Monday, April 23, 2012

The black social justice set can shove it.

 They don't have a leg to stand on anymore.

I fail to see a whole bunch of Klansmen running around burning crosses. I fail to see a mob of bigots. Instead I see an awful lot of people of all races that would just wish they would shut the hell up and go away because they simply do not want to be seen with these people.

Ever bother to notice who seems to hate the black social justice movement the most of all?

Successful black people because they are tired of these people dragging them along with them.

By successful blacks we are not only talking about Clarence Thomas, Colin Powell and Condeleeza Rice. We are talking about people like the machinist I met a while back that just sent his daughter to college or the woman that I met running a successful greeting card shop or Gunny Thibidoux, USMC. You don't have to be famous to be a success. You just have to be good at what you do and work at it.

I wish more successful blacks would start to speak out.

The only way blacks are going to receive any form of social justice is when they stop hiding behind their color and get off their dead ass and onto their dying feet and start producing something other than a bunch of irritating noise and trouble.

Ever occur to anyone that the rest of us want these people to be successful even if it's only because we're tired of paying through the nose to take care of them when they should be taking care of themselves?

Stop whining.

Sometimes I wonder if those quarters I helped collect during the early sixties was worth the effort. They were for the Freedom riders, a group that went into various places, mainly in the south during the Civil Rights movement.

When I listen to Al Sharpton and the rest of the social justice whiners I tend to get pretty regretful that I did. Sometimes it makes me feel that we should have picked our own damned cotton.

Then I think about the woman running the card shop or the college kid I yakked with a couple of weeks ago or the machinist I met at McDonalds or the guy that runs the barbecue pit or look at some Marine Gunny that has made a career of looking out for me. I think about one of the guys on the dock that helped me along as a young seaman and encouraged me to climb up through the hawspipe.

Yeah, it was worth it helping collect the quarters. I did the right thing.

What I do wish is that the black social justice set would stop giving me second thoughts.
There is an interesting man out there by the name of Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson.

While he doesn't sell beer on TV or have a distinguished looking beard, he is still.....interesting.

I guess he has crossed swords with Jesse Jackson which means he can't be all bad. I like the guy. He has called for the arrest of the members of the New Black Panther party that put out the $10.000 reward for the head of George Zimmerman. Look this guy up. He seems like a much needed blast of fresh air.

When I was a kid growing up my youthful idealism wanted to live in a world where one didn't even notice a person's color. There is only one race and that's the human race and that would damned well be it.

A man would be judged by his talents, abilities and character alone. I still live this way.

I'm going to look into this guy a little more because he simply gets it.

Yeah, he does get it. Any black preacher that came up with 'National Repudiation of Jesse Jackson Day" has to get it. I just wish he'd add Al Sharpton to the list.
One other thing about getting into the yacht club as a minority.

They like people that are 'just doing it'.

Several years ago when I had my little boat, Karen Lee, I was sailing down the Tongass Narrows going like a bat out of hell in the little 24'7" full keeler with the stern squatting down in the water obviously pushing her past the design parameters.

Her hailing port, Kodiak, was painted on the stern and it was obvious I was a long way from home. It didn't take a highly skilled celestial navigator to figure out that the reason I was there with the little puddle jumper is because I had sailed her across the Gulf of Alaska.

Another sailor in a bigger and faster boat came by and offered to meet me at the ginmill at the end of the pier when I tied her up. I took him up on the offer and found out the man was a member of the local yacht club and invited me to join the local club. I took him up on it.

I showed up at the meeting and joined and was voted in.

Everyone there knew I was driving cab for a living and that I wasn't some kind of social big shot. I had one thing going for me, though. I was interesting because I was living the dream most of them shared. I was out there in an undersized cruiser with some experience and adventure behind me.

Looking back on it I realize that my race wasn't taken into account by too many people in the club as also neither was my line of work. Had I been black, or any other minority I truly believe I would have been invited to join.

I also do not think I would have been invited into the club no matter how much money I had or if I had the biggest boat in the harbor if I was a jerk. The 'Caddyshack' Rodney Dangerfield types never seemed to be invited as they tended to be loudmouthed jerks.

These people invited me to join because I was interesting even though I was (and still am) a pretty salty character.

While I'm pretty sure there were a couple of people there that may have wanted to keep the club snow white, I'd have to say that the overwhelming majority of the membership still would have gladly voted me in if I was black, red, purple or pink. They didn't care.

They invited me to join because I shared a love for sailing and I was interesting and they respected the fact that I was a pretty competent sailor that brought along something to add to the club.

It's as simple as that.

Just be good at what you do and persue it with a passion.

Do this and the yacht club will find you.

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