Duck and Cover

In light of the tragedy and ongoing crisis in Japan, I doubt if I am the only Baby Boomer having flashbacks of Duck and Cover drills held in grade school.  Duck and Cover was a regularly practiced exercise of civil defense taught to school children during the 1950s and 60s. It was based on the probability that a nuclear attack was a clear and present danger that could occur in the United States at any time. There was even a film produced about Duck and Cover that used an animated turtle to show kids how the exercise would protect us in the event of a nuclear attack. Our instructions were that if we saw a bright flash of light we should immediately get beneath a table or huddle against a solid wall and cover our head with our hands.

Perhaps the whiz kids had it all figured out, but I doubt if I was the only average student in class who disbelieved that such an apparently insignificant action would save our lives during a nuclear attack. Theoretically, ducking and covering would provide protection from flying glass and falling debris, but we were also told that the radiation resulting from the nuclear bomb could incinerate us. What the hey?  If a bomb was powerful enough to blow to smithereens our school or any other building, how would merely cowering on the floor in a fetal position save us?

The government purported that Duck and Cover was an essential procedure for saving our lives. Certainly some preparation is always better than none at all. But to this day, as much as I remember the drills, what I remember more was that whenever our class practiced or even discussed Duck and Cover, for days afterward I had terrifying nightmares and disturbing daydreams.  

As I watch the continuous broadcasts about the explosions at Japan’s Fukushima nuclear power plant, not only do I imagine, but I also feel the desperation and fear engulfing the people in Japan. When it gets to be too much for me, I turn off the television. I’m sure that the people who live in those areas devastated by last Friday’s earthquake and tsunami probably wish that they could turn off their present reality just as easily. They have already lost so much; family members and friends, their homes, and now they are facing the threat of a nuclear meltdown. It is a calamitous situation that is too disturbing to consider feasible, yet too plausible to deny.  And it is not only the people in Japan, but people in other countries who are now looking for – and hoping not to see – a daunting radioactive cloud. Duck and Cover and Pray.

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Navigating the PC Minefield

Boomers, pretend for a moment that you are back in the free-spirited era of the 1960s and wiry-haired, soloist Tiny Tim is on television strumming his ukulele and singing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.”  (If you are having a senior moment, revisit Tiny Tim on YouTube.)

Return now to the present, and instead of a floral field of colorful tulips imagine a societal landscape filled with landmines labeled PC. The explosive devices are buried haphazardly, but because you are familiar with some of the hot spots you side-step intuitively and proceed with caution, but then suddenly you hear “click.” And before you can jump back — KABOOM!  You are blasted for violating PC protocol.

The practice of political correctness (PC) was started in the 1980s to minimize offenses based on race and culture, occupation, gender, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, disabilities, and the list grows on.  PC changed words, terms, and procedures in nearly every sector of society. For example, people previously referred to as retarded or crippled are now described as mentally or physically challenged. Gender specific occupations are gender neutral. Mailmen and airline stewardesses are now postal workers and flight attendants.  Housewives are homemakers, and babysitters are child care providers. Religious factions also did an about-face from the previous norm. “Mankind” became “humankind” and the “sons of God” converted to “children of God.”  Not to be outdone, nonbelievers endorse eliminating the word God and barring religious symbols from public venues.  Enough already!

For the record, I do not trivialize the seriousness of discrimination or prejudice, and I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with decency and respect. However, I also believe that many people practice PC grudgingly, because they fear that one misspoken word – one misstep in the minefield – could cause them to be unfairly regarded as racist, sexist, homophobic, or just obsolete. PC requires self-censorship, but inhibiting free speech does not alter a person’s thoughts nor change their heart. Case in point — In 1987, Oprah, produced her show in Forsyth County, Georgia, in a town that at the time had no black residents. The all white audience, apparently without fear of repercussions, candidly spoke their minds about why they did not want blacks living there; and as far as I know no one was burned in effigy. 

What are your thoughts on PC, has it gone too far?  Do you openly voice your opinion about the issues with which you disagree or hold your tongue instead, pretending to go along to get along?  Human beings are all imperfect, be they black, white or brown; Christian, Muslim or Atheist; straight, gay or bisexual. As long as their actions do not intentionally harm others, people should be free to be who they are, think what they think, and say what they want to say without being made to feel like trespassers on Old Macdonald’s PC farm. Here a trap. There a trap. Everywhere a trap, trap.

Life seemed much simpler in those bygone days when Tiny Tim, in his high falsetto voice sang, “Tiptoe through the tulips with meee.

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Navigating the PC Minefield

Boomers, pretend for a moment that you are back in the free-spirited era of the 1960s and wiry-haired, soloist Tiny Tim is on television strumming his ukulele and singing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.”  (If you are having a senior moment, revisit Tiny Tim on YouTube.)

Return now to the present, and instead of a floral field of colorful tulips imagine a societal landscape filled with landmines labeled PC. The explosive devices are buried haphazardly, but because you are familiar with some of the hot spots you side-step intuitively and proceed with caution, but then suddenly you hear “click.” And before you can jump back — KABOOM!  You are blasted for violating PC protocol.

The practice of political correctness (PC) was started in the 1980s to minimize offenses based on race and culture, occupation, gender, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, disabilities, and the list grows on.  PC changed words, terms, and procedures in nearly every sector of society. For example, people previously referred to as retarded or crippled are now described as mentally or physically challenged. Gender specific occupations are gender neutral. Mailmen and airline stewardesses are now postal workers and flight attendants.  Housewives are homemakers, and babysitters are child care providers. Religious factions also did an about-face from the previous norm. “Mankind” became “humankind” and the “sons of God” converted to “children of God.”  Not to be outdone, nonbelievers endorse eliminating the word God and barring religious symbols from public venues.  Enough already!

For the record, I do not trivialize the seriousness of discrimination or prejudice, and I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with decency and respect. However, I also believe that many people practice PC grudgingly, because they fear that one misspoken word – one misstep in the minefield – could cause them to be unfairly regarded as racist, sexist, homophobic, or just obsolete. PC requires self-censorship, but inhibiting free speech does not alter a person’s thoughts nor change their heart. Case in point — In 1987, Oprah, produced her show in Forsyth County, Georgia, in a town that at the time had no black residents. The all white audience, apparently without fear of repercussions, candidly spoke their minds about why they did not want blacks living there; and as far as I know no one was burned in effigy. 

What are your thoughts on PC, has it gone too far?  Do you openly voice your opinion about the issues with which you disagree or hold your tongue instead, pretending to go along to get along?  Human beings are all imperfect, be they black, white or brown; Christian, Muslim or Atheist; straight, gay or bisexual. As long as their actions do not intentionally harm others, people should be free to be who they are, think what they think, and say what they want to say without being made to feel like trespassers on Old Macdonald’s PC farm. Here a trap. There a trap. Everywhere a trap, trap.

Life seemed much simpler in those bygone days when Tiny Tim, in his high falsetto voice sang, “Tiptoe through the tulips with meee.

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The Name Game

In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Juliet says to Romeo, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Unfortunately, during the past decades too many contemporary children have been encumbered with first names that are not so sweet. When will someone cry foul?

Ordinary people who “blessed” their children with unconventional names applaud the fact that celebrities joined the nontraditional name game. Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter, Apple Blythe Alison Martin, is the fruit of her eye. Nicole Kidman delivered Sunday Rose, a weekday flower. Jermaine Jackson has a seasonal child, Autumn. He also fathered his royal Jermajesty. True, is one of Forest Whitaker’s daughters. The other has the poetic name of Sonnet, and Ocean is her brother. Sylvester Stallone’s son, Sage Moonblood, is the spice of his life. And seen in videos whipping her hair like windblown tree leaves is Will and Jada Smith’s daughter, Willow.

Celeb children are unlikely to be negatively affected by their names, but underprivileged children who get stuck with names like Mercedes, Lexus, or Electra may not fare as well. What’s more, children whose parents modify the spelling of their child’s name from the norm place a burden on them as well.

In 2005, Steven Levitt and Roland G. Fryer published a research paper titled A Roshanda by Any Other Name. The two economists collected data from birth certificates and other sources for every child born in the state of California beginning in 1961. Covering more than 16 million births, the study examines the dissimilarity in names of children in different cultures and raises the question of whether or not a person’s name could be instrumental in determining their fate. In addition, the report reveals significant variation in the spelling of some names. One example is Unique, spelled on different birth certificates as “Uneek, Uneque, and Uneqqee.” There was no indication of whether the children’s parents elected the distinct spelling or just did not know how to spell the word.         

Do you believe that giving a child a tongue twister forename or a string of co-joined first names, or a name that is totally bizarre could ultimately prove detrimental to the child? Think about it – how many professional males (excluding athletes and hip hoppers) do you know named DeAvante, Baccardi, or Andarius? Know any prominent career women named Shaquintah, Qweeta, or Saneika? No, I did not make those names up. And as hard as I tried to validate that an infant reportedly born November 7, 2005, in Wilmington, NC was named Ah’Justice Armagedon, except for a few slight references on questionable web sites, I found nothing.  But if it is true — God help Armagedon.

Some people call even an examination of this topic racist, but whether people are willing to admit it or not, so-called urban names raise a red flag that invites stereotyping and – right or wrong – elicits questions about a person’s socioeconomic status. Whether or not a person’s name determines one’s fate remains debatable.  As you contemplate that, picture this – an employer receives two resumes for an open position.  Education, skills, and other factors show that both applicants qualify. One job seeker is named William E. Johnson; the other is Appollo Adamari Aijon Falcon Smith.  Honestly, who do you think will be called-in for an interview?  Depends on the employer, some would say. Right.

While riding on public transit one day, I overheard the couple seated behind me discussing ridiculous names that people give their children. Seconds before they burst out in muffled laughter, one said to the other, “If you want to see where people with names like that end up, watch Jerry Springer’s show.”

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