Top Story – February 2026

(per vocal.media)

“Create a Story”

“Subtitle”

“Create a Story.” Left-clicked.

“Title”

“Subtitle”

“Upload Image: Select a file.”

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

I had a thought here a minute ago. What happened to it? Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Create a Story.” A story? Did I have a story to write, or just a thought to record? This keyboard has stiff keys. I don’t like using it. Where can I get a better one? It hurts my fingers.

No, that wasn’t the story, but whatever blip of inspiration dashed through my aching brain is gone, distracted by the idea of generating a title, subtitle, and matching an image to thoughts not fully developed. Then, I sat here and watched the damned cursor blink to distraction. When I finally ordered my fingers to begin punching letters, it felt like my dad’s old manual typewriter keys that resisted all but the strongest strikes. How did he achieve one hundred words a minute on that thing? Accurately, too.

I guess my predecessor in this office didn’t type much. I write a lot, so the keyboard gives me grief, and I’m too lazy to call the warehouse for a better one. Lazy and timid. I feel like a nuisance to those guys, always asking for this or that office supply. Lazy isn’t the word. Apprehensive is.

I know what you’re thinking. “Mack, don’t be such a wimp. Just request what you need.” You’re probably right, but here’s the thing about me: I have a mercurial temperament, and I’ve been very moody over the last twelve months at work. My poor coworkers have borne the brunt of it, so I am trying to pull back, stay in my lane, and ask for less. I can go overboard with my assertiveness too easily, and that’s a legitimate apprehension I live with.

This is a job I used to love, and I suppose I still do, but horrible leadership in recent years ruined a lot of my enthusiasm. It wasn’t until my direct report retired at the end of last year that I figured out how much damage had been done. He moved the goalposts and pulled out the rug frequently, to the point that I did not have a reasonable grounding or understanding of expectations to live up to. Just last week, I found out from our mutual boss that her expectations are the opposite of what he told me they were. His lies cost me thousands of dollars that cannot be restored.

And the truth is that he might not have misrepresented her intentionally. He was never a good communicator, and he and I got along decently when he wasn’t my supervisor. However, he couldn’t keep information straight to save his life, and it caused tremendous repercussions for me. He misreported information from me to upper management that resulted in professional discipline for me. When I brought to light the differences between his reports and the truth, I received shrugs and “oops” replies. Their treatment of him reminded me of how the Boston Red Sox responded to the misbehavior of Manny Ramirez in the early 2000s. “Just Manny being Manny.”

Either way, by the time my direct report retired, my love for the job was gone, save for the people whose lives I had positively helped. In the weeks since his departure, I have finally found the opportunity to meet with the boss, who now understands why the relationship between my direct report and me broke down. She now comprehends how twisted the reality he presented to me was, compared to what she expected of me. She has committed herself to being utterly transparent with me, and I am beginning to take ownership of my role again for the first time in many years. Where he had tried to push me into roles not suited to my training or skillset, she is listening to how I believe I can help more people in our organization succeed with the knowledge and passion I have for teaching. As we all know, being heard is a powerful motivator, and a boss who listens is a boss who empowers.

When my direct report retired, he was attempting to force his views on how our programs would operate when he left, and to some degree, he succeeded. However, some of us resisted, and our boss relented on some of the changes that had been planned. Now, a few weeks later, we have changed our minds somewhat, and we acknowledge that some merit exists in using our facility space differently than in the past.

The big fight involved a staff office that had to be renovated. When the work was done, our boss was going to turn “our” office space into a classroom and put “our” office space into a computer lab. After a few weeks of being allowed to use the office, however, we have concluded that it’s more space than we need. Our facility is growing, and we will need another classroom space sooner rather than later, so I approached Boss J with an idea: “Move our office space to the computer lab. Clear out the bookshelves and filing cabinets. They’re unneeded. Put the flat screen TV (that you’re so eager to get) on the wall of the new classroom (there’s no wall space in the computer lab for it), and add a small whiteboard. Put three or four small desktop computers on the back wall, and you’ll have the classroom and meeting space you’ve been looking for. The heat has been fixed, so it’s adjustable (unlike in the computer lab). There’s a large plexiglass window for observation from outside the classroom for security (vital in our environment). And the door has a lock on it.” Today, she came over and looked at it. She approved the idea immediately.

Now, I’m not thrilled about moving to a room that has out-of-control radiators, but they were going to take our space eventually, so I preferred making the case for it to being told to get the hell out. That’s happened at least a half dozen times already in the last 15 years. “Sorry, Mack. We need this space. You gotta move.” No, give me the illusion of control over being thrown out of yet another office space, thank you very much.

I do believe in what I do here. I provide educational programming to men in justice-involved situations, to put it politely. From Adult Basic Education (ABE) to high school equivalency test (HiSET) prep, my everyday interactions with men who want to learn can be very rewarding. When available, I offer workplace readiness training through a state Department of Education program called “WorkReady,” which covers various soft skills needed by anyone who has never been in the (legal) workforce, or who has been out of the workforce for any reason.

The participants learn to identify and/or develop motivations for work, personal and work values and skills, transferable skills, decision-making tendencies, conflict-resolution strategies, resume writing, interviewing, job searching, and so much more. The program is tailored to help justice-involved individuals do all this while learning how to manage it with a felony record. Upon successful completion of the program, participants earn a credential recognized by employers throughout the state. Second Chance employers who are willing to give felons a job for at least six months can take advantage of the Federal Bonding program that pays the required bonding insurance for that probationary period so that the hiree can prove to be a worthy hire at no insurance risk to the employer. When the hiree remains on the payroll, employers also qualify for other financial incentives. It’s a win-win for both parties.

Seeing my graduates succeed is what keeps me going when everything else turns to crap.

#humanity #factorfiction #streamofconsciousness #secondchances

The burning chair

An introduction to Steven Lynch

“T.J. Hooker was my favorite cop show growing up,” Steve said. “Did you ever watch that? Oh, and I loved The ‘A’ Team, too! I dunno what it was about those shows. I suppose if I think about it, I can see how Hooker helped train younger cops while making things right in his city, and the A Team looked out for the underdog wherever they went. I always liked seeing people receive justice when they were wronged and correction when they did wrong. Those shows focused on values I held, even as a kid, and you couldn’t pry me away when they were on.”

Cindy grinned at him from across the table. “You’re very passionate about fictional characters,” she observed. Before he could protest, she said, “I get it, though. They represented real-life values that are important to you. I felt the same way about Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd in Moonlighting. I also appreciated their sense of humor.” Her eyes twinkled at her date. “I suppose that makes me passionate about fictional characters, too.”

Steve smiled back. “Those were good shows. They haven’t been off the air that long, but I miss them. It’s getting harder to find the reruns.” He paused for a sip of diet Pepsi. “I don’t watch much TV anymore. Most of my time these days is spent working or training for work. How about you?”

His date shook her head. “No, I don’t watch as much as I used to, either. I recently graduated from UMO with a degree in elementary education, but after all that work and student teaching, I’m not certain that I want to be a teacher! I’ve been thinking about becoming a social worker instead, but I don’t know which program I should attend: UMaine Orono, or somewhere else. In the meantime, I’m working two jobs to make ends meet, and when I turn on the TV, I usually fall asleep.” She laughed. “I’m only 22, and I already sound like an old fart.” 

Her date laughed, too. “If it helps you feel any better, you definitely don’t look like an old fart!” he said, with feeling. Then his face went crimson, and he grabbed his fork to stab at his cheesecake. A cool, gentle hand covered his, and he looked up. Cindy was smiling at him again, but there was no evidence that he had overstepped any boundaries with his comment. 

“I know we just met today,” he said, “but you’re beautiful, and a beautiful person, Cindy. I, I, I couldn’t help….” he stumbled. 

“Steve,” she said, with her hand still over his, “that was one of the sweetest things anyone has said to me in a very long time. Thank you.” She pulled her hand back and took a drink from her glass of iced tea. Looking back at him, she added, “I don’t want to embarrass you more, my dear young man, but you’re very cute when you blush.” Then she giggled as his ears turned pink. In moments, both were laughing and talking like they’d known each other for years. 

About twenty minutes later, he paid the check, and they left the cafe for a walk along the riverfront. The weather was pleasant, and a breeze blew just enough to keep the mosquitoes and blackflies at bay. As they walked, Cindy asked Steve what his career plans were. 

“This is gonna sound corny after our conversation earlier,” he said, “but I’m planning to join the Maine State Police.”

“What’s so corny about that? If you’d said you were going into farming, that would be corny.” Cindy chuckled. “Seriously, Steve, there’s nothing odd about wanting to be a state trooper. What brought you to this decision, though?” They stopped and sat on a bench as she asked her question. It was only then that she realized they’d been holding hands. Just our first date, and he already feels like home to me, she thought. He led me to this place, and I willingly followed.

Steve’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “My dad was an officer for many years. He was forced to retire for medical reasons, but he was my inspiration. He doesn’t expect this of me, Cindy. This is a path I’ve chosen on my own. He has always made it clear that my life is mine to live, and I’m thankful for that. Some of my school friends’ dads expect them to follow in their footsteps, and it has made my friends’ lives miserable. That’s neither here nor there, but Dad has been really good about supporting whatever career choice I make. I’ve already applied and been accepted to the next class of recruits. I have to pass the strength and agility training, plus the background and mental health checks. We’ll see. I want to serve the people in this state. I love Maine, and I love to see a balance between justice and mercy. If I can contribute to that in my work in some way, I want to do it.” 

“How old are you, Steve?” Cindy said with a smirk. “I thought I was going out with a twenty-one-year-old.” She giggled. “You seem to have an old soul.”

“Do I?” he asked, reddening again. 

She gently slapped him on the arm. “I don’t mean anything bad by that, sweet man.” Then she hooked her arm through his and leaned against him. “You’re very thoughtful and kind-hearted for being so young,” she said quietly. “I haven’t met a man like you before.” Cindy felt disappointed when Steve pulled his arm away from hers, but when he wrapped it around her shoulders, her heart melted a little more. 

“We’ll have to spend more time together, then, so you can find out if that’s the real me or not,” he said. 

“I’d like that,” she replied. They sat in silence for a few moments.

Suddenly, Steve pulled his arm back, put his face in his hands, and then guffawed loudly. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cindy asked. “What’s so funny?”

When Steve settled down, he said, “You know how this was a blind date set up by mutual friends of ours? And they told us to use first names only in case the date went badly?”

“Yes.”

“We haven’t revealed last names yet. How are you going to find my number in the phone book without that?” He laughed again. “Mine’s Lynch. Full first name is Steven with a ‘v’.” 

“Delighted, Mr. Steven Lynch with a ‘v’. I’m Cindy Anderson.”

Ounce A Pawn A Thyme

Misreading and Purposeful Humor

(This piece was written and posted first at vocal.media, a site I have been using for several years for regular feedback and interaction with other writers, many of whom are more mature and some of whom are less hobbyish than I.)

I can’t recall how I found Vocal Media. When I did, the stars shone brightly in my eyes. Dreams of winning challenges danced in my head. Cha-ching, cha-ching was the song they sang. Then I wrote my first piece, crashed to earth, oh dang. Tried again, burned up. Once more. Gave up. Glassy-eyed, I knew I’d never crack the top two, so what would I or should I or could I do?

To quote Robin Williams as the genie in Aladdin when he was trying to get the title character to act naturally for his best results, “Bee yourself.” It stung to learn I’m not a high-falutin’ writer who’ll win challenges and supplement my income via this platform. Well, it stung for a moment or two. I can accept reality rather quickly.

So, I moved on. I write what I want, how I want, and if someone else likes it, then hooray. If not, then that’s fine, too. I write because I like it. I write because I’m moved to express my mind. Sometimes, I’m serious or sad. Other times, I’m goofy or donald. At all times, I practice the idea that neither I nor anyone else should take me too seriously, especially when I’m clearly being tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic, or punning (the last of which is always intentional).

When I was a boy (in the pre-Internet era), I frequently misread words or phrases and discovered humor where none was intended. I often wondered if my misreads were carelessness or some learning disorder. I have no answer even now, for I still do it. I’m an avid reader, too, so seeing “touch” where someone wrote “tough,” or “I kissed my brother under the table,” where someone wrote “I kicked my brother under the table,” leads to deranged comprehensions. This often creates fun interactions on social media platforms, too. If I can comment to make others laugh, I will.

My wife is not enamored with puns. However, we were friends for five years before she married me, so she knew full well that plays on words, puns, and dad jokes would be part of her marriage. I may be sheepish at times, but I did not pull the wool over her eyes on that, no matter how baa-d my jokes may be. And as much as she ignores my jokes, rolls her eyes, groans, or occasionally growls at me when they become too much, she delivers some zingers of her own. Heaven help me if I don’t laugh uproariously at her puns!

On occasion, we will be of one mind in a situation that calls for humor, but nothing is forthcoming. We both begin a joke, but when we fail to succeed, we conclude with, “There’s a joke in there somewhere.” That’s when I know we are in sync, and it reminds me of the meme of the porcelain basin and stand on the doorstep with the caption, “Let that sink in.” Ba-dum, tss.

We have been married for more than 28 years, and to say that humor has been significant in the success of our marriage would be an understatement akin to saying that the public discussion of politics and religion can sometimes cause friction between people. Without humor, we’d have given up a long time ago. It’s not the most crucial factor for us, but it has made life much easier.

While I like puns and dad jokes, she’s into the snark and sarcasm. Our kids have struggled to know what’s what sometimes. Are we serious? Are we kidding? So, they’ve turned the tables on us as they’ve aged. When I’m about to blow my top at my younger one, he’ll say, “That was a joke, Dad. Not a dad joke. Just a joke, Dad.” Then it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Then I have to ask him to roll them back to me.

Our older son has some intellectual and developmental challenges, but he has grown into a snarky wit rather well. One of his best is when his mother said something to him several months ago, and he replied, “Yeah. I get that a lot…from old people.” Since then, whenever she or I says something to him, he tags his replies with the same comment. “I get that a lot from old people.” The last time he said it to me, I reminded him that he lives in my house, eats my food, and we drive him wherever he needs to go. He just grinned and chuckled. He’s 20.

The Mack S o H (Sense of Humor) runs in my family, though it’s strongest in my brother and me. Our sisters are not overly fond of it, but they can be counted on to contribute from time to time. Big Brother and I can start a thread of puns, needle each other with it, get in stitches, and sew it up in no time, when we’re bolting for the yard or telling a yarn. We make them up out of whole cloth, if necessary. It’s not for nothing that our nicknames are Big Bother and Little Bother.

All of this boils down to why I continue to write on Vocal Media. I have these gerbils, squirrels, or hamsters running on the wheels in my head all the time, turning the gears, and sometimes they squeak so much (the animals or the gears) that I have to release the thoughts I generate in writing. This is the only place I can do that consistently. (Lucky y’all.)

Whether it’s humorous, serious, ponderous, or otherwise all for us, my thoughts take a tumble onto the screen. You read them, or you don’t. You like them or hate them, or you are ambivalent. I preserve my mental and emotional health, and that’s my why, as the kids say these days.

God bless and be well. Thanks for stopping by. Till we meet again, I am affectionately and occasionally slightly addledly (I know that’s not a word) yours,

Mack D. Ames, erstwhile hobbyist writer extraordinaire, tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek

Small Victories

Raging River Rantings or Stream of Consciousness?

Some people write thoughtful, planned prose. Others express themselves through poetry that flows from deeply intellectual ponderings. Then there are writers like me. “Stream of Consciousness” is too gentle for my style. “Raging River Rantings” is more accurate. It is not that I write angrily, but that as a violent river flows unpredictably, so also my thoughts move to and fro in seemingly disconnected ways. They link but occasionally splash bystanders in the process.

On my drive to work this summer, there have been many small victories. First is the absence of various school employees who clog my route from September to June in their desire not to arrive at their respective destinations. The second is the lack of children boarding buses. More important is the vacancy of stubborn school bus drivers who refuse to allow commuters to overtake them following four stops within five hundred feet, frequently waiting minutes for students who are nowhere to be seen, delaying following drivers from reaching their destinations on time. These wins are summed up thusly: Lowered blood pressure.

You laugh, but you know it’s true. Shake or nod your head; you know this is real.

The river flows on. There are beautiful farmlands on my commute. We aren’t talking the American Midwest here. This is rural Maine. Hayfields. Pastures. On one stretch of road, I pass through a town with large fields on both sides. On my right as I drive north, there’s a field where fawns and does graze in early spring. As the grass grew, the deer continued eating, but the hay began to shield them. By early July, the hay was tall enough that the tan deer were almost indistinguishable from the brown grass. Yesterday morning, I saw one deer looking toward traffic as I drove past it. By the time I went home after work, the field was mowed. The hay is mulch, no good for feeding, and I’m a little sad that it has been cut. Observing the deer blending into their surroundings has been a small victory of interest and wonder.

For almost three years, I drove a 2007 Corolla that gets 35 to 40 mpg. That’s been awesome, because I live about 35 miles from work. However, in 2026, my son needed a vehicle for school and baseball, so he began driving my car, and my wife and I share hers. She rides with me to work every morning and returns in the afternoon to pick me up. That’s 140 miles of driving in her car, a 2012 Honda Pilot that gets just 20 mpg. Why don’t we use the Corolla? It’s not comfortable. I tolerate it well enough, but it wrecks her. Furthermore, the Corolla lacks air conditioning. The small victory this summer in my transportation is that while we pay more for gas, I get to ride in an air-conditioned vehicle.

The rideshare has provided a second small victory: Hubby-Wifey Time. For nearly an hour each morning and afternoon, my wife and I have one another’s attention exclusively. Although we can use the time for serious consideration of marriage and parenting issues, our more frequent topics touch on true crime podcasts she listens to, shared-interest TV shows she watches, political discussions, or humorous anecdotes from social interactions. I rarely watch TV, so she recaps episodes for me. I fall asleep listening to podcasts, so she relates details to me of Sword & Scale or family revenge tales. While our financial circumstances forced this situation upon us, we are both grateful for the time it has afforded us. Our kids are grown, but still live with us, so this time alone is rich, indeed. Recognizing this silver lining is a small victory.

Life continues in leaps and bounds. I have never been a physical leaper on purpose. Nor am I what one Monty Python sketch called “Bounder of Adventure.” However, in our 21st-century medical marvel of treatments for sleep apnea, I partake of a “bound” that is helping me shed some of my former self, if you catch my drift. I’ve shed about 55 pounds (27 kg for the metric folk) since I began treatment in October 2025. That’s a leap downward, I suppose. Each month this summer, I have seen an increase in energy and stamina for outdoor activity, and there’s no doubt this is a victory. I feel better and look younger, even as my hair goes grey and my goatee is white. Hahaha.

By no small miracle, our youngest graduated high school in June. He is looking for work. We’re willing to house him, but he needs a job. The idea of college intrigued him, but not the academics for it. This is the same son now driving my Corolla (the other one doesn’t drive). The small victory here is that he is beginning to recognize that actions have consequences. A speeding ticket from two years ago cost him a job already. Naturally, mom and dad don’t know anything, so all our cautionary words fell flat, but now that past actions have bitten him in the butt, we look like frickin’ geniuses. The wisdom gained by personal experience is starting to pay off.

May and June in Maine are beautiful months. The trees finally bud and bloom. Flowers and plants burst with color. The drab of winter fades away as grass and leaves green up and flood the landscape with lush layers of freshness. Breezy summer days keep mosquitoes and black flies at bay. July passes with national birthday celebrations, Old Home Weeks, cookouts, beach days, and camping trips. Baseball seasons rise and fall. Local tournaments excite young men and their families. Alternative Baseball offers America’s pastime to men and women with autism and other disabilities (alternativebaseball.org). Dreams are fulfilled. Hopes are dashed. In all of these things are small victories.

Where do you find your small victories?

“You need a cup o’ tea”

It’s midday Friday at work, and three men came to class today. Two are math students, and the third is their erstwhile tutor. I feel extra intelligent for using the word “erstwhile,” but then I’m uneasy about it, wondering if it means what I think it does.

Okay, I looked up the definition of “erstwhile,” and with a bit of digging, I came to the synonym, “sometime,” which is the feeling I was aiming for. I probably should have used “sometime” instead, but I couldn’t think of it when I wrote that sentence. All that came to mind was “erstwhile.” Sigh. Way to mansplain, Mack. Sheesh.

The Erstwhile Tutor, or ET, for short, works through math problems with B and D. ET doesn’t hold great mathematical knowledge for instruction, per se, but he’s good at helping others process their work. All three are good conversationalists, for the most part, and they get along well with each other. The drawback to this is that they frequently spend more time talking and less time mathing.

ET and B are soft-spoken individuals who watch their language carefully, which is rare where I work. Penal institutions are not known for guarded tongues, and the f-bomb is employed where “valley girls” are infamous for “like.” D is from Cali-f-bomb-fornia, and he falls into the category of using that bomb in place of “like,” “um,” “uh,” or any other filler word. I get on his case about it lightheartedly, but I also want him to learn to filter it.

Today, I offered cups of tea to the men. I happened to have some paper cups, tea bags, and stirrers in my classroom, and I have a hot pot. I added fresh water to the pot, heated it, and they enjoyed the drinks. They all said it relaxed them. I’m glad to share.

As they drank, D pressed me for details about a meeting I attended this morning that affected him. All I could remember was that the result was favorable for him and that no one said anything negative about him. He kept asking for more information, insisting that I knew more, but since I hadn’t taken notes at the time, I repeated my answer to him. He asked again, and I became a little annoyed. At that point, ET said, “You need a cup o’ tea!”

We all laughed. I said, “No, thank you. I prefer coffee, and I’ve already had mine for today. I don’t like tea.” What I really meant was that I don’t like the tea available, but I kept that to myself.

A chorus of dismay said, “You don’t like tea?? What’s wrong with you?”

I laughed again.

“You need tea, Mack. It’ll calm you down!”

Again, I just laughed. “I’m calm. Thanks.” Then I told D once more that the outcome of the meeting was positive for him and that all comments about him were positive. He finally accepted my answer and moved on with his day.

That was 90 minutes ago. Since then, these men have completed about twenty minutes of math work and seventy minutes of meandering conversation. I read this to them before they left the room, and they got a kick out of it. There were some protestations of, “We did some geography!” and “That’s not all we did!” But they also acknowledged that the day had passed less productively than usual. They bid me adieu and promised to study more next week.

I just laughed and nodded. Maybe I should have a cup o’ tea.

Vocal on Vocal

For the last three or four years, I have been publishing essays, short stories, and poems on a website called vocal.media. I can no longer remember how I stumbled across the site, but once I found it, I was hooked. I discovered a place where amateur or hobbyist writers like me could respond to site writing challenges or simply write and post to an available category, and we would receive feedback, recognition, financial awards, or nothing at all.

My initial goal was to win a writing challenge. The prizes range from $200 to $600 per contest, and I submitted one or two works that I believed stood a chance. Then I saw my competition. Ha! I returned to my own lane with a healthy dose of humble pie.

I didn’t stop contributing to writing challenges, but I stopped expecting to win. Instead, I focused on enjoying the process. Another writer ran his own challenges for a time, and I won one of those. The prize was peanuts by comparison, but the prestige of winning outshone the monetary gain. Then, I discovered that Vocal awards monthly winners of another type: Top Story by category.

On an occasion when I wrote about a friend dying unexpectedly, I was shocked to open the website a day later and find my essay labeled “Top Story” by the editors. I had submitted my piece to the Men category and tagged it for grief, loss, and friendship, and the Vocal Media editors decided it deserved the recognition and $5 award for top story for that month. All I did was write what was on my heart.

I have earned at least one more Top Story since then, and I hope to earn more, not because I esteem my writing so highly, but because I cannot withdraw my earnings from their site until they reach at least $20. Hahaha.

However, not everything I find on Vocal is pleasant. There are some writers whose material has interested me, so I’ve followed them for a year or two. Two of them, in particular, are prolific, to put it mildly. Of those, one has become noticeably political in the past year, and there is no moderation in his mind. He is slow to listen, quick to speak, and he rushes to judgment. Yesterday, I stopped following his account. It became more than I needed to ingest.

He is articulate, but he is part of a worldview that I find clouded with the smoke of projection. Everything that his Party has done in recent years by way of media propagandism, denying freedom of speech to those who disagree, arresting political opponents, defrauding the American taxpayers out of billions of dollars to the benefit of illegal immigrants, and cheating victims of violent crimes at the hands of illegal immigrants by refusing to prosecute the offenders, is now overlooked. Instead, he points his finger at those who try to bring back law and order, and he excuses the lawless.

The very tyranny that he decries is, in fact, the worldview he espouses. He is not alone on Vocal. In truth, I am in the minority there. To be vocal on Vocal is risky, for the editors walk with him. I read a poem by another writer yesterday, and this is what I said in response:

“There is tyranny in America. I see it every day. It’s on social media. It’s in the news. It clutters the writing sites. Affirmations of tyranny flood comment sections. “Tyranny! Fascism! No Kings! Down with Dictators!” Anguished shouts and tears of fear pour forth in waves.

“The irony is that the loudest voices are the ones committing the tyranny.

“In 2020, our current Senate Minority Leader condemned President Trump for not removing the then-dictator of Venezuela, Nicholas Maduro, from power. In 2024, the Democrat Party put a 24 million dollar bounty on the head of Nicholas Maduro, demanding that someone remove him from office. They declared that he “was not the legitimate president” of Venezuela. When President Trump removed Maduro from power a couple of weeks ago, that same politician and his fellow Democrats condemned Trump for doing it. Only Senator John Fetterman of Pennsylvania stood up to his fellow Dems to point out their hypocrisy, but to no avail. Because it was Trump who did it, they refused to say it was a good move.

“You see the world through the filter of left-wing media, but you express yourself with skill.

“Two examples of what I mean about the filter I believe you use are the reason for removing Maduro and the tragic death of the woman in Minneapolis.

“The removal of Maduro has less to do with the so-called stealing of Venezuela’s resources and much more to do with preventing rival nations from accessing them. China, for example, has relied heavily on Venezuelan oil to prop up its plans to overthrow Taiwan violently. Maduro’s cooperation with China has been removed, and China has had to back away from those plans. If you look beyond the limited view of the American media, you can begin seeing the long game of what an America-first politician and globalist businessman Donald Trump is playing. It’s very rare to have a president who holds both positions simultaneously. He sees the long game better than any president since Teddy Roosevelt, but while the American media — left and right — waxes eloquent about national and local politics, he’s looking to put this country on a solid footing for the next hundred years.

“Secondly, the tragic shooting in Minneapolis. As the footage has revealed, the woman who “sat in her car” had actually been told to exit her car and refused, and then she hit the gas and drove over the officer, who then shot her in self-defense. I know that you may disagree with his actions at all points, but if I break into your home and attack you with a machete, you are justified in defending yourself with anything and everything, especially if you have warned me to stop and get out. Assault with a deadly weapon is FA. Self-defense is FO. Crude way to say it, perhaps, but it’s to the point. She was not required to be there. She should not have been there. Interfering with law enforcement NEVER ends well. My classes are full of students who have learned that lesson.

“The tyranny in America is not coming from Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. It’s not coming from the Trump administration. The tyranny in America is coming from everyone who is refusing to recognize that laws must be obeyed, that law enforcement must not be interfered with, and that allowing ten million illegal immigrants into America during the Biden administration and giving them taxpayer-funded housing, EBT, healthcare, jobs, CDLs, and turning a blind eye to their r@pes, m*rders, drunk driving, and all the rest, is okay and should be tolerated. That is tyranny.”

I considered submitting this as its own essay, but I decided against it. Vocal does not need another rant. I’ll keep mine to my own site. I went to the author’s page today to copy and paste this, and he thanked me for “being moved enough to respond” to his poem. I don’t and won’t follow this author, but at least he has more intellectual honesty than the first fellow.

I am not an admirer of Donald Trump, the man. He is deeply flawed. However, I have observed too many instances of his interest in America’s long-term success to believe that he is only out for himself as president. As a businessman, he must act as a globalist, but as president, he puts this country first. That provides him with better strategic thinking than any other American politician in recent history, and when Americans get over who he is, they, too, can see how he is maneuvering this country for a bright future. Unfortunately, most current Representatives and Senators of both parties are in the job for themselves and the money the lobbyists provide.

Between the corruption of Congress and the unreasonable hatred of Donald Trump by too many deluded Americans, tyranny has come to America through the Democrat Party and the Socialists they have enabled to immigrate illegally. God have mercy on America, for He is our only hope.

Harmless Mistake or Intentional Harm?

The whole idea of “think before you speak” was hammered into my head growing up. It didn’t always work, but it saved me from many embarrassing moments. In twenty-first century America, “think before you speak” doesn’t seem to do any good. People neither pay attention to the idea nor follow the advice. The results can be comical, or they can leave you wondering how long the light has been on with no one at home.

It may seem like too much of a jump in reasoning for you to link this to political issues, but the lack of awareness demonstrated daily by public figures in America never fails to astound me. In a very recent event, one political party put a twenty-five-million-dollar bounty on the head of a dictator of a foreign country. That dictator had lost the most recent election, but he had used the military to stay in power. In his corruption, he bankrupted his once-prosperous nation, and this particular American political party placed a bounty on his head to seek his arrest.

Just a few days ago, the leader of the opposite political party in America sent American military forces into that dictator’s country and arrested the man and his wife, leaving the foreign nation free of the dictatorial rule for the first time in decades. The citizens of that nation are rejoicing and praising the Americans who freed them. But the political party that put a bounty on the dicator’s head? They are not cheering for his capture. They are furious that their political opponents captured him, so they are denouncing his capture and insisting that he be returned to power as a dictator. What a head-scratching, face-palming moment! They got the result they wanted, but since it was achieved by an opponent, they are enraged that he’s the one who accomplished it. Instead of rejoicing with the citizens of the foreign nation, they are lecturing those citizens and saying that the country should reinstall the crook.

In this case, I am calling them stupid. They are acting like spoiled children who ask for a treat, receive a generic brand version of it, and refuse to accept it because it’s not the name-brand one. The petulance is obvious to all observers, and there will be consequences for this foolishness, but the immediate result is that adults display childishness as acceptable behavior, and that sets a troubling example for a nation already struggling to find its moral compass. Childish, churlish behavior by adults leads to violence in the public square. It is the same boorishness that led to the murder of Charlie Kirk on September 10, 2025, preceded by the assassination attempt on candidate Donald Trump in July 2024. Accepting violence while preaching temperance in speech and behavior for others, yet advocating for unruliness in their own followers, these adults are like the meme above: Coyly pretending they said the “Mississippi,” and when called on it, they defend themselves with “river” or “state,” depending on which one their opponent accuses them of saying. In such a manner, they try to wriggle off the hook of accountability, while knowing very well which one they meant.

So, is it a harmless mistake or intentional harm?

Frigid

It’s a frigid day. A hat and coat rest on the rack by the library door, and the few sounds disrupting my peace are the ticks of the clock behind me and the shuffling of papers on a desk fifteen feet away. The door opens, and a grumpy inmate scuttles in, stomping snow off his boots and grousing at everyone who’ll listen that he should be allowed to watch YouTube videos and waste his time while others are trying to study. I threw him out ten minutes ago for doing that.

He’s not a bad sort, as inmates go, but he’s short-sighted, narrow-minded, and fixated on the idea that the world owes him, even though he committed a crime that landed him here. Any attempt to hold the line with him becomes an existential threat to his humanity. He’ll acknowledge with his mouth that I treat all with equity and justice, but since others in authority here don’t, then we’re all lumped into the same crap pot. I’d like to feel some charity toward him for seeing we’re not all alike, but he’s still a cranky grouch. It’s a common theme around here.

A colleague retired a few days ago, and he got all choked up about this being the “best job I’ve ever had, hands down.” He’d been here more than two decades. Maybe if I’d been in his shoes, I would say the same thing, in the same way. He was never tied to a classroom, and he never had to run a dorm or a cell block. He was a middle-management kind of guy, tying up loose ends, making everyone’s day. The buck never stopped with him. Even when he was a less-than-stellar supervisor, which he certainly was, the buck went further up the food chain. On a personal level, we got on pretty well, but professionally, I was happy to bid him farewell. The supervisor before him fought for us. He rarely did, and I spent years feeling unsupported or stabbed in the back. He’s been gone two days, and work life’s no better. Seriously. Makes me wanna puke.

On this frigid day, the only people making me want to be here are the officers I had hoped to work with full-time when another friend retired a few months ago. Instead, the other teachers and I have to work on a rotation, creating more work for us and greater confusion for the inmates. Management does such a great job screwing up good things. Situation Normal, All Fouled Up.

Before I left home, I donned a shirt, my new alumni sweatshirt, my work vest (to cover up the alumni design that someone at work would have a problem with), and my hand-warmer half-gloves. I’m still shivering. I’ve even kept my cap on. The realization that my regular classroom isn’t any warmer than the chillbox I’m in now isn’t filling me with great desire to complete my workday. I’m tempted to call out the remainder and go home early. I’m truly disinterested in working this afternoon. I’d rather start with a fresh week. I want to be anywhere but this place.

Who am I trying to convince? I’ve already made my plans. Tomorrow’s a big day for me. It’ll be my first time volunteering with a political campaign, as I work with another man doing voter registration in support of Robert “Bobby” Charles for Governor. It’ll be frigid tomorrow, too, and no guarantee of friendlier people. But the climate here has become so toxic that I need an escape. There’s frigid air, and there’s frigid there. Which would you prefer?

Trigger Warning

This topic may be off-putting to the naive or pure-minded reader. For that reason, I’m providing you the opportunity to look away now, before you read something that “scars you for life” or burns into your brain in such a way that you can’t unsee it. I’m warning you, look away now. I’m not even close to kidding.

Sex and the Christian. More pointedly, Christians whose sexual attractions are not hetero. That’s the topic today. More than likely, if you are a Christian, you know another Christian whose natural sexual attraction is not for the opposite sex. He or she may not actively pursue romantic interest in the same sex or at all, but the daily battle of attraction to the same sex is likely there, and it is probably unwanted. What is a Christian that experiences unwanted same-sex attraction supposed to do with it?

In recent years, four general schools of theological thought have emerged regarding this very point. They are referred to as “Sides.” Specifically, they are Sides A, B, Y, and X.

The Side A school of “theological” thought embraces the notion that same-sex attraction is perfectly acceptable and compatible with Christian belief and that it should be celebrated as openly as possible. Any idea that a Christian need “repent” of sexual sin due to homosexual attraction is considered judgmental nonsense. The entire community of LGBTQIA+ is embraced by Side A apologists as acceptable and normal in the eyes of God.

Side B takes a different view of almost every element than Side A, except for conversion therapy. Both stand firmly against that idea as being harmful or even dangerous. Side B acknowledges with Side A that people are born with opposite- or same-sex attraction, but disagrees with the notion that same-sex attraction should be pursued. For those in the Side B camp, romance should not be sought out. However, those with such attraction or orientation should feel comfortable retaining their designation of LGBT or Q as a means of reaching the lost and showing that even Christians can love Jesus while dealing with disordered sexual identities.

Side Y believers take the Side B views a step further by denouncing the acceptance of LGBT or Q identification, arguing that one’s identity is found only in Jesus Christ. In the Side Y community, the emphasis on Unwanted SSA is stressed more than in the other three “Sides” in an attempt to characterize the attraction as undesired yet inherent to their birth nature.

Finally, Side X adherents adamantly demand that anyone that claims Christ as Savior and Lord must denounce same-sex attraction and actively seek to change their orientation to heterosexual. For Side X, the homosexual can and should be cured by marrying a member of the opposite sex.

So, what is the best response to Christians dealing with unwanted same-sex attraction?

None of these “Sides” holds a completely good answer. Side X is harsh and ungracious. Side A is heretical. Side B is troubling in that it suggests that being a “new creation” in Christ doesn’t take effect this side of heaven if we aren’t living that reality here on earth. That is, if we are living in the identification of our old creation and sinfulness how does that demonstrated the new creatures we are in Jesus? The answers I’ve heard have been less than convincing.

On the other hand, while Side Y seems the best of the approaches, pastors and elders remain unwilling to open their churches to acknowledging the presence of Christian members with SSA in their congregations, and this means that those members–that if in Side B churches would be able to openly admit their sexual orientation and receive congregational support, love, help, and accountability–are forced to remain closeted, secreted, and without the aid of the church as they navigate the destructive paths of their unwanted SSA. It’s a dichotomy that absolutely plagues the church today. And if the church does not find a better way to help her members through these fiery trials, she will lose these men and women to terrible tribulation.