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Flash: Anything but an Aggie
Battle of the Brazos
College Logos – copyright unknown, but seems to have de facto entered public domain.
These logos were downloaded from a gambling site.
“Wow, I can’t believe how nervous I am.” Lucas said looking at his parents on the couch. “Is this how you guys felt every time we had a family meeting?”
His father gave his soft smile, and his mom replied, “Public speaking is always nerve-racking, even with … no let me correct that … especially with family members in the audience. You might like to try a debate class at Baylor; mine really helped me.” She then scooted a little further forward on the cushion and brought her knees firmly together. After twitching her skirt to cover her knees, his mom’s long fingers crossed as her hands met. The clasped hands settled without wrinkling her black linen A-line. She looked up, waiting expectantly for her eldest to continue.
Lucas glanced over to his sister slumped in the recliner, one leg hanging over the armrest. The game on her tablet was making plenty of bubble popping and gun blast sounds from whatever she was playing. One of the two earbuds was out which meant Cindy was paying attention as well.
“All right then. I really don’t know how to say this, so I am going just to say it.” The nineteen year old paused to take a deep breath before blurting out. “I’m gay.”
Lucas didn’t realized he closed his eyes when he took the deep breath until he wanted to see his parent’s reactions. He pried his lids open to see no appreciable change. No dropped mouths, pale faces, or red faces working towards eruption. His dad’s soft smile was still in place and his mom nodded as though waiting for something else to follow.
Expecting a bigger reaction from his two very Baptist parents, he added. “That’s it. Just thought you should know.”
“Thank you for informing us.” His mother said, starting to stand. His father reached for his crossword.
“Umm, you’re not upset?” Lucas asked timidly.
“We decided long ago to only get upset about things we can control. Things we don’t have a choice about,” standing on tiptoe, she gave him a peck on the check, “or our children don’t have a choice about, we can only accept.”
His mom went to finish getting ready for the Sunday evening service.
Somewhat shell-shocked, Lucas turned to Cindy, “You okay with this?”
Cindy put her game on pause. “I figured it out last time we went to Galveston, Bro. Anytime your head swiveled it was for a totally hot guy. After that I just watched you watch guys and then scoped them out myself. You were so much better than me picking them out of crowds.”
Lucas looked at his father who snapped the paper to tighten it for writing. “I thought you were going to announce something ghastly like plans to transfer to A&M.”
“Oh Heavens, he is not switching to A&M, is he?!?” His mother shrieked when walking back in the living room with her dress suit jacket.
“No, Mom, not changing into an Aggie.”
“Good.” Giving them all airkisses with her freshly lipsticked mouth, she made for the front door. “Oh, and sweetheart, don’t think just because you are gay, you get out of giving me grandchildren.”
“Of course not, Mom.” He responded to the closing door.
(word 541; originally published 3/20/2013; republished 11/4/2018)
Other Cool Blogs: Magical Words October 1, 2011
Image courtesy of vectorolie at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
The Siren of Writing
Voice sings through writing, the voice of the author, the voice of the novel, the voice of the character. Defining Voice, though, is like trying to explain Ella Fitzgerald’s voice, Louis Armstrong’s trumpet, or Carlos Santana’s guitar. But at the same, editor, publishers, and readers search for the elusive siren.
Kalayna Price delineates one aspect of voice in a Magical Words post “On Voice and Timing”, that being, as indicated in the title, timing. If you think about the greatest musicians, their ability to pull us into the music isn’t about their ability to precisely recreate the musical score like a clockwork machine, but their ability to change things. A trill here, a note held a second longer there, a staccato snap to end a phrase. It’s all in the timing.
A big thank you to Ms. Price. I believe I finally “get” voice now.
See if her explanation helps you (also scroll down for the comments): http://www.magicalwords.net/kalayna-price/on-voice-and-timing/
Blog: Vote
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
You should vote next week, or RIGHT NOW if your state allows early voting.
Your vote matters. Republican, Democrat, Monarchist, Libertarian, black, white, Asian, Native American, woman, man, … HUMAN.
For 70 years, woman fought for the right to vote. Some states and localities initially didn’t restrict voting based on gender, but gradually, deliberately franchise whittled down to white, male property owners only. Elected officials matched the voting demographics.
In a country where “no taxation without representation” had been a battle cry, women (and non-whites) could not use the ancient fighting words since taxation required right to property and money – and they had no legal claim to either. The female’s father or spouse owned whatever she had in her possession.
Industrialization changed things, putting cracks in the restricted culture, and some early precursors to woman suffrage struggled within the cracks for decades. Then the civil war started. Women willingly put their cause on the back burner to support freeing the slaves and granting them rights as human beings, being well aware of what being property felt like.
When amendments thirteen (prohibition of slavery), fourteen (all people USA born or naturalized are citizens regardless OF COLOR), and fifteen (all citizens have the right to vote regardless OF COLOR) were crafted, the women who had fought so long and hard had hoped the words would include OF COLOR AND SEX. Gender equality wasn’t included. The fifteenth amendment passed Federal Congress on February 26, 1869. Less than a year later (February 3, 1870) enough states ratified the amendment and the voting rights for ex-slaves took effect nationally. (Seven states took their time, with the first one taking an extra year, 1871, and the last one ratifying the amendment on April 8, 1997 … yep, just 21 years ago.)
Time passed, as did three more amendments. None of them dealt with suffrage.
Grinding wheat and teeth, women had enough. With real experience on making change under their petticoats, women took the cause up several levels. Wyoming Territory was the first win, passing an amendment to their constitution in 1869 which remained when they joined the Union ten years later. Women attacked the states for state-by-state amendments and the federal for an overreaching amendment with silent protests. They had no vote and therefore had no “voice”. Arrests of the silent protesters shocked those with the mentality of protecting women.
State by territory by state they made their cause heard. Nineteen more states passed amendments to their constitutions over 48 years. Wars work faster, but women took their patience of drudgery tasks and pushed and prodded. They even managed to change President Wilson’s opinion on the matter toward the end of the Great War. In 1918 the amendment was presented to Congress, and the Senate failed to pass it by two votes. Fifty years of work stopped.
In 1919, it popped up again thanks to a Republican representative from Illinois. Republicans, at the time, strongly supported suffrage, believing in the power of the individual means supporting the rights of all individuals; the Republican Party was birthed out of anti-slavery and pro-suffrage. (That changed – grrr. Hey, blogging here, I am allowed to have asides with my opinion. Again VOTE!)
The amendment passed the House, the more responsive of the two bodies having just undergone the every two-year election cycle, with 78% – well above the two-third required. Then nineteenth went to the Senate who just the year previous had shot down a similar measure by two votes. This time it passed by two votes. The 1918 elections meant the Senate seats had changed six in the Republicans favor. Yay, election years!
Finally a live amendment, states reviewed the nineteenth for ratification – quickly thirty-five states approved including the twenty already granting franchise at the state level – but one more state was needed. The southern states having had everything forced on them by the “progressive” north for the last fifty years fought back the constant change and demands the only way they could and shot the amendment down.
Tennessee was it – the only one left to vote. One of the five states still leaving the fifteen amendment unratified (and, in fact, the last state to ratify the African-American right to vote in 1997). If it didn’t pass, the whole process would begin again. The year of our Lord 1920, over a year after the amendment got through the Senate, and decades after the battle started.
The Tennessee State Senate passed the amendment without difficulty. The State House was another matter. Initially the amendment matter was attempted to be silenced after a week of hard lobbying and debate simply by tabling the measure, an action ending in a 48-48 tie. Yellow roses (indicating pro-suffrage) knew a dead-lock would finish things when the final vote was taken. The Red Roses, including one 24-year old and youngest member of the state legislature, Harry Burn, had great confidence.
Then Harry Burn got a letter from his mother. Wearing a red rose and clenching the letter, he voted quickly with a single word … changing everything.
Ending a fifty-two year battle by women on the establishment intent on locking them out.
The next day, after successfully hiding from the initial lynching mob in the state’s building attic, Harry spoke on his last-minute change before the assembly. “I know that a mother’s advice is always safest for her boy to follow.” Presumably, from this statement, a lynching mob is less dangerous than a Tennessee mother.
One vote gave us the right to vote. And that vote was a young person in a low-level state legislature. Your vote matters; every political office matters.
Vote.
In case you were wondering, it took another sixty years for the remaining twelve states to ratify the 19th with Mississippi being the last in 1984 – only 34 years ago.
Again, women HAD the right to vote in several states before the 1800s and THEY LOST THAT RIGHT.
Black and other non-white races still are fighting for their franchise to this day, as are women, because some idjits are constantly looking for loopholes.
Idjits being elected.
Idjits you need to stop.
Vote.
I will not hold a gun to your head to make you vote, but I will fight against anyone keeping you from voting.
Your vote matters. A single vote changed woman’s rights.
Vote.
Bibliography:
“19th Amendment” (viewed 4 November 2017)
“The Mother Who Saved Suffrage: Passing the 19th Amendment” https://www.history.com/news/the-mother-who-saved-suffrage-passing-the-19th-amendment (viewed 4 November 2017)
“United States Senate elections, 1918” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Senate_elections,_1918 (viewed 4 November 2017)
Flash: The Caxinourilor
freedigitalphotos.net
Rating: Mature
Frenetic energy washed the gathering as two strangers entered the court. Dieter tasted it back in his throat; the flavor did not carry the crazed insanity of the newly turned, which worried him. As the Caxinourilor for Regele Leopold, he was introduced to every childer at his or her rising. These two were outsiders, young without a master, at a time he did not need any further complications.
Status-climbing Jeannette reached the couple first. The cold emotional energy of the older vampires carried curiosity, but none would risk the social stigma of naïve inquisitiveness. Only his rare gift of empathy let him realize they cared at all about the strangers at their door. Younger kin stared openly, but left the initial confrontation to Jeannette and Dieter.
Jeannette sniffed. Her First Gift after the change was hunting scent and had the added advantage in her mind of being condescending those beneath her.
The two young things were so wanna-bes, it hurt. The boy face was unlined, but more importantly to his new species, his eyes were young. Dusty baggy jeans hung low, but not the new modern low, more like the eighties. So just about thirty years, old enough to leave a master with permission, but young enough to be nothing but trouble. The girl was in a similar neo-Goth outfit, a look finalized and sharpened in the nineties. Modern gladiator spiked sandal-boots, with short-shorts and a black tube top. Lanky hair hung to the newcomer’s waist.
For a moment, Dieter imagined digging into it, holding the neck bare for nibbles and licks. He froze his face so his attraction to the girl would not show. Interesting, he had not felt sexual attraction since he past his century mark. Was her First Gift seduction?
“And who might you be?” Jeannette welcomed the two without an ounce of Southern hospitality.
“Bert,” the lad extended his hand. “And this is my sister Hilly.”
Jeanette looked at his hand like Bert was offering a dead, bloodless fish. He paled slightly before swinging it towards Dieter.
Taking pity on the child, the enforcer shook it firmly. “May I ask if those are nicknames?”
“What? Oh, yeah, we heard the South is more formal.” The boy and girl shared a short glance. “I’m Hildebert and this is Hilda.”
“Oh, you are twins.” Jeannette relaxed a little, her underlying confusion fading. The scents must have been close to identical.
“Have you traveled far?” Dieter extended an arm to the buffet chained to the wall.
“Not really, just from Philadelphia.” Bert answered for the pair as they walked through the crowd. “Red-eyes are great.”
“You flew?” Jeannette asked.
“Sure.” The boy halted in the middle of everything. “Wait, we need to pay our respects to the honcho. Can’t eat his food without doing that.”
“The king.” His sister interjected. “Sorry we aren’t good with the language yet.”
Jeannette disappeared into the gathering. Leopold did not hide his annoyance with her preening.
Spying Leopold in his black, carved antique chair, Dieter led the couple over. They immediately sank before him, clumsily, but at least coached in proper protocol. “My liege, may I introduce Hildebert and Hilda, lately of Philadelphia?”
“We are pleased to welcome you to Our Courts. What draws you to Our Lands?” Short and thin by modern standards, Leopold’s voice still resonated with authority.
Bert responded. “We wish to stay for a time, Your Eminent-iness. A year and a day.”
A year and a day was a sanctuary request. What threats were these two bringing to his door? thought the enforcer.
“Such a request is within Our powers, so long as you abide by Our laws and rule. If not, Our Caxinourilor will see you do not need the sun to turn you into dust.” Leopold dismissed them with a wave of his hands.
Ancient court manners directed Dieter to offer an arm to help Hilda up. Her bare hand on his felt like a brand. Bullocks, he did not need this. Never expected it. And certainly never wanted it. His eyes narrowed when she showed no matching reaction. At her age, she should have jumped out of her skin.
Dieter dropped her hand as soon as manners dictated. He scanned the crowd deeply a second to make certain no one noticed. He did not need anyone to come after his dragoste in retaliation for a punishment he had enforced for the Regele. “If you do not have a place to stay, may I offer my abode as shelter?”
The woman looked at her brother. “Thanks man, we’d appreciate the offer.” Bert again spoke for the couple.
“Then let us be on our way so you can be settled comfortably and safely before dawn.”
***
The place was not his true safehouse. As enforcer, Dieter often guested newcomers until they could develop their own nest. The fortress resembled a simple house from the outside, but gave him plenty of protection via traps and electronic monitoring to secure Leopold’s host responsibilities.
By the time they arrived, the burning on Dieter’s hand had settled into his gut. The woman was on the edge as well, though strangely in more control than the enforcer.
“You,” Dieter growled at her brother, “go. Down a flight, second room on left. Blood’s in room. Don’t leave until nightfall. All the security measures are up, and I don’t need you killed. And you…” Dieter gripped Hilda hair, using it to direct her movement, pushing her back, breaking the plaster when they hit the wall.
Her fangs bit into his tongue while his nipped her lips. Blood raced through Dieter’s system, leaving every cell ignited with passion and life. He vaguely remembered ripping her shorts off, while her legs pushed his trousers down his hips. He speared her, uncaring if her brother had left the room or not. Within seconds, he pulsed in her, continuing the circle of blood and life. Deep within her, mind and body, he sighed, collapsing into unconsciousness.
(998 words – originally appearing at Breathless Press 12/1/2013 for the 10/7/2012 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format 10/29/2018)