Thursday, September 23, 2021
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America is Made of Woven Steel. We Can’t Let Our Bond Fray

Self importance is a natural part of a 3 year old’s DNA. After all, most of their world lives above their reach. So they must draw attention to their needs. But when self importance is the keystone to a big persons persona and character, it leads to a lot of stupid.

The Cuomo Syndrome: I do it because I can. I have the keys. I determine what is true and what is false. I have the power. There is no stopping me now.

Politicians, along with their media illusionists and corporate partners, live in a world of reflected glory where authority and control over our lives are practiced without any accountability. While the rest of us are left to fill our gas tanks and buy groceries.  

From cages to reception centers. From closed schools to open borders. From energy independence to energy dependence. From camping in our national parks to encampments all across Manhattan and beyond. From peaceful protests to city blocks in flames. Who is kidding who? Truth matters.

Things That Last

When we are at our best, America designs and builds bridges that bring us together. A togetherness that breeds prosperity.

Bridges constructed for the first time of woven steel, inspired us to reach beyond yesterday’s failings, unleashing a nation of unlimited potential. From the Golden Gate Bridge to the Brooklyn Bridge, Americans know that when we imagine together, stick together, work together, create together, we can accomplish anything. But today, a band of brothers we are not. Hate builds bridges to nowhere. 

What should it matter that one bowl is dark and the other pale, if each is of good design and serves its purpose well? Polingaysi Qoyawayma, Hopi.

When we isolate, we wither. When we isolate we die. We are made for togetherness.

Once upon a time the Big Apple was magical. On one of my last visits, my son and I spent a weekend creating memories that still brighten my pathway. We hiked from mid-town to the financial district enjoying the architecture and the little shops along the way. I still remember a stationary shop and a chandelier shop we stopped at. I bought some stationary but the chandeliers remained behind.

After going out to the waterfront and admiring the strength and integrity of the Brooklyn Bridge, we finally stood at the base of the World Trade Center and talked about getting a drink at Windows on the World. But the day was slipping away and the hike back to mid-town was before us. The play we were going to see that evening, would not wait on us. I told my son, don’t worry, the World Trade Center will always be here. We will catch it on our next visit. The date: December 2000. Months later, I stood on the shoreline of Long Island Sound, and watched the smoke from the World Trade Center fill the skies.

The Twin Towers’ destruction brought a renewed determination that America had not experienced since WWII.

Their destruction brought to the foreground, an understanding of, who we are, why we are here and where we must be headed. Unfortunately, this awakening was short lived.       

At the age of 73, I am back in school learning some of life’s most important lessons. My teachers: 6 year old Sydnee and 3 year old Adi. The little ones cut through all the chaff. Reality isn’t lost in a mountain of fog. For them, actions speak more loudly than words. Papa, It’s Friday. Donut Friday. Where’s the donuts?

Life is about getting it done. Life is about confronting the choices. The good, the bad, and the ugly ones.

Choose to do good. Choose to love. We must will ourselves to do what is right. For the right nutriments at the right time, provide the energy and the resolve to finish the journeyA journey that is most complete, when we make it together. (For) a man alone, is in bad company. 

Hate does not build bridges. A tribal America will not prosper. A tribal America will not survive.

Find a neighbor and share some donuts. Back in 2000, the play my son and I saw on that December Eve, was Contact. Something we all need. Especially our children.

By: John Tammaro

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