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Why are pro choice people so angry? articles

Why are pro choice people so angry?

  • April 4, 2023
  • by W.W. Hutto

 Why are pro choice people so angry?

 I was watching the news after Roe was overturned and in the midst of a loud angry crowd was a blue haired woman waving a sign that said my body, my choice. What struck me was her rage.  She was yelling and getting in the faces of Pro life people and attempting to tear down signs. She looked scary crazy. 

What thoughts fueled this blind rage? Maybe the idea I can do whatever I want because my feelings are more important than anyone else’s. Or being able to do whatever I want when I want are my rights because pleasing myself is all that is important. I will live the life I choose even if it means having an abortion.

Why are they thinking like this?  Narcissism comes to mind. When people grow up getting whatever they want and never being corrected they can develop an attitude and belief that they are somehow special and above everyone. They may also be sociopathic in the way they lack empathy toward most people.

They can never be wrong about anything and any disagreement is taken personally. Growing up they become experts in manipulation and intimidation. They feel they are much smarter than others and this gives them the right to tell people what to think. Many Pro Choice advocates are not interested in honest debate but simply want to exert their power. The truth doesn’t matter to them.

Another possibility is psychosis, yes psychosis. The National Institute of Mental Health says a person can have psychosis and never be diagnosed as schizophrenic or having a mental disorder. Instead it can be caused by lack of sleep, underlying medical conditions, prescription medicine, alcohol, illicit drugs and marijuana. All of these exist on most college campuses.

Now consider this definition of mass psychosis on Google. “Mass formation psychosis is when a large part of society focuses its attention to a leader or leaders or a series of events and their attention focuses on one small point or issue. Followers can be hypnotized and led anywhere, regardless of data proving otherwise.”

Many children grow up in broken homes and spend a lot of time alone on their computers cruising the internet and social media. They take in all kinds of information and images and, unable to process it, develop anxiety and distorted ideas and attitudes. The family is dysfunctional and the child is raised on peer pressure and the internet. Going to college the teenager is functionally an orphan.

At college the pattern is repeated except the teenager might develop a strong bond with a professor that becomes a parent figure. Because the real parents were absent, he or she has no internal values and probably weak critical thinking skills. With no mental filters they believe everything the professor and friends are telling them. Add lack of sleep, alcohol and illicit drugs and a perfect environment is created for psychosis.

How did we get into this situation? I have a theory that many of the causes originated in the fifties and came to fruition in the sixties. Baby boomers of whom I’m a member were born between 1946 and 1964. Could they have passed down their attitudes and beliefs to their grandchildren who are in the pro choice movement?

Could they have suffered from psychosis and could there have been areas in the country of mass psychosis? There was fear of the atom bomb beginning in the 1950s and simmering racial tension then after 1963 with President Kennedy’s assassination there was non stop political and social unrest plus the Vietnam War. Kids didn’t believe their parents anymore and some were dropping out of society to live in communes. Drug use became widespread. 

Does psychosis or even mass psychosis seem like such a far fetched idea for many baby boomers at that time? Many felt the older generation and all it stood for had to be dismantled and society had to be radically changed. Was this caused by charismatic counter culture heroes and professors who replaced their parents and effectively brainwashed them?

Look at the way pro choice people act at demonstrations now and the way their grandparents acted at some of the demonstrations of their day. Do you see a connection? Were there people and powers behind the curtain instigating and orchestrating the chaos then and for what end? Are they still in power today? What do you think?

 

Saturday Morning historical

Saturday Morning

  • August 2, 2022August 2, 2022
  • by W.W. Hutto

 Saturday Morning

Do you remember when you were young and couldn’t wait for Saturday to begin? Lying in bed you think about trees to climb, grasshoppers to catch, balls to throw and places to hide. Then the first rays of light shine through onto the wall behind you. The world is waking up for you and excitement bubbles inside as you think of new adventures just down the street or even in your backyard.

In the morning of life you still believed in Santa, the tooth fairy and your dad was the greatest man alive. The world was all goodness and love and mom and dad were always there for you. Guardian Angels were real and when you talked to God he listened. Everything was so new and shiny just waiting to be explored and enjoyed.

  Throwing back the covers you bounce to the bureau taking out your favorite pair of jeans. Mine were Wranglers which I turn up in a cuff around my ankles. I put on my new Red Ball Jet tennis shoes with the large circle patch on the inside ankle and after putting on a wrinkled white tee shirt I bound down the stairs hoping I’m up before my sister.

Downstairs I made a bowl of cocoa puffs or frosted flakes and went into the family room and turned on the dark brown Zenith box T.V. which was almost up to my shoulders. Laurel and Hardy would appear driving an old Model T Ford. I would watch a little while then my sister would come in and sit on the couch with a bowl of cereal. Then it might be Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers and Sky King followed by The Three Stooges and Lone Ranger.

I had a little submarine about the length of a pen with an opening that you put baking soda into then closed. It would go to the bottom of the sink as bubbles came out the top then when they stopped the sub rose to the surface. I would repeat the process several times just to watch the sinking and rising. As an eight year old I found that amazing.

Sometimes for lunch we walked the three blocks to town and ate at Bacon’s Drugstore. I would sit on the round chrome stool at the counter watching the cook cut the hotdogs in half lengthwise then fry and place them on a sandwich. He would also make a malt placing all the ingredients in a large stainless steel container then place it under a mixer. The food was sumptuous, especially the chocolate malt.

Afterwards we walked along Main Street on the sidewalk stopping in at the Five and Dime Store to look at the toys and coloring books.Then crossing Main Street we might have stopped at the wishing well in front of the old brick courthouse and thrown in a few pennies. I probably wished for a new cap pistol or toy men.

Western Auto was my favorite store. It was heaven for boys. You could try on every baseball mitt. There were Spalding, Rawlings and Wilson gloves with distinct logos and lacing. Throwing up and catching a new baseball I admired how they felt on my hand and the smell of new leather. The catcher mitts were my favorites. They were huge with thick padding and the round shape really caught my eyes. I’d also get in my batting stance and swing some of the wooden bats pretending I was Mickey Mantle.

Then there were boxes of model cars and planes you could assemble and decorate with decals and also paint. I had a car collection including a Corvette Stingray along my bedroom shelves along with a Corsair Fighter plane and the X-15, a hypersonic rocket powered aircraft first made in 1959.

Every October on a Saturday we had Kid’s Day and I always had trouble sleeping the night before. It started around nine at the high school football field. One year a star player in a gold and purple letter jacket talked with the kids. He had scored a couple of touchdowns the night before and was a hero to us.

There were the two legged and single person burlap bag races, the ten dollars on top of the greased pole and the greased pig. If you caught him it was like a twenty five dollar prize. My favorite was the huge sawdust pile that hid dimes, nickels and quarters. It was also the favorite of almost every kid in town.

We commenced digging frantically because back in ‘62 and ‘63 that could buy a lot of marbles and model airplanes. Soon the pile was covered with holes like swiss cheese as the kids dug like an army of ants. Dust hanging in the air and sweat running down our backs we kept digging shoving coins down our bulging pockets.

One year after digging a while, another kid and I walked up the long hill to his house where we ate sandwiches and listened to a transistor radio in his canterbury tree. I remember the announcer talking about Sandy Koufax. It might have been ‘63 when he pitched in the World Series against the Yankees. After a little while I walked further to the top of the hill and the old red brick elementary school.

In the auditorium I watched a film about Alan Shepard’s flight into space in the Spring of ‘61. Flickering light streamed from the projector behind us onto the large screen in front creating a slightly blurry black and white picture of a man in a tiny space capsule. I remembered seeing that picture as it happened on the black and white T.V. in the second grade.Then the film told of John Glenn’s orbit around the earth in 1962.

After that we walked up to the movie theater in town, got in free, spent a nickel on candy bars and a dime on a coca cola. A red and white box of popcorn was a dime. I can remember the excitement walking into the pleasantly cool theater then plopping into a soft seat. Cartoons came on and it was quiet. Then there was a movie where a man on this strange island used a long wooden pole to fend off a giant crab. 

It was a great time to be a kid and not feel pressured to grow up fast and be protected feeling the whole town was watching over you. We could explore and wonder about things or just use our imaginations. There were so many interesting things all around that my curiosity kept me in an almost constant state of excitement as I explored.

Along with the interesting stores and small drug stores with comic book stands and lunch counters there was the library where you could get lost in an interesting book. After you finished reading there was the city park with lots of swings, slides and a merry go round which could go faster by pulling a bar and pushing on another bar with your feet.

Kids sat in groups making that contraption spin faster than the earth while those trying to get on were dragged like rag dolls until they pulled themselves up over the seats. Getting off was a real trick as you tumbled and rolled after ejecting. Time was suspended as we spun around laughing, giggling and even at times screaming. What seemed like five minutes might have been an hour.  I sometimes wondered why I didn’t fly off the earth.

Going home was always an adventure as we could explore different parts of town on the way to our destination. One street had massive oaks as old as time itself and old two story houses with screened in porches on both floors. Pictures of Model T’s rumbling down the street and people talking on porches on sleepy summer nights came to mind. Sometimes I felt I was in another time or “the hour of the pearl.” 

Another way home took us around the old red brick elementary school and the basement classroom. We would kneel down and see the hanging skeleton and jars of dead animals. Sometimes it would be a cow skeleton and jars of glassy eyed snakes. Around dark a light was often shining making those snake eyes gleam. We would hurry on our way wondering if the creepy science teacher was around.

We were always using our imaginations to make up fun things to do. One Saturday me and my sister pretended we were walking to the center of the earth by way of the red brick school building. Stepping carefully along narrow brick ledges while grasping at the mortar between bricks above us we climbed along the walls pretending there were bottomless chasms or molten lava below us. Time and place were suspended as we lived in our own little world.

Another time me and my sister along with neighbor friends transformed an overgrown lot behind our house into an adventure in the jungles and savannas of Africa. Using a sling and lawnmower we cut main paths through the stalks of weeds and wild potato vines. We added smaller connecting trails and hiding places throughout the area.

Walking along the paths and trails the explorers were trying to get out of the maze to the other side of the lot which was where they came out of the jungle. The head hunters and wild animals were already in the hiding places and crouching in the connecting trails as the trek began. We’d have a blast for several hours playing different parts and creating new obstacles like quick sand and river crossings with alligators. Sometimes we would stop and throw wild potatoes at each other.

As I got older and started riding a bike I would often ride across town to a friend’s house. We would go down into and explore the drainage ditches all around town. Sometimes we’d take sandwiches and cokes and spend half the day turning over rocks and searching the stream bed for something shiny or colorful.

We’d take all our booty back to his house and hose it down in his backyard. There would be old cork stopper medicine bottles in various shapes and sizes with the glass etched in animals and designs showing a name. The colors came in light rose, deep blue and bright turquoise. We’d divy up the spoils and I’d ride home with one or two bottles as the late afternoon sun lit up the old oak in front of the courthouse. 

Somehow I obtained a flintlock pistol. It just seemed to appear one day in my room. The barrel was octagonal with no noticeable rust, had a sight for aiming and still had the pan and plate. The dark brown handle was about two inches long. I was the only kid in town with a flintlock pistol and I proudly showed it to my friends. 

After school when I was alone I would sometimes sit in my room looking around just admiring and taking in everything. Pictures of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse were to the left of my bed. I got them off a Frosted Flakes box. My eyes would always drift over to the shelf with the model cars and planes. The X15 looked like it could fly out of my room.

Afternoon light sometimes streamed through illuminating the multi-colored bottles and bathing the room in a soft Autumn glow. I would just watch for a while feeling happy. It was great being a kid and I couldn’t wait for the next Saturday morning.

 

 

 

historical

It started with a jar of peanut butter

  • November 11, 2019May 21, 2022
  • by W.W. Hutto

 

     What are you going to do with your life? That was a question I kept hearing from my parents and academic advisors my sophomore year in college as I tried to decide on a major. All the while in my mind I kept thinking I’m only 19…how am I supposed to know what I should do with my life?      

     It was the spring of 1974 and I was attending Mercer University in Macon, Georgia. The Vietnam War was winding down and the decade of the sixties had passed. Still in some ways the spirit of the sixties still lingered. The campus was buzzing with excitement over the upcoming visit of President Nixon and students were sleeping outside and playing guitars in protest. Speakers daily criticized Nixon and my sociology teacher was preaching the gospel of self actualization and trying to organize a commune in San Francisco.

     On a weekend trip home, I talked with my dad about school and career choices mentioning the commune which he wasn’t too keen about. I told him I was having trouble deciding and then he told me about how he got into education. But how do you decide at 19 I asked him and how do I know what I’m good at doing? He said I was intelligent and came from good stock so I should do fine. He then mentioned some of my ancestors. I drove back still confused.

     Back at Mercer the campus was going crazy. Television crews were interviewing students daily and protesters were everywhere. Secret Service men in dark suits were mingling with the crowds, listening and observing. Rumors were rampant about hidden listening devices and men with rifles on the roofs. The word around campus was to stay away from windows.

     Escaping the chaos on campus I retreated to my dorm room where I could think. My mother was a teacher and my dad a principal in our small town where I always felt like I was under their shadow. Here I was my own person and finally felt like I belonged somewhere. Now I felt like I was being pressured to decide how I would live in the future when all I wanted to do was learn how to live right now.

     The sun was going down and yellowish golden light was streaming through the window when i decided to get some peanut butter and bread at a nearby grocery store. Carrying the bag of groceries back to my room I had to climb over a large rope cordoning off the campus. A group of secret service agents stopped talking and stared at me as they instinctively reached for their guns but stopped midway. Shaken I got back to my room and remembered to stay away from the windows.

     Several days later, after giving his speech, President Nixon scurried down the back steps of the old stone chapel surrounded by secret service agents. In his haste he tried to climb into a black convertible but got stuck with one leg in the car and the other leg dangling on the outside. Someone pulled him the rest of the way into the car. Then the cars sped away down blocked off roads.

     After that I thought the campus would calm down but things got crazier. A tsunami of pent up emotions crashed over the campus and I jumped on the giant wave. It started when a girl from a nearby college drove topless through campus in a convertible. Then about twenty male students jogged naked on a public road that went around the campus.

      Several college administrators and policemen were having a heated discussion in front of the dorm when the joggers returned. Since they had been on a public road the police were arguing they should be arrested for indecent exposure. Somehow something was worked out so they wouldn’t be charged, but a few days later the mayor mentioned castrating any future streakers.

      The next week a bicycle streaker rode through campus almost every afternoon wearing a ski mask. A group of us would gather on a small hill above the sidewalk and cafeteria. Dennis who wore a green army jacket and somehow reminded me of John Denver was there as well as Mike who looked like Buddy Holly with reddish orange hair.

      We would be talking or smoking a legal substitute for marijuana that had the same smell when the bicycle streaker would come whizzing by on the sidewalk. A roar would come up from the crowd then sometimes a few more streakers would come by in the gathering twilight then we would go our separate ways.

       I think the whole country was having a meltdown from the turmoil and tension still lingering from the previous decade. The search for deeper meaning and utopia was suspended. Self-righteous world changing was exchanged for kids just wanting to be kids. A national catharsis was taking place as we symbolically shed all the angst of the sixties and streaked away from it. For me the sixties ended that Spring of 1974. I no longer felt I had to change the world.

      I literally ran away from the sixties when I streaked with a friend named Rob the next Saturday. We decided to run from the Art building to the street in front of the women’s dorm, a distance of about sixty yards. Dotting the gently sloping landscape were small trees that had just been planted. Another friend named George would be waiting in the getaway car.

           After hiding our clothes behind some bushes, we started running when a large black dog started running beside me. I started laughing so hard I couldn’t run while Rob was trying not to run into the small trees. Suddenly the street looked a mile away as a crowd of students started gathering with cameras by the steps leading to George’s car. Somehow, we made it and as I was going down the first step my ski mask fell off.

            Meanwhile an old security guard with thick glasses from the dorm across the street started running toward us to get George’s tag number. People in the crowd started calling out numbers to confuse him as I lunged down the steps and jumped into the car. A line of cars behind us were beeping their horns as we sped away with Rob and me in the back seat laughing.

            We sneaked back onto campus a few hours later amid wild rumors that the police had George’s license plate number and were in the process of tracking us down. I spent an anxious weekend but nothing ever happened. On Monday when I entered the cafeteria I was surprised when a large group stood up and started clapping. For a couple of hours, I felt like a celebrity then the bicycle streaker came back that evening. So much for my fifteen minutes of fame.

 After that Spring my dad decided Mercer was too expensive……… I guess the streaking didn’t help. That summer I spent a lot of time watching the Watergate hearings then that Fall I enrolled at the local community college. I really missed Mercer and it was especially hard at first………… it was the first place I ever felt like I belonged. I wrote to Dennis for a little while and even visited that Spring but it wasn’t the same. We had all moved on with our lives.

As far as the question of what am I going to do with the rest of my life is concerned I have come to believe for myself personally the better question is what do you feel like doing for the next few years? Why can’t a person have a series of mini careers especially now with it so easy to get training? But basically, I think it comes down to each individual.

The look of those secret service agents as I climbed over that rope with a jar of peanut butter is something I will never forget as well as that amazing Spring of 1974.

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