Democrats Dumb as Road Kill Deer

This past weekend I traveled across the Commonwealth. As I motored from the coastal plain through the Piedmont past the rolling hills to the mountains of Virginia I observed a sad sight along the highways. Every 10 or 20 miles a white tailed deer was seen dead at the roads edge. Many does, a few fawns and bucks slaughtered by the unrelenting traffic. Obviously, during the rut and with so many cars and trucks this tragic outcome is predictable but it was nonetheless shocking to see so many large animals crushed and crumpled.

Although peaceful and beautiful creatures they lack an important mental ability. For all their Bambi appeal and those huge soft brown eyes deer cannot resist or avoid the bright lights signalling fatal vehicular collisions. While many have probably observed their kindred dying in the motorways something prevents them from learning to avoid death by car crash. Many forest animals are similarily afflicted but seeing these large handsome deer killed is a disturbing sight.

These dead deer remind me of die hart Democrats. These folks have long been hypnotized by the dreams of spending your tax dollars to make the world a place of their ideals. The brightest glowing star of their aspirations was and is Barrack Obama. In riveting teleprompter speeches and dramatic stage settings the blinding light of Obama was swept to the presidency. Here his inexperience, arrogance, and bad ideas wrecked the economy, diminished our international standing, and reopened the old wounds of class warfare and racism.

Despite the last two years of obvious failures many millions of democrats will vote again for the Obama agenda in the upcoming congressional elections. Like those deer charging wildly into traffic these dumb democrats, with brains which should give them a mental edge over forest creatures, will fall prey to the bright lights of more Obama foolishness. God and or Nature gave men larger brains then animals but many democrats must use their extra brain cells to remember lottery numbers or sports scores. Any knowledge of the Constitution, a free market economy, or "American Exceptionalism" would tell them to avoid the appealing, yet deadly bright lights of more Obama socialism.

Memories of an Altar Boy ...

A very, very long time ago I was an altar boy.

As one of our instructional booklets stated, "The altar boy is indeed one of the pages at the Court of the King of Kings ". In addition to this lofty role we got intensive training in bell ringing, kneeling, routing oneself properly to assist Father, serving up the wine, using a paten to insure the holy host never hit the floor, and many more pious duties. The altar boy instructions spanned many weeks. Latin was our language and memorizing the Latin responses was tough for a bunch of ten year old boys. The Latin lesson books gave us simple English sounds and spellings to properly pronounce the strange words and phrases but no translations. It would be years before I discovered what I was really saying and what the priest was saying. Some of the fellows cracked under the pressure of Latin and mastering all the diagrammed moves and they quit the vocation.

After many classes, rote memorization, and role playing we were tested. We all eventually passed and Mr. Bernard Hosier and jolly Father Thomas Finnegan certified our graduation with a father and son communion breakfast. As one of our learning books stated, " You belong to one of the oldest and most select orders in the world, numbering heroes and statesmen, athletes, martyrs and movie stars among its members ". The date was April 14Th, 1957 and we proudly became members of that "select order".

To many of us, donning the black cassock and white surplice made us pretty important guys. Some considered themselves junior priests. At the mass we were in the center of the action and the center of attention. Always fronting the congregation we helped Father transform the bread and wine into the body and blood. It was exciting to recite all the mysterious Latin knowing full well that most in the congregation hadn't a clue. The experience was made even more mystical when the service required the burning of incense and chanting, often dreadful, of the priest.

At ten we were major participants in an age old ceremony that involved the magic of turning wafers and wine into something supernatural, using a secret set of words, handling fire, smoke, and liquor. Being an altar boy was simply the best job any ten or eleven year old could occupy.

Holy Days, high masses, and processions were extra special because they combined the incense and chanting with marching around the church or up and down the street. Squads of other altar boys, school kids, nuns, parents, priests, and those glorious Knights of Columbus men with their sashes, feathery hats, silk capes, and swords combined to form a holy parade. Usually the altar boys would lead the way carrying crosses, large candles, and other holy objects. Non Catholics and other regular folks driving along or passing would stop and stare at our holy passage. Some would shout encouragement or blast their car horns at our blessed spectacle of faith.

But it wasn't always easy or glorious. There were many freezing mornings lingering outside the locked church waiting to serve the early daily mass. If joined by another altar boy we would pass the time skating over the ice in our shoes or knocking down icicles. The early mass priest could often be grouchy and impatient until a few gulps of "before" mass wine. Early mass celebrants were usually limited to a few serious nuns from the convent and a handful of old people. These folks watched our every gesture and the nuns reminded us later of our errors when they became our teachers. St. Therese was a church and a school and our nickname "Little Flower" often lead to teasing from the bigger public school boys on the bus or down at Karps Drugstore. Fortunately, none of us become martyrs but we did bear a few insults and bruises for our altarboyhood.

In a few years girls, CYO dances, girls, athletic, academic, and girl pursuits ended our altar boy careers. New fresh and younger boys would take our places.

Now, it's been decades and many changes to the mass and church. Today we speak in English , sing a lot, touch and join hands, and freely talk in church. The ladies no longer wear hats, you can wear shorts, and they hold masses on Saturdays but rarely on weekdays. Most of the statues are gone and the Knights of Columbus rarely march in their colorful outfits. The altar boys have been replaced by altar helpers who are men and women, boys and girls dressed in regular street clothes or an occasional cassock or surplice.

The memories are good and I especially remember some of my fellow altar boys; Jerry, Ron, Bart, Sammy, Calvin, Michael, Joseph, Rudy, Robert, Joe and Tommy to name a few. I'll never forget you guys or our experiences. We had our time and it was a good time serving, "at the Court of the King of Kings ".