• Cynthia Dagnal-Myron


I was sort of half-listening to CNN or MSNBC the other day when one of the talking heads said something like, "Only in America could a discussion of a cop shooting be interrupted for news about a mass shooting that gets interrupted by news of another mass shooting that gets interrupted by news of another cop shooting..."

And all I could do was nod my head in agreement. As I clicked over to Netflix hoping to avoid them cutting away to yet another gun-related atrocity before I escaped.

I had clicked away from Netflix in the wee hours of that morning only to discover that eight FedEx employees had been killed. In the wee hours, right? Must've been 2 a.m. here in Tucson. I'd stayed up to finish a binge and never expected to hear about another massacre before finally trudged off to bed.

I've finally reached my limit. I can't watch cop trials, protests, sobbing or screaming relatives, panels of pundits discussing same--I try. But...too much "déjà vu."

No, really, it all looks the same. The results and reactions are always predictable. Nothing will be done. Nothing new will be said...

I was never this cynical before. But then, America was never this weird before.

We have actually got a "Ku Klux Caucus" forming on the Republican side of Congress that's dedicated to "Anglo Saxon" principles or some such crap--Marjorie Taylor Greene again. Trying to keep her name in the news.

I'm about a quarter Scottish according to my DNA. Not technically Anglo-Saxon, but you know what they really mean. Wonder if being very distantly related to the real Robert the Bruce would impress them enough not to lock me up when their Second Civil War gets underway?

Nah. Some race traitor gave me that Scottish DNA. Wouldn't save me.

Honestly...I don't even know what to say anymore, when there's a new shooting. Or some QOP idiot starts yapping about Antifa or Black Lives Matter or whatever they're blaming everything on these days--I can't keep up.

I just know that this isn't the America I grew up in. Except...yeah, it is. It was always under there, festering. I'd get a little peek at it during my summers in the South. Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, we went to, me and my parents. I could feel the evil in the air, as a kid, but I didn't understand it yet.

I knew my fifth grade teacher, Mamie Till Mobley, had lost a son to it, too. Emmett. I'd seen the awful pictures of him in the casket she left open on purpose, so people could see what they'd done to him. Hoping they'd never forget.

Couldn't see how anybody could forget what they'd done to him. That image burned itself deep down into my young brain...

Now, they just shoot Black boys. For being Black boys. Black women, too. In their beds, even. Open season on BIPOC people, period--Sikhs, at the FedEx place the other day.

The pandemic kept me inside for a year for fear of getting COVID. I may stay inside a good while longer for fear of being shot down in a grocery store. Or shot by a cop if I get stopped for some kind of minor traffic violation.

Turned 69 this year. So I'm closer to the finish line now. And I never thought that home stretch would be so treacherous.

Take care of yourselves. I mean that.

Cause these days you need to say that stuff out loud. Just in case...

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