Politically Speaking
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I hate politics with a passion.
The system has turned into one our Founding Fathers could not have possibly envisioned. As I grow older, the despising becomes more intense. Politicians appear to take great pride in their cultivated abilities to never answer questions directly.
Ask a politician a direct question and their first response will be in the genre of seeking clarity. They always want to be advised if the person asking the question is a Democrat or a Republican. Do they honestly think none of us could merely be interested in the betterment of the country and themselves without being a lefty or righty?
I think not.
Politician #1
How are you today?
Politician #2
What do you mean by that?
Everything becomes a pain-in-the-ass cover-their-butt problem. Should they or shouldn’t they respond? What will the outcome be if they give the questioner a direct and straight-from-the-shoulder answer?
And the beat goes on.
Day in and day out, the main thrust of those in the political life is to get reelected. As a businessman, I must follow the credo of always paying attention and serving the needs of my customers. It’s quite a simple premise – they pay us, and we do it.
Within our government, our taxes go towards the salaries of those who are supposed to be working for us. I do believe these folks are referred to as “civil servants.” Of course, elected or appointed politicians are excluded from this premise. Politicians are not civil servants.
As defined:
… the permanent professional branches of a government’s administration, excluding military and judicial branches and elected politicians.
Again – the bottom line – the way I see it is a rather simple premise. I take you back to the oath I swore to when I became an official member of the United States Army. It’s not much different than the oath administered to our congressmen and women or to the big guy who gets elected to the presidency. Personally, I felt duty bound to serve my country even before the oath was taken.
At the time, we all raised our right hand in the air and said: “I, _____, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”
Never having been a Boy Scout, it still occurs to me that much of what they have those young men agree to as their God-like duties are very similar to those we pledged ourselves to in the Army.
The other day I heard the former head of the Internal Revenue Service say the only wrongdoing he could possibly be aware of was the poor customer service provided under his watch; much of what they did was foolishness.
Being an honest man, and definitely not a politician, I must tell you my thoughts at the moment of the former directors allowance. I feel qualified to debate the term “customer” after going through four audits by our supposed civil servants.
1 a person or organization that buys goods or services from a store or business : Mr. Harrison was a regular customer at the Golden Lion | [as adj. ] customer service.2 a person or thing of a specified kind that one has to deal with: the fish is a slippery customer and very hard to catch
Each and every time I have been audited by IRS, I never experienced any feeling of being a “customer.” Customer service? Don’t make me laugh. Pep Boys provides me with customer service.
Who in the world is he kidding? From the moment a person receives an envelope in the mail with the ominous return address of the Internal Revenue Service emblazoned on the upper left hand corner, the adversarial relationship is under way. Do any of you out there feel warm and fuzzy tingles about our public servants at the IRS?
Once again, I think not. Without exception, people are fearful of them.
The tables seem to have turned ever so slightly. At long last, the people at IRS are being forced to answer some extremely important and telling questions.
I appeal to all of you who receive this blog – now is the time to step up without fear and perhaps rectify the fearful relationships our servants have been providing. Write to your elected congressman or congresswoman. If you have any degree of displeasure concerning the customer service you’ve received, or have been receiving from our civil servants, speak up. Email, telephone, old-fashioned mail – it will all get there.
Just think of what I’ve done by affixing my hand to this document. It’s almost as powerful as when I stepped forward and accepted my appointment as a member of our United States Army. Take the step. This one is a lot easier – no one will be shooting at you.
There are some fifty thousand who will be reading what I’ve scribed. I know there will be those who will ask if I have gone stark raving mad. The mere thought of challenging the single most powerful group in our country might shiver the timbers of some. Then, there will be others who will enjoy the excitement of a great and single moment that only you are able to take. The IRS has proven to be a world-class big bully. I want them out of my house. How about you?
Not Democrat or Republican, liberal, conservative or an innocent bystander – we’re American people who have become tired of the government intruding into our lives. If you like, forward this blog to your representatives. Not to worry, they already know who I am.
Good day, God bless you and yours, and God Bless the United States of America.
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(Sorry, but I just had to a few more words)
When I was a child (eight to ten) and the family attended a patriotic event, it was almost impossible to find anyone who would dare to offer anything but the most positive of thoughts about the United States of America. Our heroes were all in the service of the country. The comic books we read depicted our soldiers as the most invincible in the world. We kids knew the names of anything and everything having to do with the military. World War Two permeated our lives. It was the lead story for everyone, without exception.
Imagine, if you will, a neighborhood where every family worried about a relative or friend who was away in a foreign land. Try it on for size…
While you’re reading this piece, the phone rings – no music or ringtone, just one of the earlier phones with a sound not designed to comfort. You answer. It’s a cousin calling to give you the good, or bad, news. You’re able to tell by the ring what the nature of the call entails.
Today, the news is a welcome relief. The two of you hear each other’s sighs. There’s relief, but it bears no permanence. Tomorrow, or the next day, the tribulation will be relived. And, though the air is fresh with spring this day, somehow the fragrance of all that is new isn’t quite the same. You whisper the words thank God, and move on with your day.
Certainly, it was a different time than the aspects of our lives today. What we had then may never ever be repeated. Never before in the history of the world have the people of any one nation come and banded together in order to purse veer with such great mutuality. Every family had been touched; the epic proportions of the most heinous crimes the world had never seen before, influenced all.
***
It had been just another yesterday…
On May 20, 2013, Cathy and I shared in the patriotic festivities of Memorial Day number 146. Our hillside had been decorated as always, festooned with Old Glory flying and perched in every appropriate space possible.
How would you quantify spirituality? Row upon row of American people sitting together and each in our own way saying thanks to our neighbors for sharing in the love and support of our country. This day I thanked many for their service to our country, and many young and old thanked me in return. We all wore our hearts on our sleeves. There were laughs and an abundance of tears shed by one and all. Those of us who had been in the service took our turns standing proudly when our branch of the armed forces was recognized.
This young woman came by where I was standing, scurrying to get to where her family was seated. I commented on the World War Two Army cap she was wearing.
“It belonged to my Father. He’s been gone for a while now, but I put it on every chance I get. Thank you for your service.”
She had noticed the hat I was wearing and allowed her Father-in-law might have served at the same time I did. We smiled, wiped away yet another tear, hugged, and moved on with our day as strangers with a bond.
amen, brother… and i, too, thank you for your service… it is an honor to know you and cathy…
rog