. She chased after me in school and I ran away from her with the T’s egging me on not to look at her. It was mean. I was a mean.

A few weeks went by and Abby continued to follow us home from school. “Just tell me, Tracy. What I did I do wrong?” she would cry after me. I never said anything because there was nothing to say.
One day, Abby got too close. She got so close her school bag knocked against mine. “Get away from us, Abby. We don’t like you, even Tracy doesn’t like you,” Theresa hissed. That was a lie but I said nothing.
Abby stopped in mid step. Her eyes welled up with tears. She began to shudder. “Why?”
“Look she’s crying,” Theresa sneered. Tamara and Tabitha sneered, too. “No one likes you.” Theresa hissed, “You’re a friggen weirdo so stop creeping on us.” With that the T’s turned away. Abby had been dismissed. I followed. Abby followed too, keeping her distance. She pleaded after me, “Tracy, I thought you were my friend. Please don’t do this.”
I never answered. Gradually her pleas were reduced to whimpers that turned into echos caught along the curbs and up into the trees resounding around me long after she had stopped following.
I looked back when I knew the three T’s weren’t looking. I caught a glimpse of Abby as she headed toward her home- stricken; limp and broken.
I wanted so badly to run back to her and tell her what was going on and ask for forgiveness. But I made my choice. I choose mean girls over a sweet girl. Why did I do that?

Every year, our community had a picnic. Flyers went out. Paula bought tickets for herself and Abby. I know that because I overheard Theresa’s mother, Jennifer tell my mother. Jennifer didn’t want Paula and Abby to come to the picnic. She didn’t like Paula even though she never spoke to Paula. She laughed as she told my mother she was going to do whatever she could to make sure Paula and her foster child – she emphasized foster child like it was a venereal disease- didn’t come.
I felt sick to my stomach. But the problem was the community couldn’t disinvite Paula and Abby. This was a paid event and tickets were already purchased. But Jennifer had other plans. She, Bessie and Christine had volunteered to grill the hamburgers and hot dogs. Jennifer vowed she was going to make it hell for Paula and her daughter. She snickered again and my mother laughed.

There was a huge crowd at the picnic. Jennifer, Betsy and Christine were kept busy most of the afternoon. The men were drinking beer and telling jokes. The women were sipping wine and gossiping about Paula and Abby. It was late in the afternoon, and Jennifer remarked that maybe Paula and her daughter weren’t going to show after all. Everyone laughed.
“Oops, Jen. You spoke too soon.” Betsy laughed then pointed, “Look who’s coming to dinner.” Christie roared but Jennifer made an ugly face. “Damn it.” She hissed. Paula and Abby walked up to the crowed smiling. Immediately, the picnic went from happy to tense.

I know Paula sensed the change in mood. She tried her best to chat with the women but was rebuffed. Abby was devastated. She watched as her mother tried so hard to be accepted. She tugged at her mother’s arm. “Mom please lets go. They don’t want us at their party.” Her voice cracked as she looked anxiously around. She caught my eye but I looked away.
Paula had had enough. She stormed over to Jennifer, “What is your problem?” Jennifer smirked. “Why are you giving my daughter and me such an attitude?” Jennifer rolled her eyes at Bessie and Christine. Men walked over. They stood next to the grill, and put their hands on their chest like they were the ladies’ bodyguards. Paula glared at them. She was not frightened but Abby was. She clung to Paula. “Why don’t you want us here?” Paula demanded. She really had no idea why the community would hate her so much. Nobody invited her to their houses for coffee or to their parties. No one ever had a conversation with her.
Jennifer was exultant, “because nobody likes you.”
“What?” Paula was surprised.
Jennifer decided now was the time to drive the stake in Paula’s heart. “ You and your daughter are weirdos. Stay away from us.”
A crowd had gathered. Paula looked at the smug faces of Betsy and Christie. “Wierdos? What the hell are you talking about?”
It was Christie’s turn to speak up, “We know all about you.”
Paula was baffled. “What do you know about me that I deserve to be treated like this?”
She looked at the women who were standing shoulder to shoulder. Abby clutched her mother’s arm, “Mom, they don’t want us here. They don’t like us. Please let’s go, mom.” But Paula wouldn’t budge. She glared at the crowd. She was controlling herself for Abby’s sake. I could tell. I watched as they walked away. I heard Abby beg, “ Mommy please lets get out of here.” Then I heard Paula, “The hell with them. We have the right to be here as much as they do.”
They walked away stiff legged like they were waiting for someone to plunge them in their backs. And that’s exactly what happened. I don’t mean a physical punch but a punch that hurts just the same.
Paula and Abby were almost out of earshot when Betsy announced, “There they go – mother and daughter walking off into the sunset.” The crowd snickered at the words.
“Hah,” Christine laughed, “the little girl isn’t her daughter. She’s her foster child.”
Jennifer chimed in, “Yep, that’s her foster child. The only reason why she has Abby is to get money from the state. Right, Paula?”
That line got Paula’s attention. She stormed over to the there women. The muscles in her face were twitching. Abby wept as she tried to pull her mother back. “Mommy, please. They’re not worth it.”
“I will not, “ Paula said firmly.
She went up to Jennifer. “She is my daughter and I am her mother. Don’t you dare ever call her my foster child. She’s my daughter.”
Jennifer mocked her with her evil little giggles but Paula wasn’t intimidated- not one bit. “Go away,” Jennifer flicked her hand into Paula’s face like she was flicking away an annoying fly. She smirked at Betsy and Christine. Then Paula grabbed Jennifer’s wrist and jerked her forward. She was a big woman who could have easily broke Jennifer’s wrist. Jennifer laughed nervously as she struggled against Paula. The men pressed closer with their arms across their chests ready to attack. Paula simply looked at them as if daring them to do something then she turned her attention to Jennifer. She stared hard into Jennifer’s eyes. “Look everyone, she’s nuts. I told you she was nuts. She wants to kill me,” Jennifer squealed, her voice higher than usual.
“If I didn’t have to worry about going to jail and leaving Abby, I would kill you.” Paula hissed so low I could barely hear her word the she released Jennifer’s wrist and walked away with her head held high and her shoulders straight.
“Did you hear that everyone? She’s threatening to kill me.” Jennifer laughed nervously.
The crowd glared at Paula as she took Abby’s hand. “Stop crying, Abby. They’re nothing but gossip whores just ignore them.They’re not worth our time.”

Paula should have known that ignoring gossip whores is easier said than done. Gossip can break the strongest of women. Imagine what it does to girls. It can do more than just break hearts.
Some men were impressed with Paula though despite what the women thought. One said, “You can tell she really loves her daughter.”
“She’s not her daughter.” Jennifer retorted.

Halloween came. Our community was bursting with kids and teenagers dressed in every custom imaginable. But only a hand full of kids came to Paula’s door and they were from outside the community. Paula gave out full size Hershey bars. Theresa’s brother, Harry wanted one. He told Theresa to walk with him to the crazy lady’s house but Theresa refused. You won’t catch me on that freaks’ property. Harry asked me but I refused, afraid that Theresa would get mad and that would be it for me. I couldn’t chance it. “Come on, “ he begged. I shook my head at first then I finally gave in. “I’ll wait by the curb.” I walked over and watched as he rang the bell. Paula looked surprised, “come in.” But Harry said no.
“Why not?” Paula asked.
“Because my mom said we’re not allowed in your house.” Harry replied.
“Can I ask why?” Paula asked with a controlled voice.
Harry was all mouth, “ My mom said its because my sister said you have guns and she’s afraid that you may try to kill us.”
“What?’ Paula gasped. Her face crumbled.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, “ Can I have a candy bar?” Without a word, Paula gave Harry his candy bar and shut the door.

Theresa told me the next day that Paula called her mother. She was full of glee as she told me how her mother screamed at Paula about how dangerous guns were and that she never wanted her daughter exposed to them. Guns had no place in society- at least that’s what Theresa and her mother thought, and if they thought that then it must be right. Theresa told me that her mother told her that Paula said her rifle was for show not use. Paula had never fired a gun in her life but it didn’t matter, the damage was already done. Paula and Abby’s reputations had been ruined months ago.
Jennifer, Bessie and Christine were on a roll. They took pleasure in spreading more gossip about Paula and her daughter. Paula and Amy shot cats. Paula had an arsenal of loaded guns that she left lying around her house. Most of the gossip was nonsense. I’m ashamed to write my mother was part of the network. She participated in the gossip and I never said a single word to stop it.

Then, Abby did something she would immediately regret doing. It wasn’t her fault. She meant no harm. Its just that she was so desperate for friends, she would go out of her way to say something nice or do something nice just to get a bit of attention. One day at lunch, a girl named Michelle was showing off her pendant that hung low on her chest. She was a big girl and had developed a lot earlier than most of the other girls. Abby watched as the girls hovered around Michelle making remarks about how beautiful the pendant was. Abby made her way through the group. She picked up Michelle’s pendant, looked it over and then placed it back on Michelle’s chest. There was an awkward silence. Supposedly, Amy ran her fingers on Michelle’s breast. Michelle freaked out and shoved Abby so hard she staggered back and fell. “What did I do?” she stammered.
Michelle was in a frenzy. “Did you see what she did? Get away from me, you weirdo.”
Abby was shocked to tears. “What?”
“Get away from me or I will kick your ass, “ Michelle thundered. Amy got up and walked away cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs. The next day, the gossip was all over the school and in our community-Abby was a lesbian. The gossip was so ludicrous; I had to tell people that it wasn’t true. The next day, I got nasty looks from girls in the cafeteria, and the cold shoulder from Theresa. I shut up.

Not long after the Michelle incident, I heard that a group of girls had surrounded Abby and took turns shoving her. They called her a dyke over and over again. The T’s laughed uncontrollably as they described Abby’s hysteria as she struggled to break through their circle.
The next day, Paula was at the school. I saw her as we changed classes. She didn’t see me as she walked in and I made no effort to get her attention.
According to what Betsy had told my mom, the principal told Paula there was nothing he could do since the event happened off of school grounds. None of the girls were called to the office. No one was suspended or even given detention. No adult made any attempt to stop the bullying or the gossiping.

Abby changed. She lost weight. She no longer took care of her beautiful hair. She sat alone at lunch. She walked the hallways with her head down. She went from sweet to pathetic; melting away right before my eyes. Our school days blended one into another. They are supposed to be the best days of a girls’ life but not for Abby. She became a target. Even kids who didn’t know her tripped her, knocked her books from arms, and stuck bumble gum in her hair. She was teased relentlessly about her black mother and the guns in her house. She no longer cried out loud when kids shoved her in the school hallways. She didn’t flinch when boys made remarks about her flat chest. She was like a tiny mouse constantly on the alert for danger. Her tears, she kept to herself.
Theresa had no mercy. She knew Abby was in a frail position and she loved pouncing on girls who were frail. She harassed Abby at the bus stop. Abby must have complained because after that Paula drove her to the bus stop. Right at the corner, Paula would wait until the bus arrived and watch as Amy got on the bus.
One day, Abby said out to Paula. “Mom, I hate this school. I don’t want to go here. “ Paula looked at Theresa and said, “if they touch you, It’ll me and their mothers.” Abby gave her mother a strange look as she walked past us and goton the bus.

That threat didn’t stop the T’s. She, Tamara and Tabitha stalked Paula and Abby whenever they saw them at the supermarket. Up and down the aisles they would follow Abby and Paula. They would whisper to each other and giggle at Abby or smack their carts into Paula’s and laugh as they said sorry. The store manager was no help. She said there was nothing she could do because the girls weren’t doing anything wrong.

The three T’s didn’t know when to stop. When Paula and Abby went for walks, they rode their bikes. Sometimes they get so close to Paula and Abby they practically touched their heels with their tires. When Paula and Abby stopped. They stopped. When Paula and Abby moved on, they did too, snickering and making remarks about Abby being a foster child. It was that remark that always brought Abby to tears. Paula went first to Jennifer then Bessie and Christie and complained. But they were just as nasty as their daughters. “My daughter has as much right as you do to be as in this community. Now get away or I’ll call the police,” Jennifer threatened.

With the blessings of their mothers, the three T’s continued their campaign but now their mothers joined in. Wherever Paula went, they made it sure they were there, too. Whispering into each other’s ears, close enough for Paula to hear.
“I should get foster kids, too.” Jennifer would whisper. I know all about what they did to Paula because Jennifer would tell my mother everything she, Betsy and Christine did and then laugh about it.
“What a great way to make money from the state,” Christine would whisper back. They knew Paula heard every word. How Paula managed to keep her composure, I’ll never know.

Months went by and the killer queen bees continued with their death stings. When a new neighbor moved in, Jennifer, Betsy and Christine welcomed them. The new neighbors were invited to parties and events. “Oh, by the way,” the women would announce, “stay away from them” and point to Paula’s house.

Finally, Paula reached a point she couldn’t take it anymore. She went to the police and complained about the stalking and the rumors and the lies, but they told her the same thing. As long as she and Abby weren’t being threatened physically there wasn’t much they could do. Paula was told the T’s and their mothers had every right to be where they were.

I had stopped talking to Abby a long time ago so I never knew what was in her heart. But it was obvious she was suffering. I knew it and so did everyone else. But none of us knew her suffering was so deep she wanted to die.
If only I could go back in time. I would have righted all the wrongs we did to Abby. I would have told Theresa to go to hell, and I would have told Jennifer, Bessie and Christie to go to hell, too.
It was summer when it happened. School was almost over. It was day no different from the others. Paula drove Abby to the bus stop and waited for the bus to come. She watched as Abby got on the bus then she headed off to work. If only she knew what was in Abby’s heart maybe Paula would not have been so stubborn. Maybe she would have moved and taken Abby to a new school where she could have started all over. Maybe. Maybe. Our hearts are full of maybes when there’s not turning back.

No one had bullied Abby for days. But that day at lunch, Abby supposedly touched a girl with her lunch tray. The girl went berserk. She shoved her fist under Abby’s tray and punched it hard. Abby’s lunch went into her face and hair. The entire lunch room roared in laughter. Abby didn’t say a word. She picked up her tray and walked back to where she usually sat. “So what are you going to do, Abby? Cry to mommy.” The girl was practically in her face.

Theresa beamed. Here was another opportunity to hurt Abby.
“She doesn’t have a mother. Paula’s her foster mother. The state pays her to take care of Abby.”
Abby winced. The kids at my table burst out laughing. Tabitha put her two cents in, “at least I have my real mother. My mother loves me. She would never give me up.” Abby put her hands to her face to hide her tears as all the kids jeered at her. “I bet she doesn’t even know who her father was.” Abby got up from her chair and left the lunchroom. I watched as she ran up the stairwell. Tamara remarked, “Abby’s father didn’t love her. Thank God my father loves me.”
The rest of the kids agreed and I did, too.

It was during dinner, that my mother got a call from Christine. Her voice was so loud I could hear her from where I sat. “The police are at that women’s house.”
My mother jumped from her chair and rushed to the window. “Oh my God, an ambulance is coming.”
I ran to the kitchen door and pushed it open. My sisters and brothers crowded around me vying for a good spot. “What’s going on?” our neighbor called to my mother. She walked toward us as she gazed at the commotion at Paula’s house. “Should we take a look?” she asked nervously.
My mother tied up her hair and walked out. I followed. Other people were following behind us. Cars pulled up. Three women jumped out of their cars, “Something’s happened to Abby.”
I looked at my mother astonished.
“How do you know?” my mother asked. There was frightened look on her face. “Look, here come the cops and an ambulance,” one of the women replied.

I ran as fast as I could. My mother ran behind me. A crowd had gathered. Jennifer, Bessie and Christine were in the front holding hands with their daughters. They appreciated drama and they got what they were looking for. The paramedics opened the door. They brought up a stretcher. When they emerged from the house, there was a white plastic bag on the stretcher. I felt faint. My knees felt like rubber. I grabbed my mother’s arm to keep from falling.

Paula followed behind the paramedics. She howled like an animal caught in a trap. The women I had seen earlier were holding her as they made their way out the door. One of them said, “Paula, I love you. I’m so sorry. Mommy is on her way.“ Paula sobbed even louder when the woman mentioned her mother then she stopped suddenly when she saw her daughter’s tormentors and their mothers.

“You killed my Abby. You and your rotten daughters did this.” Her voice had grown horse from her screams. She lunged at Jennifer but Jennifer jumped back. “She’s crazy. I told you she’s crazy.”

Paula howled again and her sisters held her with all their strength. She wanted nothing more than to tear Jennifer apart. “Paula, she’s not worth it. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Oh, yes there is!” Paula thundered as she pointed her finger at Jennifer and then at the others. “I’ll make all of you pay for what you did.”
“It’s your fault, Paula. You should have taken your daughter and left when you had the chance.“ Christine taunted her.
It was Paula’s sister who opened her mouth this time. “Shut up, woman or I will let my sister go.”
Suddenly, Paula stopped. Her senses cleared. She straightened her shoulders and lifted up her chin. She looked at Jennifer, Betsy and Christine as if seeing them for the first time. “The 3 little monkeys are gonna get what they deserve.”
Jennifer gasped as she looked around at the people standing next to her. “did you har her. She threatened me. She’s nuts, I told you she was.”

Paula never wavered as she continued, “See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.” Now she was the one who was taunting. Jennifer was completley unnerved.
“Go to hell, Paula. Go to hell with your foster daughter,” she screamed. If there was a moment when Paula should have beat the hell out of Jennifer- that was it. Instead she walked away. There was a small smile on her lips.

At first the cops were too stunned to do anything except watch but when Jennifer told Paula to go to hell with her daughter, they had had enough. “All of you out of here. Lets go.”
Everyone did as they were told. They turned their backs on Paula and her sisters and headed back home. I was sobbing so hard I could barely see.
My mother was annoyed. “Why are you crying?” She asked. “You never liked her.”
I stopped walking so quickly my youngest sister slammed into me but I was too struck by what my mother said that I hardly noticed. “What are you talking about? I did like her. You’re the one who didn’t want me around her.” At that moment, I hated my mother.

Abby must have known Paula wouldn’t be home until late that evening. She took her jump rope and hung herself from her ceiling fan in her bedroom. I know that because I overheard my mother talking to Jennifer who told all the details she got from the school nurse who knew the police captain who had got the call from the 9-11 dispatcher. Abby had broken her neck.

Gossip travels fast.

I was so stricken by Abby’s death; I could barely eat or sleep. I didn’t want to see anyone especially the T’s. They called and stopped by but I didn’t want anything to do with them ever again. They laughed when I told them and left without a backward glance. They were never my friends. I should have known.

But I didn’t care anymore. A girl who would have been my best friend was dead. It was too much for me to handle. I cried then slept. Sometimes when I woke up I would think I had a bad dream then I would realize it wasn’t a bad dream then I would cry all over again.

Two days went by. I stayed in my room. No matter what my parents did I wouldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t care about school. I refused to go to my soccer game. My father told my mother to leave me alone and that’s what she did. I spent most of my time staring at the ceiling.

My mother was worried. She made me my favorite foods but I wasn’t interested. All I wanted was water. My mother got it for me and placed it on my nightstand. I feel asleep and when I awoke I was thirsty. I stretched out my hand to get the water and when I did I knocked my bible to the floor. I got out of bed to get it. The two roses that Paula gave me were sticking out. I smiled as I touched their dried out petals. I opened my bible. A petal was wedged in between the pages. I took it out and saw the passage it had covered. I read it. The words sucked my breath away. “Oh, Abby, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.”
The sorrow that I held inside, surged forth like a violent swell of water. I couldn’t catch my breath. I struggled. I was being sucked down. “Mommy,” I screamed, “help me, help me!” My mother was in the next room putting my sisters to bed. She rushed in.
“Tracy, what’s wrong?’
“I killed her,” I struggled to get air into my lungs.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t kill her. She killed herself”

That was no consolation for me. I began shrieking. “I killed Abby. She needed me and I turned against her. “ The dark water was now a raging whirlpool dragging me down into its current. I was drowning.
“Mommy, help me. Please help me. Abby wouldn’t be dead if I had stayed her friend.“ I raised my hand up to my mother. She took it and lifted me up. My father was home now. He heard my cries and ran up the steps. He took me from my mother and carried me downstairs, and put me on the couch. I had lost my mind. I shrieked and clawed at the air. I killed Abby. No matter what my parents said there was nothing they could do to calm me.
I turned away from them burying my face into the cushions.

I felt a hand on my neck. It was our priest, Father Mark. He had baptized me and my brothers and sisters. He knelt beside the couch. His face level with mine. “Tracy, I heard about Abby. Your parents told me you are blaming yourself for what happened.”
I burst out crying and blurted out everything. “Father, I’m so sorry for hurting Abby. I was a coward. I turned my back on my friend.”
There were tears in the old priests’ eyes. I told him that what I read the Bible caused me to cry hysterically.
“What passage are you talking about, Tracy? Can you show me?”
My mother handed me my bible. I found the passage and read it. “Be strong, and of good courage. “ I sobbed again. “See father. I wasn’t strong. I had no courage. I betrayed Abby. Now she’s dead.”
Father Mark took my bible and reread the passage. He sighed deeply. “You got it all wrong.“
I stared at him.
“This passage is meant for you now, Tracy. Be strong and courageous. This is a message for you.”
I stared at the old priest. Maybe Abby was reaching out to me. She knew about the roses I had pressed into my bible. What Father Mark said made sense.
“Father, can you pray with me please?” I slid off the couch and knelt next to him. I pressed my hands together tightly to stop shaking and Father Mark placed his hands over mine. My sisters and brothers knelt next to me. I prayed for forgiveness. I prayed for courage and strength. Even though I felt physically weak and drained I felt a sense of strength through prayer.
That night, I slept without waking up.

A few days later, I saw a black limo pull up to Paula’s house. I put my favorite dress on and I walked over. Paula came out of the house. Her sisters were holding her hands. Tears filled my eyes when I saw her. She gasped when she saw me. “Miss Paula, please let me come with you. I want to say goodbye to Abby. “
“No.” Paula replied then walked past me without another look.

No one went to Abby’s viewing or funeral. No one was invited. I found out later where she was buried but I didn’t dare go there for the longest time. I was scared too death I would run into Paula. And what would I say if I did run into her at her daughter’s grave? I felt ashamed even thinking about such a meeting. It made me wish I were dead instead of Abby.

Time went by but instead of moving forward, Paula collapsed inward. She wandered the streets with a faraway look in her eyes. She lost an enormous amount of weight. Her hair that she kept so perfectly styled was now tangled and course. Sometimes, she was seen walking aimlessly in the park talking to herself.

The Gossip whores were back at it again. Tongues wagged.
“Her car is always in the driveway everyday.”
“How’s she supporting herself?”
“She’s going to lose that house and that will hurt the value of ours”
“She looks like she’s homeless. We need to do something.”
The gossip went on and on. No one ever approached Paula.

Then she disappeared. Some of the neighbors thought she had gone back to work but they were proven wrong when constant hammering was heard from her back deck. The hammering went on for hours at a time. it would stop for a few days then start back up again.

I decided I had to visit Paula. I wasn’t sure how she would react but I told myself I had to at least try.

I called out as loudly as I could as I came up to her gate. There was no answer. I didn’t wait to be invited. I opened the gate and walked to the back where I heard her hammering and singing.
“Hello Miss Paula, “ I said softly as if my usual voice would scare her. Paula stopped what she was doing. She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. “Its me, Miss Paula, Tracy,”
Her clothes were filthy. It was a shock to see. Paula had always been so meticulous. Her nails and her makeup were always perfect. But now, Paula was something different – she was no longer the polished, professional lady but a lost, heartbroken woman.

Beside her were all kinds of tools including a blow torch. Why would Paula need something like that? There was a thick sheet of metal and wood. Paula stared at me and began hammering against the metal causing it to fold into a triangular shape. “What are you doing,” I asked.
“Getting ready to kill my three little monkeys, that’s what,” Paula murmured. I laughed. Paula would never hurt a fly. I smiled at her as she raised her eyes to me. Gone was the sparkle I used to see in her brown eyes. Now there was something else and it made me suck in my breath. My heart pounded.
“Little girl, you need to go home now. Don’t come back here anymore.”
“Miss Paula, Please forgive me.”
She stared at me as she oiled a tool that looked like enormous pinchers.
I gulped. “Please, Miss Paula.”
“Forgive you?” she asked then grew silent perhaps remembering the days when I was Abby’s friend. Minutes passed then slowly she shook her head, “Too late for that, little girl. Now leave me be.”
Tears came down my face as I pleaded once more but Paula was raised her hand to silence me.

A few days later, I decided to try again. It took ever ounce of courage but I managed to walk to the back of her house and say Hello.
Paula sat cross-legged on the bare wooden planks. She was hammering another piece of metal. She used a huge mallet, humming and talking to herself. She never acknowledged me. I looked around. Her Rose garden was no longer beautiful. Weeds have engulfed them. They were turning brown. For Paula, her garden no longer existed. Nothing that was beautiful existed.

Four months after Abby’s death, she looked more like a bird of prey than human.
I went to her with outstretched hands, “Miss Paula,” I murmured. There was no emotion in her eyes when she said, “Don’t want to hear it. Go away.” She got up. She brushed dust off her clothes and went back into her house. She had dismissed me.

Paula had snapped but she didn’t snap completely. She was going to do what she had promised to do. Not long after Abby died, Paula began to stalk the women she blamed for Abby’s death. Wherever, Jennifer, Christine, and Bessie went, Paula was there. Paula would stand a few feet away and stare the women down. Both Christine and Bessie was a nervous wreck. Jennifer laughed at them, “She’s nuts. Just ignore her. What is she going to do to, anyway?”
At the food market where the three went shopping together, Bessie felt a presence. She looked up. Paula was staring at her like a hungry beast. Bessie went to the store manager and complained, “She’s following us. Everywhere I look there she is.” The manager approached Paula but Paula had no clue what the problem was. She introduced herself as an attorney and made it plain to the manager that she was the one being harassed and if it continued she would take action. The manager apologized, and told Bessie that Paula had every right to shop in his store just like she did.

A few days later, it happened again. The three women were jogging when they saw Paula sitting on a bench. When they jogged past, Paula got up and walked behind them with a pace that was fast enough to keep them in view. This time, Jennifer called 9-11 and told the dispatcher that they were being followed. The police were notified and confronted Paula. Once more, Paula pleaded innocent. “ What is this? I can’t walk in the park? She complained. “I’m not bothering them. I have no interest in them whatsoever.” The cops agreed.

Paula became more brazen. She followed the women when they went for walks. She pushed her cart into theirs at the food market. At games, she sat next to them. When they got up to move, she moved. Paula somehow learned Jennifer and Christine’s schedule at the YMCA, and worked out when they did, staring at them with unblinking eyes. The women become afraid. Whenever they ventured outside, Paula was there. They complained again to the police but the police blew them off with increasing annoyance.

Then the Saturday they were supposed to volunteer at a 5K run; Jennifer, Betsy and Christine disappeared. Hours passed. They were supposed to be at the run at 730 am. Their friends waited. An hour passed and they called their houses. Their husbands answered. Jennifer had picked up Betsy and Christine. They were seen in Jennifer’s car, waving goodbye as they drove away. Two hours had passed.
Anxiety gave way to alarm when the 5K finished and the awards were given out. The police were called. Then someone said that Paula hadn’t been seen all day either. That was unusual because Paula always where Jennifer, Betsy and Christine were.

Now the alarm turned into something worse- a feeling of terror, a feeling of foreboding. My mother was out on the street. A crowd had gathered. Their eyes fixated on the once lovely house of Paula’s. A cop sat in his car. He was on the radio asking for backup. Had someone hurt Jennifer, Betsy and Christine? Had someone hurt Paula? I felt a panic grow inside me. I guess everyone else felt the same. I could see a worried look in their eyes.
Two other patrol cars showed up. The first cop spoke to them. They got out of the car. They had rifles in their hands. A swat team came. Men in black uniforms carrying high-powered rifles crept up to the front door and along the sides of the house. This was serious. This was real. I began to cry.

Most of the community had converged across the street from Paula’s – out of harms’ way but close enough to see what was going on. Most of the women spoke in frantic whispers as their children stared at the police. Suddenly, the T’s ran up the front of the crowd sobbing. Their fathers were close behind them. They put their arms around their daughters and cried too. My mother told me to go back to the house. I obeyed. I walked into the front of the house and out the front door. I ran behind our row of homes and then snuck across the horse farm that backed up to Paula’s house. I could see the police taking frantically on their walkie talkies. I pushed the back door opened and ran in. I had to see. I wish I hadn’t done that.

In Paula’s kitchen, the floor was slippery with a huge amount of bright red blood. Then cops saw me and yelled at me to get out but the urge to see caused me to disobey. I ran upstairs. Paula had hung herself from the same ceiling fan that Abby had; her feet dangling inches from the floor. “oh no. oh no. Paula.” I screamed. My legs buckled under me and felt the lunch I had eaten make its way back up my throat.
A cop bounded after me but I ran down the other steps that lead into the kitchen and then down into the basement. I was half way into the basement when another cop grabbed by my arms and dragged back up the steps, but not before I saw the body parts- Feet, fingers and hands tossed on the floor like my little sister’s toys. Puddles of bright red blood were on the floor underneath the three torsos that were strung up like beef at a butcher shop. I screamed hysterically. There was a commotion in the Kitchen. Loud voices and shouts were so loud my ears were ringing. Jennifer, Bessie and Christine’s family had managed to push their way into the house. They rushed past me. I cried out, “Get back. Don’t go down.” But they didn’t listen to me anymore than I had listened to the cops. The families now saw the horror of what Paula had done. I heard their cries and screams and covered my ears. My mother was next to me pulling out of house. There were more shouts coming from the end of Paula’s yard. The shouts turned into screams, more terrible than the ones that came from the basement.

Jennifer, Betsy and Christine’s torsos hung high on hook in the basement. Their extremities were on the floor. When screams were heard outside, everyone rushed out. It was Theresa who had been screaming. She collapsed in the overgrown grass holding her chest like she had been stabbed. Her eyes were fixated on the small ridge that separated Paula’s house from the horse farm. I looked up. My neighbors and the police looked up. There on three separate pikes were the heads of Jennifer, and Betsy and Christine. All of us howled in unison like a choir in a cathedral.

Below the heads was a large banner that read- my 3 little monkeys.
Tabitha and Tamara screamed like Paula had months ago. They crumbled in sobbing heaps like Paula had. Their fathers picked them up and carried them away.

Under all the severed heads, thick red blood dripped. The heat was terrible and swarms of flies and gnats crawled across the heads; in and out of the openings of their severed parts.
Betsy’s eyes were gone. Nailed to her chin was a sign that read, “my little monkey, see no evil.” Christine was next. Her ears were gone. Her face was frozen in a scream. God only knows how she suffered in her last minutes. Nailed to her chin was a sign that read, “my little monkey, hear no evil.” Jennifer was the last and she was the most terrible sight of all. She had been the one who had tormented Paula the most with her nasty mouth. There was no nail driven into her chin because there was no chin. Her jaw, her mouth, tongue and teeth were all gone. Nailed into her forehead was a placard that read, my little money, SPEAK NO EVIL.

Nobody knows that I visit Paula and Abigail’s graves. If they did, they would go berserk. Not that I care what they think. I’m over what people think now.
Paula’s grave is right where it should be- next to her daughter’s. There is no tombstone. I’m doubt if there will ever be one but it doesn’t matter. I know where Paula’s body is.

I usually go there after dinner. I put flowers on their graves. Then I pray. I pray that I’ll see Paula and Abby in the afterlife. Maybe by then, Paula and Abby will find it in their hearts to forgive me. That’s what I believe anyway and believing that makes my days go easier.
.
Well, this is the end of my story.
I didn’t write it for enjoyment.
I wrote it so you could learn a few lessons.
Lessons I wished I had learned.

Too late for me.
But not for you.

Tracy.

Yes Mr. Muslim, Christians are weak.

A Facebook friend, Jack Pershing asked a Muslim what he thought of Christians. The Muslim replied, “Christians are weak.”
Jack’s Facebook page exploded. He was outraged. I was outraged. Others who saw the post were outraged.

Outrage can do lots of things – it can empower. It can energize. It can unite. But it cannot cover up the truth.
The Muslim was right- Christians are weak.
They have been for generations.

His comments hit a nerve. Telling the truth does that.

Decades of indoctrination via the media, and entertainment industry have taken its toll on the Christian psyche.
Propaganda vigorously utilized within the schools and universities rendered us practically impotent.
It didn’t take long before Christianity was completely eroded.

For decades, education was molded into a shape our founding fathers would have gone berserk over. It was done purposefully by an evil that hides in the shadows obsessed by its hatred for American exceptionalism and its core faith. This evil known to us as the Left developed a plan of action that it knew eventually succeed. Slowly and oh so softly, the Left took action. First, school prayer was banned followed by Christmas caroling and displaying Christmas trees. Eventually, the mere mention of the New Testament or Jesus was prohibited. The Left got what it wanted. The Christian element was removed from the public schools with hardly a murmur of dissent.

But that wasn’t all – heroes like Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett were cast aside. Presidents like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were dismissed. America itself was demonized as a racist country that hurt helpless peoples. Americans barely noticed.

The left knew what it was doing – when people don’t have a connection to their country’s history, they don’t develop patriotism. When people aren’t taught to love and honor their core faith, they don’t develop the spiritual spine needed to defend their civilization.
When patriotism isn’t developed, people are like putty in a tyrant’s hands.
Today, Many of our youth lack both patriotism and Christian spirituality. They have no foundation to rely on like the Muslim does. They are indeed weak.

Again this is nothing new. Its been happening for generations in the majority of school districts across our great land.

Liberal Christians are America’s weakest link. They mistakenly believe America is immune to the rest of the world’s horrors. So its safe for them to bash their core faith, to revel in “white guilt” because somehow being guilty about being white makes them feel good. For Liberals, weakness is the new “cool.”

So, Christian liberals attend inner faith meetings. They apologize to Muslims with gleeful smiles; too narcissist to understand that Muslims feel only contempt for weaklings.
Christian weakness is not a new phenomenon. Misinterpretations of what Jesus espoused have defanged and declawed Christianity. Jesus was no weakling. He went face to face against the Jews, calling them liars and deceivers. That took lots of courage- courage that we need so badly now.

The Muslim’s response to Jack Pershing was brutally honest. He didn’t care if he insulted a Christian. Christians are sub human, weak and cowardly.
Since the beginnings of the Islamic conquests, Muslims have known that Christians are too weak to defend themselves even when they face genocide.
Assyrian Christians are raped, murdered, or sold into slavery.
And the Christian West does nothing.
Europeans are raped, robbed and murdered by Muslims. Boys are chased down in the streets and beaten; girls are forced into sex rings. Yet Europeans refuse to take up arms against their tormentors.
Yep, Mr. Muslim, Christians are weak.

The Supreme Court forces gay marriage on a Christian nation. Christians cry foul but do nothing to protect their churches.
That’s our shame and our burden. I know that our forefathers would have reacted differently.
Christians are indeed weak.
But not Muslims- Muslims are never weak. They know who they are and what their religion stands for. Their Qur’an is set in blood. It cannot be altered. And if anyone tries, the Muslims will tear them to pieces.

Yep, Mr. Christian, Muslims are not weak.

Their religion’s foundation is based on the culture of their ancestors- a warrior, Bedouin culture of polygamy, rapine, slavery, genocide, perversity and the occasional acts of necrophilia.
Yet the Muslim never apologizes. He never justifies. He never tries to convince. It’s the way of his God and that’s that.

Yet, Christians apologize, justify, and plead for forgiveness- a sign of a weakness that borders on a psychosis. It’s enough to make a conservative Christian like me nauseous.

The irony is Jesus was not effeminate. He was a fighter. He never meant for Christians to be spineless. He said,” I bring you the sword” – that sword was meant to be used.

It’s not too late for Christianity to regain its former glory and fearlessness.
For over a thousand years, Christians battled Muslims without hesitation. They waved their banners of the Virgin Mary high. They knew who they were and they knew how the enemy was. They never apologized.
Sadly, we are not our forefathers. We live in world of political correctness and because of that we don’t know who we are or the enemy is. Not knowing has weakened us to a critical level.

A weakened core faith and its civilization can easily collapse and die. Western civilization is incredibly weak and so is its core faith. If we don’t take drastic action, both will collapse and die. And, if that happens, we will be faced with Islam.
Throughout history, Islam has done nothing but bring war, famine, and genocide. It destroys happiness and prosperity. Its success relies totally terror.

Westerners need to ask- Do we really want Islam to rule over us? Even the left needs to think hard about that one.

If the answer is no – then we need to stand up, and fast. Christianity must forgo the meager “turn the other cheek.” True Christians are never weaklings. They know in their heart of hearts that true Christians wear the cross on their chests and the sword at their hips.

I’m not weak. People like Jack Pershing are not weak. There are millions of us out there who want America’s core faith to survive. Not just for us but for our children and their progeny.

They deserve to live in the Christian nation their founding fathers envisioned for them.

Roots of White racial terror- my opinion, of course.

A few days after the massacre in SC, I was on Pinterest looking at random sites when I came across photos of the Holocaust. I’ve seen dozens of Holocaust photos in the past and they never fail to bring tears. I scrolled further down and to my shock , I saw photos of black men and women hanging from trees. They were young; their faces frozen in terror. I stared. They were the photos of lynchings.

Sickening. Gut wrenching. I looked at the faces and asked why. How could this be? The faces I saw were not the faces of victims in far off Europe. They were the faces of Americans.
I read the stories. They had been accused of crimes without evidence. A mob of uneducated, poor Whites decided they were guilty and murdered them. This happened in my country. There was no denying it. Pictures don’t lie but they don’t answer the why either.

I know blacks are no innocents- more than a few are loud, aggressive, obnoxious and downright mean. Within the Black community thrives a criminal culture, and other serious problems they have yet to address. Still that’s no excuse for what happened over and over again in the USA.

Everyday, we are bombarded with stories of hate crimes or criminal acts that involve the two races. Blacks do lots of bad things to whites- rapes, tortures, beatings, and murders. But Whites have done worse; things that could only be labeled as EVIL.

We bicker back and forth about our racial problems. Its been going on for decades with no end in sight. Whites accuse blacks. Blacks accuse Whites.
The Leftist elite blames poverty and white privilege. Conservatives blame entitlements, family breakdown and ignorance. Blacks blame it on racism.
Blame, blame, blame
No one asks why.

Perhaps no one asks because they don’t know where to start. Some Blacks think it started at Jamestown. Some Whites think it started just before the civil war. Both are wrong.
The roots of White racism and the racial terror that comes with it goes back- way back- before the founding of the US or even the Western hemisphere.

Whites hurt blacks- not just physically but psychologically. When an individual is injured psychologically that injury stays with them for the rest of their lives. They may hide it or even refuse to recognize it yet it remains smoldering, suffocating- destroying relationships, ambition, and self-confidence.
Now imagine abuse happening to an entire race-an abuse so profound it becomes part of their psyche. Those particular people who have a history of greatness handle the abuse better than those who do not. Memories of greatness can be a buffer against racial/ethnic psychological damage. But what happens when a peoples’ collective memory is erased? There’s nothing left except memories that create self loathing, inferiority and insecurity and anger. These memories become like phantom cancers eating away at the soul of every man, woman and child within that race, making their existences almost unbearable.

Since the time of the conquest of the Americas, Blacks have been with Whites and Whites have abused them.
Why?
Because Whites viewed Blacks
As subhuman
As animals.

But wait, doesn’t this evil behavior go against Christian teachings? Aren’t we brothers and sisters? Didn’t we arise from the drop of blood that God created all the nations of man from?
Aren’t Christians taught that God created all men in his own image; that all of us are endowed with certain inalienable rights and all of us carry the essence of the Holy Spirit?
Yep.
So why would White Americans who were overwhelmingly Christian treat their Christian Black brothers and sisters so savagely? It doesn’t make sense. If Jesus knew, he would have gone berserk.
So if this savagery doesn’t have its roots in Christianity then where did it come from?
The answer is right under our noses. All a person has to do is research.
What is it?
Islam.
Most of you are probably wondering what does Islam have to do with White racism in America?
Oh it has lots to do with White racism. Islam is the foundation of White racism.

Contrary to what Obama said, Islam never had a positive impact on America or Western civilization for that matter. Its impact was negative and it was huge. So huge, in fact, it shaped the psyche of White America in regards to its relationships with non Whites- Black Africans in particular.
Islam’s profound influences on Western Christian civilization started in the 7th century.
When the Muslims invaded Spain, slavery was on its way out. The Christian church had fought against it and slowly but surely it was losing favor within the Christian dominated regions. The Mediterranean countries had grown prosperous with international trade and were living the good life –or as good as it got in classical era Europe. But, there was a down side to that prosperity. The people had grown slovenly and entitled just like the Christians in today’s USA and Europe, and were ill prepared when the Muslims invaded. When Muslim forces conquered Spain, took parts of Italy and turned the Mediterranean into a hellhole of fear and despair, Europe went from prosperous to hungry within a very short time. The Muslim conquerors were not kind. European towns and villages were wiped out. Millions were taken to Muslim lands and sold into slavery.
According to Islamic law, Muslims have the right to take slaves; only they are considered wholly human. Christians are a degree below Muslims, making them sub human.
So the genocides of Christians in the Middle East, the Balkans and Africa are viewed without remorse or regret- Christians not being wholly human. Christians are tortured and lynched with the same ease as children torturing flies. Even Christian children and babies are not spared. Christians have no worth. Their tears and pleas mean nothing.
For over millennia, Christians faced every level of degradation the Muslims could throw at them. Even those who had no direct contact with Muslims lived in a state of insecurity; the Muslim threat was very real up until the 18th century. (Muslim marauders traveled as far as Ireland and Iceland. They invaded Rome and destroyed the Vatican in the 9th century.)
Unfortunately over time, probably without realizing it, Christians absorbed Islamic behavior. Islamic sub human mentality became part of the Christian European mentality. It was a slow insidious process that was absorbed first by the educated White elite then passed onto poor uneducated whites. (The peasant of yesteryear followed the whims, opinions and trends of the elite just like we do today.)

Sadly, Islamic attitude absorbed by Christians was to have terrible far-reaching consequences for the people of Sub-Saharan Africa.
How many Africans were taken forcibly from their homes, we’ll never know. (Jews were heavily involved in the transatlantic slave trade, too) But what we do know is how badly they were mistreated. Physical wounds heal but not psychological wounds. And the wounds of the Black African are terrible indeed.

The British are Christians at least outwardly. However, they had a penchant for Muslims especially the Turks. Those of you who have studied British history may know that the British were the power behind the Ottoman Empire yet did nothing to prevent the atrocities committed against the Eastern Orthodox Christians namely the Armenians and Assyrians.
That’s because the British elite and the Ottoman Turks were of the same mindset. The Brits developed a sub human attitude against all who did not fit into their human ideal. This attitude enabled them to do terrible things, and like the Muslims they never felt the twangs of guilt even when they murdered Christians in Lebanon to aid the Muslims.
It was the Islamic loving Brits who conquered parts of North America, which later became the United States.

The United States learned a lot from the British. Unfortunately, her people from farmers to the Founding fathers inherited from the British, Islam’s sub human mentality and have been struggling with it since. Maybe the Brits can be forgiven for their attitude. They never had a shoulder-to-shoulder relationship with Blacks. But White Americans did. Whites should have known better and rallied against Blacks are sub human propaganda. But they didn’t. Maybe its because they just didn’t know any better. But, wait. Why blame Whites entirely? Blacks fell for the Blacks are sub human propaganda, too. Blacks viewed themselves as Whites did- too black, unintelligent, descendants of cannibals, inferior, worthless, not as attractive as Whites. Yep, they fell for it, too. Indoctrination is so powerful. It can make or break nations because people will believe whatever they are told.

Many say Whites hurt the native America tribes and Mexicans, too. That’s true. However, the Native Americans viewed the White man as the eternal enemy. They did not love what the white man loved.
But the Black man did.
Blacks loved America, its great forests, its constitution, and the promise of its great future. They even loved Whites because they were capable of a greater love. Blacks threw everything that had into the promise of America. They fought in the Revolutionary war, and the War of 1812 not as mercenaries or plunderers or slaves but as patriots. And still they were rejected.

Herein lies their pain- that profound pain of rejection- no matter how hard Blacks try they’ll never be good enough. That’s mean. That’s wrong. Whites own that.

The sorrow of the past should be a guide not a hindrance. It should be discussed not for the purpose of making whites feel guilty but to help us to understand that past mistakes can teach us how to be a better people- not just Whites but Blacks, too. Once we see where the roots of White racial terror lie, we can battle it because today we face an enemy that hides in the shadows- for now. This enemy hates Whites and it hates Blacks. But in order for it to dominate it must create racial discord and hopefully race war.
“I will incite Egyptians against Egyptians; and they will each fight against his brother and each against his neighbor, City against city…” Isaiah 19:2.

The PC White elite can hate themselves for being white all they want. The Black Panthers can talk about killing White cracker babies all they want. Liberals can take down all the Confederate flags they want and White conservatives can flip them the bird all they want, it doesn’t help things.
Discovering the root causes of what ails us does.
By knowing our history (knowing our core faith has a lot to do with it, too) we can learn how vital we are to each other.