Rebel without a Clause

Did you ever imagine a plague would strike us in the 21st Century? In my mind, those are the things of yore, of yesteryear. Even though plagues were predicted by a certain someone about 2,000 years ago, to come on the earth right about now.

It does NOT surprise me that we have a manmade plague, however. What does surprise me, or perhaps better, what does confound me, is that so many Texans, and Americans, are STILL thinking they need to wear a mask, and that they need to get a vaccine.

Just a LITTLE digging, and one can find out that the vaccine has about the same risk level as the disease itself. The ‘prevention’ isn’t worth an ounce. Just a LITTLE common sense, and one can realize that a cloth/plastic mask is trapping bacteria at the nose and lips, limiting oxygen intake, and doing more damage than good.

But, the ‘science’ they keep referring to is beside the point. The most SHOCKING thing is that so many Americans are so ready simply just to do what a doctor ‘suggests’, who clearly has an agenda, and who has a record of lusting for disease, and is connected to eugenicists, and they take his word as ‘command.’

What happened to free-thinking, critical-thinking, freedom-loving AMERICANS?

Those of us who have a brain are trusting in herd-immunity. Those who don’t, suffer from herd mentality. Herd mentality is very, very dangerous. It is when the crowd follows the numbers, simply because they do not want to be ‘different’, they don’t want to stand alone, they fear the ridicule and isolation so much that they do not look at the cliff off of which the herd is about to plunge.

I was pondering this phenomenon yesterday, and wondering why it is that I have never been the ‘herd mentality’ kind of person. I think perhaps it is because early on in my life, when I was thrust into the junior herd, I was rejected by the herd, and abused by the herd. I never was counted a part of it. Mostly, it was because I was always ‘the outsider’. As a Navy brat, we moved a lot. I went to three different kindergartens in three different states. I did a year in Hawaii, and moved to Georgia. In Georgia, in about 1970, I was the only white boy in my new kindergarten class. set back due to age difference., unique, as most whites had abandoned public schools in Georgia after desegregation. There was a private resegregation. I was not part of that herd, neither the public school herd. We were only there for four months anyway, but I went to the next herd in Zion, Illinois, and was ‘new’ there, and not part of that herd.

Then, we moved back to my Dad’s home state of Texas, and to his home town, and I was ‘new’, I spoke with a strange tongue, and I wasn’t ‘country’ [yet]. I was rejected, ridiculed, and provoked into a fight more times than I can count. For some reason, I was resented, despised, and bullied, for seven years. Then, I moved again. To ‘the big city’. And at my next school, I was rejected a little less, because the herd was so big, and I was less noticeable. But, within a week, I was almost provoked into a fight simply because I was friendly to a girl, whose boyfriend thought I was moving in on her.

And two years later, after nearly having to fight that guy a few times, and his horde of ‘friends’, he led his horde, his herd, the Trombone section, into a ‘revolt’ of a sort. I was second chair to him in the Trombone section, as a high-school Junior. He was a senior, and was ‘first chair”, and thus ‘section leader’ of the Trombone section. It was nearing the end of Texas football season. Our school had just been desegregated that year, 1982-83, and our band was huge. We were the best and biggest band in the state of Texas. Our drill had us entering from the end zone, and the Trombones were the ‘front line’, and we stretched from sideline to sideline, our number somewhere near 30+ trombones.

That section leader decided to exercise his ‘authority,’ and wanted to change our stance at “attention”. When we were called by the drum major from ‘parade rest’ to attention, we usually snapped our heals together at a 45-degree angle, stood straight up, and held our trombones under our right arms, pointing straight out at about waist height. HE wanted us now to put our right foot out, on our tippy-toes, and lean our trombones diagonally up and down out in front of us. We were a “show band,” which meant that we marched in squads of four. My squad was made up of myself, my two best friends, and one fella who had been integrated from Hebert into the new school “West Brook.” He was very, very quiet, but a decent trombone player. I looked at the three of them, and told them “We are NOT doing that!” And this went on all afternoon in our practice session.

I was the very bitter right end of that front line, about a foot inside the sideline. The section leader was about near the middle of that front line. About twenty-six (? the whole front line of) trombones were standing like fairies, and the four of us stood like men. Rigid. Resolved. And he kept fussing at us, demanding that we conform. We’d march a bit, and then return to original formation, and each time [memory fails if this went on for one day or more] we would go through the demand and resist routine, each time, myself the default leader of my squad, I would demand of my squad, “We are NOT doing that!” To which they all agreed and happily stood strong.

Finally, the band director, a very gruff and demanding leader, took note of the Trombone Section’s new stance. “Trombones! You look like a bunch of fairies! Come to attention!” I’m pretty certain he noticed our squad standing stronger and I think he said something about us, but we were too busy laughing and reveling in the small victory.

We were resented by the horde. Perhaps not by the whole herd, but certainly by his cohorts for a bit. But, their shame of being publicly rebuffed by the director himself clamped their lips. A few weeks later, at our very last marching practice of the year [before the state final football game of the longest marching season ever, as the season had gone long because the football team took the playoffs all the way to the state championship], we would be fully respected by that horde, and by the whole herd, as a lone squad again.

Our director had a torture teaching method he called “Flaunt Your Superiority”. For four years of my best friend’s high school band career, he had never had to do what we lovingly called “Flaunt”. Neither had the other three of us, who were all juniors, one who’d only been under this band director for a marching season. This final week of the season, the last football game Leon would ever have to march, it was Thursday, and it would the last time ever he’d have to fear “Flaunt.” It so happens that his mother came to watch the practice.

Here is how “Flaunt” went. “Mr. T.”, the director, put all our names in a hat on Thursday toward the end of evening practice.. He’d have someone, usually a drum major or an alternate standing near him, draw one name out of the hat. He would joyously announce that name and call that person and his/her four-member squad to the starting formation. Once there was a clarinetist whose whole squad was absent! That person and the whole squad had to MARCH AND PLAY the whole drill BY THEMSELVES! It was ‘terrifying’. That one clarinetist froze solid barely into the drill, and broke down bawling! Whole squads were known to crumble.

This last week ever for my friend, his mother was standing by the director. He had her, whom we called “Aunt Bernie” because we were always at her house, draw the name out of the hat. She drew MY NAME.! My friend looked at me: “YOU IDIOT! FOUR YEARS!!! FOUR YEARS!!! I HAVE NOT HAD TO DO THIS FOR FOUR YEARS. and YOU! YOUR NAME…!!!! ” “Hey, it was YOUR MOTHER that drew my name!” The four of us looked at each other, went to the goal line where formation started, got in our spots, and got to parade rest. I looked at my squad and said, “We’ve GOT THIS!”

The drum major called us to attention and started the drill for us. We marched out onto that field by ourselves, the four of us, without the usual ‘benchmarks’ of other squads, without a drum major, etc., playing proudly and marching tall. We marched and played that whole drill perfectly! FLAWLESSLY! [Mind you, we’d only been marching it a few weeks, during the playoff season, as we always changed drills after the UIL marching contest in early October]. When we played our finale, we were standing just to the left of the 50 yard line, right in front of the whole band. Our trombones came down off a big fanfare. We were standing at attention in front of the horde and the herd. And. They. All. Clapped. Some of them whistled. Some of them shouted. They are all proud.

The director got on his bull-horn, and uttered words to this effect: “I have been doing flaunt for [twenty?] years, and in ALL my years of watching squads flaunt their superiority, I have never seen a squad march and play their drill like this squad just did.” Our little squad of rebels was vindicated again. People who counted themselves our enemy, for some unknown reason, came up to us and congratulated us, and told us how excellent we did. Including the horde of trombone fairies.

The three of us, me, Leon, and my other best friend in that squad, had constantly been berated and threatened by that Trombonist, and another who’d graduated the year before, and their ‘friends’. Four years for Leon, and three years for me and the other friend. Little did I know that would be my last drill marched there as well, as my Dad moved us up the country for my senior year. I have a similar story of rebellion and vindication there! But, for the three of us, it was indeed sweet vindication.

Perhaps, just perhaps that is why I do not ‘follow the crowd’. Because I have been conditioned to understand that the crowd can be DEAD WRONG. “Do not follow a multitude [crowd/herd] into ERROR”.

“You shall not follow a multitude to do evil; neither shall you bear witness in a cause to turn aside after a multitude to pervert justice”. Exodus 23:2

Right now, Americans are following the crowd, and perverting justice. Our founders explained and codified that our rights are NATURAL RIGHTS given to us by GOD HIMSELF. Today, Americans are content to think they come from the president, or the justice system/Supreme Court. BALONEY. They are intrinsic to our nature as HUMAN BEINGS. But, we have been standing by and watching them eroded by the left for three generations now. We’ve stood by, followed the multitude into the error of MURDERING BABIES, And now, those of us who ‘think’, who are not afraid, watch the herd wear masks to the point of causing their own children to suffer under them, when children are naturally immune to this plague they fear so much.

I am SO VERY DISAPPOINTED in the fear and compliance that is the bane of the American public. If we continue on this track, we will very soon be a communist nation, and soon after that be eating our dogs, and being shot by our government. Just look at ANY communist/socialist nation and check their history. It always ends badly. The socialist revolution that destroyed Russia is going on RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

I will NOT conform. I will NOT wear a mask. I will NOT get the shot. I did not allow the NAVY to force me into a flu shot thirty years ago, and I will not allow society nor our government to shame me into a ‘covid’ shot today, nor tomorrow., or to force me into it through my employer. I will find a new employer if necessary.

I am SO HAPPY to know that we have pushed back on Woka-Cola. But, we need to push back on Governors, Mayors, Congressmen, and this president, who want to take all our rights away, and force us/shame us into giving them up. GROW A SPINE. STOP WEARING THE MASK! Tell your employer you won’t do it any more. Stage walkouts at your job. DEMAND YOUR RIGHTS BACK! Or we are going to lose them all!

“We’ve GOT THIS!”

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