The cost of free speech, a message to the Westboro Baptist Church

The Bill of Rights did not come into existence at the behest of ignorant people who wanted to picket military funerals with anti-anything signs.  The Founding Fathers put those rights into the Constitution to protect the common man (and woman) against oppression.  Furthermore, the soldiers who have died defending this nation over the centuries did not do so lightly.  It is no small gift, the freedom we have, yet there are some in our midst who seem to treat it like garbage.

Enter the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) protesters.  Recently the controversial group made good on their promise to protest in front of an administration building in St. Charles, Missouri, near my hometown.

From an article entitled 'Cowards, go home' Peaceful but vigorous counter-protest compels Westboro protesters to exit early:

"Nothing WBC protestors could say was audible with hundreds of counter protestors drowning out the unwelcome visitors, waving flags and shouting them down.  Military veterans, Tea Party organizations, youth groups, and ordinary citizens were on hand to greet the five or six WBC members upon their arrival.  Whatever message the WBC had planned to deliver was literally drowned out. "

This ladies and gentlemen is a fine example of honoring the meaning of our First Amendment rights.  Yes, you have the "right" technically to say a lot of things in the public arena (such is one of the beauties of our country), but the sacrifices that gave you that right also give you a certain responsibility to use it appropriately.  The truth in a quote popularized in the 2002 Spiderman movie, "Remember, with great power comes great responsibility," we would do well to acknowledge.

To the members spearheading the WBC's message of hate and slander against service men and women I have this to say, the heroes who have given you the right to stand up and say whatever (cowardly) message you want have made a sacrifice none of us will ever begin to deserve, you least of all.  You call yourselves Christians, followers of Christ, yet there is not one record in the Bible of Jesus Christ condoning your behavior.  Furthermore, it was Jesus Christ who said "Truly, I tell you whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me" (Matthew 25:40).  You may be "Christians" but you are not Christians.

A funeral, regardless of who the deceased was, is a time for mourning.  The privacy of the family and friends, and the dignity of the deceased is of the utmost importance.  It is not appropriate for complete strangers (such as the WBC and the people they've protested) to ever make slurs against these people, much less at their funeral.  Add the fact that the people in question are service men and women who've fallen in defense of this nation.  The absolute fury I feel at this is indescribable.

To the rest of America, I ask what will we do with the freedom that has come at such a dear price?  Will we use it to crucify the very people who've ensured such protection, or will we use it to honor them and live the lives they've fought to ensure us?  I only hope I can begin to live up to the great responsibility given to me, and even then I know I am indebted far beyond my ability to repay.

Respectfully,

RF

Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor,

I was appalled at the image featured on the front page of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch this past Sunday, October the 17th.  As you know the headline read, “American dream is crushed as foreclosure crisis spreads,” with the subheading, “Idyllic suburban areas fall victim to stubborn unemployment, plummeting home values.”  The headings framed an image of a garbage dumpster containing the American flag.  This image is not a testament to the house market crisis, but rather a testament to the American value crisis.  

I speak of an American value crisis, as there must be one in order for an image of our flag’s desecration to be featured on the front page of a newspaper that is viewed across the country.  Regardless of the unfortunate circumstances of the original owners of the flag in question, I would expect no less than someone to step up and find an appropriate place for the apparently unwanted flag.  Find any local Boy Scout and give the flag over for a proper retirement.  The banner of our nation deserves absolutely no less.  

An additional problem with the use of the flag image is the implication that the American dream is contingent on the ownership of a home.  The claim that the “American dream is crushed as foreclosure crisis spreads” flies in the face of all that America has stood for over her life.  The Founding Fathers established this nation as a refuge from oppression and persecution.  Have we forgotten what is truly means to be an American?  It’s not in the value of our homes or their contents.  It’s not in even owning a home or a car or even a vacation home.  One can live the American dream in an apartment just as much as they can a stately suburban home.  

I know of people in other countries who risk contracting deadly diseases because they lack access to clean water.  There are children who cannot go to school because their families cannot afford it or because they risk being abducted and forced into slavery if they leave their villages.  There are countless instances across the globe where basic human rights do not exist.  Yet here in America we enjoy access to clean water.  It is unheard of for a child here in America to die of Malaria.  We do not fear abduction and slavery. 

It is true that we have difficulties in the United States.  I do not claim otherwise.  The bottom line is, however, we live the American dream simply by being Americans.  

I have held the St. Louis Post Dispatch in very high regards over the years.  I am gravely disappointed that such a blatant defamation of the American flag has been featured anywhere in the paper’s contents, let alone the front page. 

I seek the location of the flag in question.  If it has not already been removed and properly taken care of, I humbly ask for the opportunity to do so.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely...

Pancake Crumbs

Donald was a spry old man, for being seventy-seven. He took the subway everyday from the station near his tiny Inwood flat to that near Central Park. With him, he carried a pink plastic folding lawn chair and a potato sack full of the pancakes he made every morning.
Two for himself, the rest for the pigeons.
There was nothing too particular about the Tuesday when he bought a lemonade from a vendor near Balto. He sipped the sweet juice, satiating his thirst, as he made his way to his spot.
The sky was a grayish color overhead and as a result not many people seemed to be out and about, but Donald didn't care about this.
He splashed through a large puddle made from the rain shower of the night before, sending ripples across his aged face with its goose fluff frame.
At the fountain, he set his pink plastic chair up an settled in. The lemonade rested beside his water stained house slippered feet.
Already a few pigeons had gathered, perhaps they expected him or maybe they really were an infestation to the city.
Donald smiled as he opened the potato sack, but his smile quickly disappeared.
He could see the fabric of his black sweatpants through the gaping hole in the bottom of the sack.
What was left of the pancakes hung in crumbs on the coarse lining of the bag.

The un-replaced toilet paper role

What will become of you, the poor soul who, after relieving yourself, goes for the padded white roll located conveniently near your throne, only to discover a very thin sheet of tissue separating you from the coarse brown tube of emptiness? Who will be your voice when you're sitting uncomfortably in the bathroom, debating the options.

Do you yell and hope a fellow housemate will hear? Do you further hope he or she will take pity and come to your rescue?

Perhaps that would be too awkward or the only person around is your roommate's boyfriend or you're not even in your own home or that of a close friend's. Perhaps you're at a friend of the family's party. You just ducked in for a quick freshen up.

If you're at home, and you're still unrelieved (which is unfortunate given what you set out to do in that room in the first place), do you attempt to separate the brown cardboard and use that? Do you eye a bath towel, with plans to bleach it or pitch it after? Do you consider replacing your clothing as loosely as possible and go in search of toilet paper yourself? Do you weigh the chances of getting caught with your pants down as you streak (pardon the pun) to the next closest bathroom? What if that bathroom is also void of tp? What if your whole household is dry of the comfort your bottom craves?

You're beginning to get that even more uncomfortable tingling feeling. You know where. You're cold. And probably feel disgusting. Your cellphone is buzzing in the next room. It occurs to you that maybe you could text someone an SOS, but if only you could reach the phone! Again, the problem of being caught in the nude arises.

Maybe you're in a bathroom that also has a shower. Do you remove the rest of your clothing and just rinse your whole body off? What if you're not? What if you have someplace to be in ten minutes and you've already dressed?

With another pitiful attempt to search under the sink, as you crane your body around the side of the vanity and over the side of the door (they never swing in your favor), you know it's impossible that a roll could have materialized in--no, wait! At last, sweet relief! You missed the back corner on your side of the cabinet. There, behind the spare economy bottle of shampoo, tucked in its dark little nook, your spool of heavenly plushness awaits. You have to half-stand to reach it, but reach it you do. Your fingers paw at the line where the tissue flap is adhered to the roll. You shred it a bit, and through a combination of impatience and utter bliss you retrieve far too much tp. You don't care, you've just been delivered.

Finally, your business is complete. You can flush the toilet and replace your clothing in comfort. You give your hands an extra long washing and you replace the empty roll with the new one. The savior.

Then you think back on who else has been home that day. Who was the last to use the bathroom? Who took the last of the precious tissue, leaving only that tiny flap, and walked away, dooming you to your moments of agony? Who?

I wish you all the best in tracking down the foul felonious fellow. If only those scoundrels could be tried for crimes against humanity and punished accordingly? What if they could be made to stack boxes of Charmin, Scott, Bounty, or the store's brand of toilet paper in the freezing cold and wearing wet pants? What if?

Alas, my friend, we don't live in such a world. All us survivors can do is take extra caution that regardless of whether we're taking a quick potty break at the mall or we're taking care of our morning business at home, we double check that roll- is there adequate tp for your toiletting needs? If not, is there a stash nearby? In the house somewhere? At your neighbors? Once you have done so and have completed your business, also be sure to do your part for society (or your household at large) and check the remaining tp roll. Is it appropriately supplied for the next patron? If it's looking on the low side, can you locate a new roll and place on the counter or the tank, providing back-up?

Whether you're a culprit or a victim or both, one final thing. For the love of God. When replacing the toilet paper, follow these steps EXACTLY:

1. Retrieve old, empty roll from the holder.

2. Throw empty roll in garbage.

3. Take new roll, put on holder.

See, not that difficult. Three easy steps.

Do your part, don't contribute to the un-replaced toilet paper role pandemic. You may even thank yourself some day.

Signed,

RF