Embrace Your Ignorance

Ignorance is a word often used pejoratively as a broad-brush approach to paint individuals, groups and entire races, with misidentification, mistrust and disenfranchisement. Even today, it is used as a negative term to indicate stupidity, mindlessness and imbecilic. Yet, it means none of those things.

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, ignorance is defined as a lack of knowledge, understanding or education: the state of being ignorant.

In other words, ignorance has little to do with intelligence. It is the state of being unaware or not cognizant of a multitude of circumstances, situations and events. Although often used to denigrate others, ignorance is little appreciated as a means to acquiring knowledge. Too often, ignorance is hidden behind minds thirsting for knowledge. The masquerade is an empty façade that is easily revealed in the company of the next least ignorant man or women.

Sadly, the benefits of ignorance are given short shrift because of the negativity associated with it. Instead of embracing ignorance and embracing it for just what it shake its hand and recognize it for what it is—lack of knowledge. Many pretend to all knowledge without embracing their own ignorance. A person recognizing their own ignorance already has head start in finding knowledge and erasing a portion of ignorance because of their openness and readiness to gain knowledge.

Ignorance is what brings breakthroughs in science, medicine, agriculture and many other fields. If not for ignorance and the desire to end it, today would be an empty ball of confusion where the one-eyed man would rule the kingdom of the blind. Interesting, as deeply as man and women have strived to end it, they have found that ignorance is an on-going event that continually leads to the discovery of more areas of ignorance. It is the discovery of one’s ignorance that sparks the desire to know.

Stupid as defined the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: lacking intelligence or common sense. Self-imposed ignorance

“Stupid is as stupid does.” Forest Gump

However, not all ignorance is beneficial. Self-imposed ignorance is of a type where subjects refuse to accept reality or understand answers, as with racists, homophobes, history revisionists and religionists. It is not that the data are wrong; it is the unwillingness to cede fact to fiction.

Ignorance is never to be confused with stupid, idiotic, dimwitted, moronic, imbecilic, dimwitted, dumb, half-witted, lame brained, daft, simpleminded and a host of other description who are truly are unable to think past primordial need.

Huge masses are ignorant of astrophysics. However, the number of astrophysicist on-chip programming is small. Producing a recording requires knowledge that few have. On the other hand, playing a musical instrument is an area of ignorance to most. What are the most prominent ocean currents? Surely, most would be ignorant of the answer. Even the most learned have gaping holes of ignorance, but it is that ignorance that brought fire and the wheel into civilization.

Embrace Your Ignorance

HALLOWEEN IS NOT SATANIC! PERIOD!

Ghosts, ghouls and demons do not exist. PERIOD! Evangelistic preachers and ultra-religious parents come to the surface to shout and vilify a day they should lifted by its meaning. Halloween is not a Satanic celebration, but to know means a little historical study and laying aside audio input to reach the truth.

If you didn't know, Halloween was originally known as "Alls Hallowed Eve," which alone is filled with tips as to why this celebration has nothing to do with Satan and his demonic forces. "Hallowed," out right reveals the holiness of this eve. Interestingly enough, many of those shouting for the removal of Halloween from calendar as as Satanic celebration are simply universally wrong.

Quick research would reveal that Halloween is a Christian celebration, but you'd have to read to know that. On October 31 "All Saints Eve" is celebrated in the Western world. Notice the word "saint." "Saint represents a person especially holy in Christianity one of God's most faithful.

Does Halloween have any connect with Satanism? Yes, but it the connection is largely peripheral and minimal.

"In ancient Britain and Ireland, the Celtic Festival of Samhain was observed on October 31, at the end of summer…. The souls of the dead were supposed to revisit their homes on this day and the autumnal festival acquired sinister significance, with ghosts, witches, goblins, black cats, fairies and demons of all kinds said to be roaming about. It was the time to placate the supernatural powers controlling the processes of nature. In addition, Halloween was thought to be the most favorable time for divinations concerning marriage, luck, health, and death. It was the only day on which the help of the devil was invoked for such purposes." Encyclopaedia Britannica,

However, that description exceptionally misleading and at least reckless in that Saheim was originally part of a Gaelic celebration from sundown October 30 until sunset November. It signaled the end of harvest and the coming of darkness (winter). A shift of belief in 9th Christianity changed the date of "All Saints Day" to November 1, which gradually morphed into "All Souls Day" celebrated on November 2. Eventually, Saheim and All Saints-All Souls came together to create halloween.

There is more drivel on a subject hardly worth discussing in a world of moderniity. Perhaps, the real evil here are the companies that profit from candy and costume sales. There are others, but the is made. By the way, kids don't give a rat's ass about demonic influences and satanism. It's goody night!

Deer In the Headlights

Trouble is always easy to find especially if you're looking for it. If the devil searched for idle minds to set up his workshop, he found three in James Frisco, Lewis Vann and me. The only things on our minds during those days were girls. Sure, we occasionally thought of school, but only as a place with more girls. We did class work because ass-whippings all around awaited each of us if we didn't produce.

Since I mentioned school, it is a good place to start the story at Independence Junior High School where my buddies and I sort of attended school. Changing classes was always a sex-drenched event for "copping" a feel or looking down the blouse of some girl who was aware there were testosterone fueled teenage boys in the flow of students. We were part of them.

Of course, to stoop to such low behavior was not an issue for us. Carl Carter and Harold Adams provided excellent examples of the "sneak grab," the "accidental grind" and the "let me help you with those books titty brush." Using today's standards, we were little more than high school perverts excused only by our terminal stupidity.

Oh, the story. It was time for the annual "Spring Sing." There were plenty of pretty girls at our school, but there was only one time each year that nearly all of them would be in one place and that was the annual "Spring Sing." The "Spring Sing" was a choral fantasy featuring the school's best singers, which held only a small contingent of boys. However, plenty of teenage boys attended because that's where the girls were.

Lewis, Jimmy and I already planned to go to the event, but we had ulterior motives. We planned a secret  rendezvous meeting with several girls we knew who weren't adverse to our idea. The guys all met at my house the night of the "Sping Sing," where we slipped out of our stocking caps, brushed the sparse mustaches we had and slapped on too generous splashes of Hai Karate. 

Once we arrived at the school, we went straight to the auditorium where the "Spring Sing" had just started, which was part of the plan. Each one of us would leave the concert one by one and the girls would do the same then meet with us at the rendezvous point. It all went as planned.

With each of us holding hands with our favorite girl, we made our way in the darkness to the emptiness of the top floor. Once there, we split up and headed to recessed doorways leading to the classrooms. Upon reaching the sunken openings, the fireworks began. I don't know what the others were doing, but my girl and I were locked in a tight embrace swapping spit, bumping and grinding.

In the darkness, the mood was heavy with romance, youthful sexuality all tinged with perfume and cologne. I remember her lips being especially soft and warm. She tasted like Colgate tooth paste, which wasn't a bad thing. Between the two us, a factory of mouthwash flowed making the prolonged kisses even more arousing. I was entering dangerous territory, hidden on the top floor of the school, in the dark, with pants pulling tighter and not sure of what to do next.

Suddenly, I didn't have to worry about meeting in the wrong place as bright lights assaulted my eyes.

"I'm gonna tell, I'm gonna tell," San Frisco shouted as she ran down the hall.

There we were in the light of truth wishing Jimmy's little sister to be struck mute on the spot, but it was too late. We were frozen like deer in the headlights in our embarrassment, not that we thought we did anything wrong because we didn't. It was because of our stupidity in thinking we had privacy in a public place.

We ran from the school to discuss what we would say if the news leaked to our parents. We all decided the best thing to do was play it straight and we did. Of course, by the time we got home the news had arrived. We were all strictly reprimanded and grounded, That was it. I guess our parents wanted to give us time to kick ourselves in the ass for being so stupid. The consequences for our bad behavior were not bad, but neither were they good, because all eyes were on us.

There Is A Storm (Fiction)

I wrote this 12 years ago and have come back to finish it for publishing. I've got to update it for 2015, but other than that I'm ready to go. This a small excerpt from the first chapter of the book. Don't read too much into the first chapter, after all, it is just the beginning. Read on!

There Is A Storm

It was Sunday morning and the church was unusually quiet. Bishop Bailey sat slumped in his chair at the front of the choir. He looked tired and beaten. Usually, there was a light in his eyes but this morning his eyes were dark masks of mystery and anonymity. The radiance of the smile that usually lit his face was gone, replaced by a look of weariness and fatigue. It seemed that he might be angry or even sad, but his body movements said defeat. Whatever battle he fought, he lost and it showed on his face.

All eyes were riveted to the troubled figure as he stood and walked to the podium. Despite his appearance, his step was measured like a soldier’s and steady as if a silent cadence kept a rhythm that only he could hear. Draped in the long folds of his robe, his arms moved with deliberate motion and helped push him toward the podium where the microphone waited as if a challenge to his approach. With each step, strength seemed to enter his body as his robe flared behind him like a leaf in a breeze. By the time he reached the podium, he was walking erect like a general leading his troops into battle. His nose flared slightly and there was a light behind the eyes where there had been trouble moments before. Bishop Bailey did not have a deep voice but when he spoke that day, it was like thunder crackling in the rafters. The power and intensity of his voice pulsed and reverberated throughout the church.

“Church. I’m tired today. My bones are weary and my heart is heavy today. I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say, but I hope that somewhere and somehow that I give you something to leave here with. I hope I give you something to leave here with that will stay in your mind and stick to your bones. I want to give you a bone to chew on that has some meat on it.

You see, I’ve been fighting for a long time. I’ve won some battles and I’ve lost a few, but that never mattered because even when I was defeated I always did my best and a man that does his best cannot be defeated even when he falls as every man must. No, it is not that we didn’t win the fight; it is that we fought well and carried our beliefs before us like a mighty sword.

Still, there are times when there is something more troubling than our fall. There are things that upset us much more than losing. There are times when even victory is not enough to carry you forward. It is times like these when we pull on the reins of the almighty and ride the winds of faith. It is times like these when we forget about what we can’t do and call on someone who can do. I have been there and I have ridden the horse of glory and tasted that sweet wine.

Just like you, I have stood in the raging winds and the driving rain and dared it to put me down for I knew I was protected. Just like you, I have stood among the mighty forest of lightning and thunder and I have not been afraid. I have withstood the mighty torrents of temptation and avarice, just like you. Just like you, pain and suffering have been in my life but I have always made it through the storm, just like you. Just like you, I have braved the violent and furious whirlwind of today’s world with only my faith as armor and I have returned again and again and I have not wavered.

But today—today, I am much tired of the world. I am tired to the bone. My armor is too heavy to carry any longer and it irritates my skin. My sword is chipped and bent and my buckler is broken. I’ve been in one battle too many. I’ve stood against the raging winds of reason and logic too long. I’ve been battered and bruised too long by the whims of fortune and curious happenstance. I have been in the storm too long. So, this will be the last time I stand before you as your pastor and spiritual leader. I’ve already turned in my letter of resignation effective as of this day.

But before I go, I’d like to thank you for allowing me to help; thank you for allowing me to be part of your lives; thank you for being there for me as I’ve stood in the storm. And, most of all thanks for all the love you've shown and given without reservation.”

With that, Bishop Bailey left the pulpit and marched down the middle aisle and out of the church without looking back. As he passed, tears glistened at the corner of his eyes but his step was firm and resolute. And, then he was gone.
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Surrounded by the few things I had collected during my stay at St. Mark’s, I reclined in the leather easy chair and stared at the ceiling as if some answer was waiting there, but I knew better; I’d already searched this room and every other one in the rectory and there was nothing here except more rooms filled with doubt and disbelief.

I would miss the comfort and warmth of the old manse, but I had to leave. We had outgrown each other. The house was now only growing old while I was growing tired of looking into the mirror each day and seeing a fraud. I am surprised no one else saw it when it seemed so apparent to me. It was in my face, eyes and everything I said and did. I felt it living inside of me as surely as my heart pushed blood through my veins and my lungs sucked oxygen from the air. It was alive inside and finally allowing my suspicions and doubts come to the surface.

The doorbell didn’t surprise me. I had been expecting this call for months. I knew who it would be as I started walking toward the front door. As I looked through the yellowed sheers covering the door’s glass, I saw the troubled faces of Rev. Cooke and Rev. Berry. They were responsible for my tenure at St. Mark’s. They had chosen me to lead St. Mark’s flock, put their trust in me and supported me throughout my tenure and now were here there were questions they wanted answered and rightfully so. As I looked through the door glass it was difficult to miss the dismay registering on their unbelieving faces.

“The Mississippi Chinese: Between Black and White," a book written by James Loewen in 1971, is an important look at race in the United States, especially in the Deep South.

You may know of Loewen from his popular "Lies" books including "Lies My Teacher Told Me," "Lies Across America" and "Lies My Teacher Told Me About Christopher Columbus." Mississippi Chinese examines a much overlooked minority in the United States and how they melted into the racially charged a

tmosphere of the Old South. A part of American history that frequently slips between the cracks is how white plantation owners imported Chinese "sharecroppers" hoping to replace their recently lost slaves following the Civil War.

Loewen, reveals the Chinese initially were classified with blacks, but later transitioned from "colored" to white. Part of the move from black to white came at the insistence of the plantation owners that the newly imported Chinese cut ties with "part-black Chinese and those married to colored wives." Loewen's scholarship reveals a part of American racial history rarely if ever discussed publicly and essentially unknown to the majority of Americans.

For any wanting to explore the history of race relations in the United States, "The Mississippi Chinese: Between Black and White," is an informed, intelligent look at what really happened in American race relations.

Don't be misled by the four-star rating, as this book is easily a five-star effort. Because of its scholarly nature, it isn't always the easiest read, thus, the four-star rating. However, "The Mississippi Chinese: Between Black and White," is an important analysis of race in the United States.

In the Belly of the Beast

Over the years as a reported, I’ve written on a variety of topics and situations. I specialized in going places that most people stayed away from and knew little or nothing about.  My work has appeared under the Associated Press heading and various other places. Here's a peek at what many hear about, but don't know about.

Everybody knows the reason men go to strip clubs—to see naked women. If you thought something else, you been living in a hole, but actually that’s only partially correct and in some cases, dead wrong. Depending upon the age, status and financial means of the male, naked women may be only a small reason why men go to strip clubs.

Crowds at strip clubs vary by location and cost. Generally, the more upscale clubs draw patrons with varying amounts of disposable income, including movies stars and professional athletes. These clubs generally offer top shelf liquor, a variety of cuisine and the best looking women. They also are more expensive and out of the range of teenagers and “I just got my first job” men. “There no competition at these places like that of the local "meat markets." You can get all of the time you want with any dancer if you pay. Sealy, a long time patron a one particular strip club said, "The best part  of coming here is  that rarely is any man judged." Dennis, 35, another longtime patron, who is married with children told me the same thing. He sees  no conflict in patronizing a strip club.

"Man, this is all fantasy. None of these women is going home with me and I know that just like they do. I talk to them about some of my fantasies or just anything that comes to mind. It’s a good way to be in the company of a pretty women without becoming involved.” He is not alone in his assessment. There is research to show that one of the main reason men go to a strip club is for the personal interaction with the dancers in the form of conversation and attention.

“I appreciate a beautiful female body. Over here I get to see all I want and I also get the feel of walking on the edge,” Pete said. Pete is what they call a “regular.” He has been coming to the same club for more than a year and always spends his time with one particular dancer. “Walking on the edge” is another common reason for strip club attendance. Because mainstream society sees strip clubs as part of an unsavory subculture actually gives appeal to many men even though it is legal.

Make no mistake, at many skin clubs real sexual activity occurs raging from oral sex to actual intercourse. Many patrons are louts, but they are asses any other place they go. Drugs can be a problem at many strip clubs, both selling and using.

I’m talking with “Sparkles,” obviously not her real name, and she is telling me how the other girls hate because she is more beautiful and more talented. I’m looking at her and thinking, “You’re loaded and probably drunk.” Drug addiction and alcoholism run rampant in many of the less savory clubs. Many of the women have children, often two or more.

Going to a strip club to talk has the same wring as reading Playboy for the articles, but there is truth in both ideas. Playboy Magazine actually had interesting interviews with celebrities, authors and sports figures, including Norman Mailer, Gore Vidal and Arthur Ashe. According to some regulars, strip clubs offer the same opportunity—only it is live.

“I’ve been married 20 years and there isn’t much happening sexually between my wife and I. It’s not that I don’t love her,  because I do, but this gives me a chance to have a little variety without stepping outside of my vows,” Pete said. “I know none of it is for real but that makes it even better because when I leave—that’s it. I go home and some of that exotic atmosphere stays with me.”

Talking with the exotic dancers leaves no doubt that the majority of men come for companionship and talk. “I have several friends who stop by a couple of times a week, BJ said. “Sometimes they just want to talk and other times they may want a dance, but talking is always a big part of it,” she said. BJ who is 29, which is old by exotic dancing standards, said it is not unusual for men to spend their money for talk.

“I’m a cheap psychiatrist or expensive bartender, depending upon how you look at it. Taking off my clothes is a small part of this job. My real job is making customers happy and usually that means listening,” she said.

It is clear that female flesh sells, something that Wall Street advertisers have known for years as they use the female body to sell everything from Summer’s Eve to Mercedes-Benz. Now it is starting to move into the mainstream as stripping is becoming more acceptable. The crowds differ in all the clubs ranging from a blue-collar manual labor clientele to white collar business executives and women. Women are increasingly patronizing upscale clubs because many of their business clients want to go there.

Once, women were required to come with a male escort to enter traditionally male oriented strip clubs, but that requirement disappeared when clubs became more upscale and now women frequently drop in for a drink or just to talk with the friends they came with. Now, they have strip poles at work-our classes. In fact, many athletic establishments actually teach how to dance like a stripper.

What did I learn from my little tour through the skin business? Nothing I didn’t already know. As a reporter I’ve interviewed prostitutes, death row inmates, cancer victims, sports figures, politicians and more. So, I learned nothing I didn’t already know, but I hope I passed along a little information about a subject few know anything about.