D Malone McMillan
Somewhere along our cultural journey, we detoured down a yellow brick road where form replaced substance, and dreams usurped reality. Lofty, Utopian ideals became entitlements, and the lesson of Icarus forgotten. Yet still the wizard remains an illusion, gaily handing out trinkets in trade for substance, like a toothless sideshow carny hawking his rigged amusements.
Fair warning, I am an unapologetic, old, straight, southern, white guy. My voice has now been marginalized, has no value, and will likely be labeled as hate speech, although I hold no hate in my heart for any group of people. Well, to be entirely honest, I may make a narrow exception the next time a Jehovah’s Witness wakes me from a nap. Some individuals though, I do harbor deserved hate, but no group based on their religion, sex, race, country of origin, or sport’s teams’ affiliations. My wife hates Boston and New England fans. There is just no accounting for her bigotry.
I paint with a small brush, judging individuals on their deeds and not those of any group individuals may share characteristics with, and certainly not their lame virtue signaling. Actions and intentions, not words. Proceed, having been forewarned, at your own peril.