Namaste, Politicos! Also, Cropdusting

   My sister, older by a year, was born with Rett syndrome. She was one of the first to ever be diagnosed. When she was born, the doctors told my mom to institutionalize her, basically the message back then was, "Throw her away, and don't worry about it." That's not what my mom believed in.

  My sister, London, cried for the first 6 years of her life, then woke up one day and has laughed ever since. That happens, with RETT, where people show one emotion for years, no matter what they're feeling inside.

  London used to canter around the house, giggling wildly. She'd canter right up to you, stand in front of the tv you were watching and giggle at her own transgression. She'd canter to you, fart and run off laughing. She'd laugh so long and so hard that everyone in the house would start laughing... it was just so contagious at some point. Especially after you got crop dusted (farted on). She never spoke a word, and never directly communicated, except through transgression, laughter, farts.

  I clearly remember the doctors suggesting she go on birth control when she arrived at puberty. This was because not being able to "tell" made her a target for rape.

  Back in the 80s, people referred to others as "retards." This label wasn't allowed in our home. Maybe there are those who'd say we're "snowflakes," but I think you see my point. It worked for my brothers; the ONE AND ONLY fight they ever got in was when they found a person with an aluminum can on a fishing line, messing with a man who picked up cans for extra money. There were a few men in town who walked around collecting cans for a little extra money, and I'd always go out of my way to see Alfred, who'd always hug you and tell you jokes every time he saw you. He was, hands down, the best man in town. Every year people drop off cards and cake at the gas station for his birthday. He just LOVES birthdays. He also loved the newspaper. So when I worked at the paper and his birthday fell on a Wednesday, the day the paper came out, we put Alfred right there on the front of the paper to remind people to wish him a happy birthday. He was so tickled. I'm certain he still has that paper. To the point, my brothers beat up the dude who messed with a handicapped man, and as a sister, it's a glowing kind of pride that I have for the men they've become.

  So, with that in mind, and honoring your political values-- because they come from your own experience, and they're yours and I respect them, no matter how outlandish I find them. They're your opinions and I honor you, your opinions and where you come from, and the experiences you've had that make you, you.

  But for me, I consider myself part of no party. I'm not an Independent. I'm just a person who votes for the person I feel can do the best job based on my estimation of morality. I understand that there are those who hire a politician the same way you'd hire a lawyer: look for a FIGHTER, a real tooth and claw type, if you want to get the job done. I get it.

  I'm a pinko redneck, a hard line to walk some people would say. But it's not. My ideology comes down to one thing, and it's the core of my beliefs in everything I do in life: if you HURT someone with a disability, if you use power or dominance to hurt a child or anyone who is unable to protect themselves, you'll see my RED neck. 

  There never has been and never will be any group of people who deserve to be rounded up and imprisoned or worse, than people who'd rape a handicapped person because they can't TELL.

  People are their ACTIONS, not their words. Words are cheap. Show me you stand for the innocents, the underdogs, those who can't fight for themselves for any reason, and you got me. Now, maybe it's like Steve Earle says, "There'll be no more FDR's," but for ME, I'd vote for an Eleanor Roosevelt ALL DAY LONG. Off the soap box, ready to do some work.

I still look at cake like that.

                         There we are, two little girls worth protecting, the same as every child ever born everywhere, to anyone, no matter what.

  In closing, it's WEAK people who pick on those who can't protect themselves, shooting up old ladies in grocery stores or churches because they think they're making some kind of point. The only point I see them making is that they were too WEAK to go pick on some dude named Bruno at a strong man competition who lifts Volkswagens for a living. Pick on a viking, ya scumbags.

  Chris LeDoux, a rodeo cowboy who traveled all over the world with the rodeo, was a PINKO redneck too, and if you don't believe me, listen to the lyrics of every song he ever wrote. Here's the words to the song that follows the quote above:

Well, I was sittin' in a coffee shop, just havin' a cup to pass the time
Swappin' Rodeo stories, with this ol' cowboy friend of mine
When some motorcycle riders started snickerin' in the back
They started pokin' fun at my friends hat

And one ol' boy said, "Hey, Tex, where'd you park your horse?"
My friend just pulled his hat down low, but they couldn't be ignored
One husky fella said, "I think I'll just rip that hat right off your head"
That's when my friend turned around, and this is what he said

"You'll ride a black tornado 'cross the western sky
You'll rope an ol' blue northern, and milk it 'til it's dry
Bulldog the Mississippi and pin its ears down flat
Long before you take this cowboy's hat"

He said, "Partner, now this ol' hat it's better left alone
You see, it used to be my daddy's, but last year he passed on
My nephew skinned the rattler that makes up this ol' hat band
But back in '69, he died in Vietnam"

"Now the eagle feather was given to me by an Indian friend of mine
But someone ran him down somewhere around that Arizona line
And a real special lady gave me this hat pin
But I don't know if I'll ever see her again"

"You'll ride a black tornado 'cross the western sky
You'll rope an ol' blue northern, and milk it 'til it's dry
Bulldog the Mississippi, pin its ears down flat
Long before you take this cowboy's hat"

"Now if your leather jacket means to you what this ol' hat means to me
Then I guess we understand each other, and we'll just let it be
But if you still think it's funny, my back's against the wall
But if you touch my hat, you gotta fight us all"

Right then I caught a little sadness in that gang leader's eyes
He turned back to the others, and they all just shuffled on outside
But when my friend turned back towards me, I noticed his ol' hat brim
Well, it was turned up, in a big ol' Texas grin

You'll ride a black tornado 'cross the western sky
You'll rope an ol' blue northern, and milk it 'til it's dry
Bulldog the Mississippi, pin its ears down flat
Long before you take 

this cowboy's hating with him!!