Dr? Who?

Did you know that Veganism was started by people that raised cattle and livestock? 
As a protest against industrial farming. 
Because these farmers thought industrial farming of animals was cruel and unusual. 
 Think about that. 
Really think about it.
The people that raised, slaughtered, and sold livestock were the ones that started Veganism. 
As a protest. 

Let me tell you the story of the Kansas Farmer.  
Specifically that of my grandfather. 


I don't know the whole story, just the parts I saw. 

He was a sharp shooter in the army.  
Pistoleer specifically. 

When he was nearing the end of his life he could barely stand but he walked to the barn every morning just before sunrise.
And I would walk beside him. 
Feeding the barn cats mostly at that point. 

Because there weren't anymore horses. 
Or chickens. 
Or Cows. 
Or Hunting dogs. 
Or even an annoying ass goat trying to head butt you off the picnic table. 

See. 
When I was a kid.  
The grandparents place was on farm amongst a handfull in the area. 
They all worked together. 
Helped each other get the hay in after the cutting. 
Working with the horses. 
Replacing roofs.  
You know, the kind of stuff that people help each other with when all you have to offer is your hands and your back.  
But to farmers?  
That's more valuable than gold. 


I would hear Grandma and Grandpa talk about things when they thought I was outside. 
When I was sneaking in to get a jolly rancher or into the room that had the little shelf of books from the dollar store. 
People dumped trash out here. 
Still do. 
Just go look at the local trail head.  
Looks like a garbage dump. 

Furniture. 
Trash. 
Pets...
That's where Wee Man came from. 
Somebody's Christmas kitty dumped out in the country because they didn't want to take care of him. 
Hell, that's where most of the barn cats came from. 

Anyways.  
So yeah. 
People would just come out and dump trash. 
Where we grew food, where we played. 
Where we lived. 

As the farmers got older and died their land would be auctioned off. 
That was the deal that everyone made with each  other.  
Kept it fair for everyone.  

Well...
Until the horse pasture was sold.  
Farmers, hat in hand, everything they had.  
Lined up to make their bids. 
Knowing it didn't matter who bought it, that it was a horse pasture for turning the herds out during the spring. 

Even pooling resources, couldn't stop the land from being sold to developers. 
People that had never, and still never, worked the land a day in their lives. 

As more and more vehicles drove on the road. 
Mismanaged waste from surrounding businesses and housing developments poisoned the ground water that fed the well.
The water my family grew up drinking. 
I made the mistake of making a pot of coffee once with tap water.  
I'd been living in the city too long. Habit. 

It looked like an oil slick.  
Like the water they pulled those ducks out of during the oil spills. 

As Grandma got older and forgetful we had to throw away a number of coffee pots because they weren't safe to boil water in after running well water through them. 

But hey. 
what do I know?
 
I'm just poor kid from Kansas. 
Who ate free breakfast at school...
Thanks Huey.   
I would have been even more hungry without those. 

Who ate at pancake feeds regularly. 
I thought it was a treat when I was kid.
A party.  
Fuggin stacks of pancakes, all the syrup you want, orange juice AND chocolate milk.  
Bro!!
Didn't realize it was because we didn't have enough grocery money. 

Who.  
When the stretches between breakfast and dinner seemed too long and all I had was a jolly rancher to  suck on would eat a hand full of dry dogfood while feeding the puppers so my stomach wouldn't rumble so much. 

Where most of our cereal and canned goods came from garage sales and catching stuff a day past the expiry date or too dented for regular store shelves.  

Who's entire Sunday afternoon (after Grandma got back from church) would read the paper and help clip coupons while fantasizing what it would be like to have fancy toys and clothes that didn't come out of a garbage bag. 

So when I tell I met Justice O'Conner once, in the halls of the Supreme Court.  
Understand something. 

I take my responsibilities very seriously. 
I don't Lie.
I honestly don't even think I'm capable when asked a direct question.

I might joke, or be foul mouthed, or even be offensive just to avoid having to answer
But I don't Lie.
  
So when I tell you everything I have done since I was old enough to know what was what was in service to that one person. 
My only reader. 
My only follower. 
The only reason I ever posted on social media. 

I took an oath. 

I walked through those doors ready to raise holy hell. 
Hopping mad and ready to sit there until I could argue my case. 

'Cause that's something you have to understand about me.  
I've been defending myself in court since I was 16 and got my first parking ticket. 

I'd been injured wrestling. 
Was working on a play and was teaching science lessons at the local grade schools. 
So I parked in a space that was designated handicapped parking during events.  
Still a couple hours before people should start showing up.  
Didn't worry about parking between the lines because the lines were double painted and it was difficult to tell which space was which and I was a kid in a hurry. 
So I argued my case, in front of the officer that left the ticket. 
That was charging the maximum fine. 
I wasn't even trying to argue I didn't deserve the ticket. 
Because I admitted I didn't go to move my car until people started showing up.  
After the small area was reserved for handicapped parking. 
The judge had me pay the minimum fine for double parking. 

Lesson learned. 

Why was I so mad? 
I'd just spent the last 10 years in Klan land. 
Look up and do your due diligence on "The State of Jefferson" and get back to me. 

Trust me, if you have any empathy for human beings you'll understand why I was ready to fight anyone that got in my way. 

I walked through those doors. 
The halls were empty except for an old blond lady behind a desk. 
I nearly shit my pants. 
We weren't supposed to be in the same state together, let alone the same building. 
I nodded the way I do when I acknowledging anyone to let them know they're seen. 
I kept walking. 
Don't even think I broke my stride. 
I walked down the hall. 
Looked at those massive doors and saw a set of stairs just past. 
Needed to collect my thoughts real quick. 
I had to have been going crazy. 
No fucking way. 
I found myself looking at massive portraits hanging on the wall.  
Bigger than life. 
I looked at Justice O'Conners portrait. 
First Woman on the Supreme court. 
A conservative judge that ruled in favor of abortion.
A woman that made their voice be heard by writing their own opinions and decoupling them from those of their male counterparts. 
Did I agree with everything Justice O'Conner had an opinion on? 
Absolutely not. 
But She was arguably the most ethical person that ever put on those robes.

Studied that painting for a long fucking time. 
Felt like forever, light headed, heart pounding. 
Holy shit. 
Balance, breath. 

I walked back up to the woman behind the counter. 
She gave me the most Mona Lisa of smiles I'd ever seen on a living person. 
I tipped my hat and walked out. 

I sat on the steps for awhile. 
Fucking legs didn't want to work. 

Was I crazy.  
I touched my chest where one of the bullet holes is. 
No. 
Well. 
Yeah.
I'm crazy.
But not insane. 
The scars are real. 

Then I went and dropped my resume at the Smithsonian. 
Systematically walked through every Museum and monument on the National Mall. 
Went and bought a Tote bag at the NPR headquarters and chickened out before leaving my resume. 
Yelled at the clouds about why motherfuckers leave trash in the street while some dudes sitting on the stoop looked at me wondering if I was tweaking or not. 
Shared water and snacks with some homeless people. 
Went to Philadelphia to follow a lead and ended up touring most of the university campuses there to see what kind of programs they had and realized.  
"I'm almost a decade older than anyone else on the campus, should I be applying to be a professor or a student? 
Why not both?"

Wrote my PHD thesis on the train to New York and dropped it at the Museum of Natural history in hopes of getting a cosign from Dr. Tyson. 
Did the same systematic study of the Museum, Central Park, and most of Manhattan that I did at the national mall. 

Writing and taking notes every step of the way. |

Then, running low on funds because another purpose of going to New York was to go the Bank Of America and Chases headquarters to see about a loan until I could secure research funding.
Bank of America chased me out. 
Chase froze my debt with them until I could settle things with BoA.  
On the condition that when the funds were made available in full those funds would go through Chase and pay out all of my debts from that account before I could access any further. 
Trade off is I have to pay a monthly militance fee on the account. 
I don't like it. 
But, someone has to verify the account activity each month so... 
Fair trade for someone's 15 minutes. 

After all.  
My billable hour is $60. 
$1 a minute. 
The ladies at the Tailor's shop taught me that. 
Price is negotiable for educational programs and non profits. 
Hell. 
Want me to do a story time?
Fruit snacks and a bottle of water and you got a deal.

So at $60 an hour, being unable to accept research funding or leverage any sort of credit for the last 7 years. 
You do the math. 
Meters running. 

BoA sent the debt to collections without arbitration. 

So about every six months I get a letter from a debt collector "representing" BoA. 
I respond with the settlement amount that increases the longer it takes. 
And I've been doing that same dance since 2019. 
Because every penny of the BoA debt is interest on a principle amount I paid off years ago. 
They know it. 
I know it. 
The debt collectors know it. 
So they just keep kicking the can down the road. 

And that's how I use my "White Privilege". 
 To wait out and fight the banks. 
Frozen in place until it settles. 
I'd really like it to settle. 
There's a school and a hospital waiting for those funds to become available. 
When the truth is I grew up poor. 
Never forgot where I came from. 
And am willing to work for grocery money. 

"Oh, but Mem you've been buying gaming consoles and a computer and this and that." 
You want to know where that money comes from? 
Selling off my retro games collection. 

The same collection I used to run a library program in Oregon teaching about the history of gaming.  
A program, that as far as I know the kids that would come and hang out are running to this day. 
A program that turned into a convention that takes over most of the town around the Library and features local artists and crafts people. 

The same collection the banks refused to accept as collateral when I was trying to secure research funding. 

The same collection that turned into this computer that I'm typing this out on right now. 

So yeah. 
When I seek teachers. 
 I seek out the best. 

Not because I think I deserve it. 

Because I'm not just trying to open the door for the kids behind me.
Kids hungry in a country that has more food than it knows what to do with. 

I'm ripping the doors off and turning the building into a park. 

Oh yeah. 
And Ice.
After this settles.
 
You're next.