Self-Actualization

Lindsoe,  R. Nyk

Ritts, V.PH.D,

Adolescent Psychology   

My grade

8-Oct-2014                                       

In his 1943, “Hierarchy of Needs paper, psychologist Abraham Maslow (1908-1970) theorized ultimate need of humans is to be truly “self-actualized.” Displayed here, the final need before “self-actualization” is “self-esteem; for my purposes, I refer to it as positive self-esteem.

            At the end of my first Psychology paper, I asked the question, “Why dad?” I doubt I will ever get an answer but as of now, I no longer care. I took the childhood hours of isolation and abuse and turned them into learning about the world as I saw it. I took the pain of rejection and used it as a tool to mold myself into the extrovert I am now. I took the phrase I often heard: “You can’t do it!” and turned it into “I can’t do it if I don’t at the very least try!” I learned to face adversity with the only true weapons I had, my brain and my determination to overcome. Even when homeless, I never completely gave in. Yes, there many obstacles in my path; some of my own making, others not, but all lessons I needed to learn.

            My one fear was arrogance! For some reason, I was, and still am, terrified of being characterized as arrogant because I am not. I am confident in the knowledge I possess and the knowledge I want to learn. Maybe, I do not have the academic credentials of my peers but they do not possess my the life credentials I do.

            Do I have positive self-esteem? Yes! Have I realized self-actualization? No, not yet, but I’m still a work in progress; the day I stop trying is the day my doctor says “He’s gone.”

In Celebration of my acceptance at the University of Kansas…I repost my first college paper done in 2013

Happy Mother’s Day – Your loving adopted son.

My very first college essay.

Let me know what you think.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY – Your loving adopted son.

Sunday, three A.M., a full moon illuminates a forest alive with night creatures. Their eyes aglow as if in wonderment as our emergency beacons pierced their world. Only the sounds of our engine broke the silence as we raced through the night. No need for the siren. We were ten miles from nearest major road, fifteen from any community, and hadn’t seen another vehicle since leaving the hospital garage.

My partner, a trainee, scanned the road ahead for sign of our contact, while I wondered what we were rushing into.  Our only information was a call received by the dispatcher requesting an ambulance to an isolated rural area. The caller did not reveal the nature of the emergency and his location directions were vague. He said someone would meet us on the main highway. That made me nervous! I decided to radio the dispatcher for police assistance. Unfortunately for us, that meant a town constable at home in bed twenty miles away. On the plus side, the dispatcher at the time was my wife.  As she still liked me back then, she decided to request assistance from the Sheriff’s office and two other police departments from adjacent jurisdictions.

Suddenly, headlights flashed in front of us. A large, dark car pulled out from the shoulder of the road, its driver waving frantically as he turned onto a narrow, gravel township road forming a dust cloud between us.

Maintaining a safe distance back, we followed the dust cloud at a slower speed allowing my partner time to note any landmarks he could radio to the dispatcher.

Abruptly, the dust dissipated, revealing the dark car with its mysterious driver stopped next to an open grassy area.  A dirt drive wound its way up to what appeared to be an old basement dwelling set a good eighty yards from the main road.  We stopped a few feet behind him.  As I exited our rig in an attempt to approach and question the driver, he silently pointed toward the dwelling then sped off down the gravel road.

My attention turned to the dwelling. It was built into a low knoll, had large front windows, and, thankfully, was well lit both inside and out.

“Something is missing!” I whispered. “No vehicles, people, dogs, or movement.”

Slowly we inched our way up the drive. When almost parallel to the dwelling, it made a sharp right to an exterior wood frame, enclosed stairway atop the knoll. There, in the glare of our floodlights, lay the body of a woman. Dressed in a blood-stained, pale green nightgown, her head turned away from us, she appeared to be sleeping, but it was an illusion. A visible gunshot entry wound to the back of her head told a different story.

Immediately, my instincts and training took control.

“Shut off all our lights, give me the radio and get your ass out of this rig now!” I yelled to my partner. “Hide in the woods beyond the tree line!” Next thing I knew, he was running fast and low towards a large pine tree.

I radioed the dispatcher, “We have a D.O.A with G.S.W.!  We need help fast!”  *

Now, what do I do?  Sitting in a darkened ambulance, on a small rise next to an illuminated earth home I was a sitting duck. If the shooter was still there, one well-aimed bullet could have hit me or the large oxygen tank, and I’m history.

What if there are more victims inside? What if they’re still alive? Call it brave or insane, I had to know. It was my job to save lives.

Flashlight in hand, I made my way through the shadows to the stairwell. Standing to one side, I held it high above my head to disguise my position and actual size as I peered through the door. Looking down inside, I saw a single, bare bulb ceiling light, a child’s bicycle in a corner, and a second body at the foot of the stairs. Like the woman’s, it was face down in a pool of dark, clotted blood. It was a man with a gunshot exit wound in the back of his head.

The bicycle – is there a child here?

Against all policy, I descended the stairs, stepped over the man’s body, and entered the living room to a scene of rage and anger. Furniture overturned appliances broken, dishes shattered, and personal items everywhere but no child.

Cautiously I searched the remaining rooms. I saw a lifestyle of modest income and means but no child or other bodies. I was relieved.

Retracing my path, I exited the house to call in what I’d seen. As I reached the radio to give the dispatcher update, the dark car returned. As if in slow motion, it appeared on the gravel road and turned onto the grassy area in front of the dwelling.

Cutting my report short, I waited and watched. The car stopped, and the headlights went dark. The only light was from the dwelling and beautiful, setting full moon.

I could hear the radio in the ambulance. The dispatcher telling me the closest police unit it still fifteen minutes from our location.

Estimating the distance from my position to the car at forty yards, I realized I did not have a lot of options.

I saw one person, the driver si ing behind the wheel staring at the house, seemingly ignoring me.

Was this a neighbor, friend, relative, curiosity seeker or…?

I had to know! I couldn’t be out here in the middle of the wilderness trapped by my own fears.

Heart in throat, I walked to the car while keeping my flashlight trained directly at his face.  I got within ten feet when he suddenly turned on the interior dome light and looked at me. He was young, late teens, early twenties, long black hair, average size, and scruffy appearing. He had a strange, peaceful look on his face, a calmness as though his burdens were gone.

As I a attempted to talk to him, I visually searched the interior of the car with my flashlight. He had no less than eight guns and what appeared to be hundreds of rounds of ammunition strewn over the seats. He asked me, “Are they dead?” I believe so.” I replied.

“Good!” he yelled as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and sped through the grass to disappear down the gravel road.

There was a return to silence as a soft glow in the east announced the rising of the sun.

It was going to be a beautiful Mother’s Day – for most.

12/23/2013 by Papanyk at Nykolai.Com  

Starting College at Age 70

Note: This is a revision of a piece I wrote six years ago when I started college. I have edited it and revised a little but the principles are the same.

STARTING COLLEGE AT AGE 70

22, Oct 2013

Revised 5, Sept. 2019

Early this past spring, while enjoying an evening of solitude, I got to thinking about what I should do with the rest of my life. I had considered going into senior housing or a retirement center, but the idea troubled me. I asked myself was I really that ready to give up and surrender to old age? I could say I had a mental and emotional war with my feelings, but that would be a lie. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen, the idea of giving up my freedom now was simply too terrifying to contemplate. So what can I do with all the free time and minimal funds I have? Then I remembered the words of one of the sweetest people I know, Jina, a Korean girl who, along with her husband Bin, had rented a room from me while she was completing her Master’s Degree at Washington University here in St Louis. She said, “Papa, you go to college. I be so proud of you!”

College? I’m thinking about starting college at age seventy? Last time I was a full-time student was in 1959 when I punched my English teacher for hitting me. I left school, and he got suspended. Now, fifty-four years later I’m thinking about fulfilling my dream of going to college full time. I may be crazy but hey, why not try it? Just no coed dorms and shower rooms, I’m too modest, and I’d be too much competition for the young dudes. This could be fun!

Feeling as though I was setting out on a long trek, my first step had been deciding to pursue my dream. The next was to acquire the means to. Step one was pretty easy, step two was going to be difficult, if not impossible, or so I thought. Being retired and living on just my social security check doesn’t leave me anything extra for frills such as an education. The weak economy had wiped out what little money I had saved, and I’m not named an heir in anyone’s will. Then how does an old man with no money find the funds to go to college? If he’s smart, he looks for the same resources a young man does. In my case, it was the Financial Aid section of the St Louis Community College website where I learned about FAFSA (Free Application for Federal Student Aid). FAFSA is a gateway to many different sources of educational funding for students of all ages, and it was step two for me.

Basically, there are two ways to apply for FAFSA funding. The first is meeting with a financial aid advisor at the college and the second going online to the FAFSA website to apply. They both have advantages and disadvantages – I chose the website as it was more relaxed and I could go at my own pace. It took me about thirty minutes to complete the application, and an hour later, I received an e-mail notification that I had been approved for funding and assigned a student identification number.

Did I mention I did this at about midnight on a Saturday night? You read that right, I had taken a significant step towards realizing a lifelong dream on a Saturday night. I had no idea what I wanted to study, nor did I care at that moment, I just wanted to call somebody and shout it out, I AM GOING TO COLLEGE! Not a good idea, most of my friends are in bed at ten, so I chose option two, a bourbon Manhattan and the late news.

I had to wait until June to take step three, the ACT Compass evaluation testing. (I’ll cheat a little here and do a copy-paste so the information is correct.)

“ACT Compass is an untimed, computerized test that helps your college evaluate your skills and place you into appropriate courses. ACT Compass offers tests in reading, writing, math, writing essay, and English as a Second Language (ESL). You will receive your ACT Compass test results immediately upon completion of testing, and your score report will include placement messages informing you what courses you should take and how to register.” “ACT Compass is not used like a traditional test. There is generally no “passing score.” Rather, ACT Compass scores indicate areas in which you are strong and areas in which you may need help. Thus, ACT Compass can identify problems in major subject areas before they disrupt your educational progress, giving you the opportunity to prepare more effectively for needed courses. You and your institution can use scores from ACT Compass tests to prepare a course of study that will be appropriate, relevant, and meaningful for you.”

June arrived with the late rains of April and the ACT Compass evaluation test. I was in a state of nervous excitement as I went to the Assessment office, where I signed in and got instructions on what to do. Then a lady ushered me into a computer lab (a room which has desks with computers on each) and assigned me a seat. I’m not a computer geek nor do I type well, so I was very thankful the test was not timed. It was interesting though: easy to read, thorough and not graded. Once I was comfortable with the keyboard I dug my heels in and did my best. It took a while to complete, but that didn’t bother me, I was having fun and actually learning something new. When I was done, I had to wait while the lady printed out the results for me. My high school math scores were midline, college math was almost non-existent but English comprehension, and composition were 94 and 97 respectively. That took me completely by surprise.

Step four was Student Orientation day! Then came butterflies in the belly. The first significant challenge for me in college was: what do I wear to go to school? I’ve worn uniforms or work clothes all my life. I probably have only one nice shirt and pair of pants. How could I go to school and impress everyone if I wasn’t dressed cool? Scary as it sounds, I decided to just be myself but cleaner. Arriving on time, I found the conference room without a problem and immediately decide I’m the oldest person within a hundred miles. I see bright, shiny young faces everywhere. I knew they were all staring and talking about me I remember it. Oh well, I’m a pretty impressive guy, so I joined the throng, listened to the somewhat dull introduction, received the handouts and waited in line to see a counselor. When my turn came, I was asked what courses I planned to take, and I said, huh? I hadn’t considered exactly what classes I wanted to take, I was just happy to be invited to learn. We talked about my ACT Compass scores and what they felt I should do, I said ok, let’s do it. Next thing I knew I was sitting at a computer signing up for American History, Philosophy, Honors English and Algebra. I was committed or should have been. I hadn’t been a full-time student since 1959, and I had signed up for twelve credit hours of college? I hear Jina’s beautiful voice, “I’m so proud of you Papa!” That did it, bring it on.

My next stop was for my student ID card and parking permit. This was an easy one. I just needed to prove I was me, have my picture taken and sign all sorts of papers. My official ID card was mailed to my home in about three weeks. Final stop of the day was Financial Aid. I had come prepared with copies of my online applications and related confirmations. As I handed the paperwork to a pretty young lady at the front desk, she looked at me as though I were insane. “Your paperwork is all in perfect order! I just need you to sign two forms, and you’re done. Welcome to Meramec.” Guess I got that part right.

Walking out of the office, I felt a little overcome. After so many years my dream was close to becoming reality yet something seemed to be missing. I meandered around campus for a while orientating my mind and spirit to the alien environment. I didn’t know what to expect or how I would actually feel once I started classes, I just had to know what it felt like to walk on campus. Everything was so different and yet warm and inviting. I decided to just sit under a tree to watch people and listen to the wisdom of nature. As I sat there thinking, I noticed something to my right that seemed out of place. There, under a small bush, lay a weather-worn paperback book with torn cover. I picked it up to see if it had an owner’s name in it – nothing. A student needs books to help learn (insert light bulb here)! I am now a student, I need books so that I can learn!

Step five was the college bookstore, but I didn’t have the money to buy the books I needed, or so I thought. Since it didn’t cost anything to browse the shelves for the books I would need, that’s what I did. I could always come back when I had the money. As I was browsing a clerk offered her assistance. I told her I was a new student getting orientated and was looking for the books I needed for my classes. I showed her my class schedule, and she picked out those available. When I told her I didn’t have the money to pay for them yet, she asked me if I was getting financial aid. I said yes, and she asked to see my student ID card, which I didn’t have yet. Then she asked if I had a student ID number and that I had. She entered my student number in the bookstore computer system, and much to my amazement told me I was approved for a bookstore account which meant I could get books on credit until my financial aid funds were released at the end of the fifth week of class. All I needed was my official ID card, and that wouldn’t arrive for three weeks. I was both excited and a little disappointed. I wanted a textbook. I did have enough cash on me to purchase one of the required novels. So I did just that. Head high, shoulders back and proud as a peacock I strutted out of the bookstore holding my very own requisite college book. I was finally an official student.

Finally, step six was first day of class, and I was about as nervous as the Grand Dragon of the KKK at a Martin Luther King rally: I think I would fare better though. Walking into class, I got those stares, you know, the ones that said “what’s he doing here. Is he someone’s grandpa? Maybe he’s the janitor.” Nope, sorry kiddies, I’m a student too. In class, we did self-introductions just like back in the 1950s Each student said his/her name and maybe a little about themselves. My turn comes, and what do I say? Come on Papa, do the obvious, tell them what they’re wanting to know. “I’m Dick. I’m seventy years old, and I’m realizing a lifelong dream of going to college.” Reactions ranged from applause to stunned silence and a few, “No way man, you ain’t that old.” My favorite was the “Awesome dude!” Regardless what was said, the tone I felt was one of acceptance and warm greetings and it was genuinely Awesome Dude!

Step seven, at long last, I was in college and ready to learn. Unfortunately, I was learning things about myself that threatened to compromise my education. First is hearing, I am gradually going deaf. My hearing was damaged years ago when I worked as a paramedic/emergency vehicle driver. The driver’s cab of emergency vehicles was not insulated sufficiently to mute the sound of the sirens mounted on the roof, directly over our heads. No one thought of taking precautions to protect our hearing. I developed Meniere’s disorder, a fluid imbalance in the brain which presents as tinnitus, vertigo, and progressive hearing loss. Just when I have the chance to realize my dream it may not come because I couldn’t hear and couldn’t afford hearing aids. To my good fortune, the college has helpful people, and I was steered to the Access office where they do more than their best to help disabled students. The Access staff outlined what I had to do to get help. I needed doctor’s letter stating I have an impairment and current Audiograph test results to verify the primary diagnosis. Once everything was done and approved, they provided me with an electronic amplifier to use in classes and letters to each professor instructing them to work with me. Things were going good until another issue arose. I cannot do algebra. I carefully listen to the lectures, take copious notes, do as much of the homework as I can but cannot retain the formulas long enough to pass the quizzes and exams. Back to the Access office and this time it wasn’t so easy.

Short term memory loss is pretty common to all ages but increases as you grow older, what I’m experiencing isn’t the same. With short term loss we usually remember within a short time, not now, this time it’s a total block. As my doctor told me, “You may be experiencing a cognitive impairment. We need to set up an appointment with a Neuropsychologist for a complete evaluation.” Earliest I can get is 12/10/13, just before end of semester. The Access office can only give me limited assistance until a final diagnosis is made, I’m screwed in algebra. My hopes and dreams of becoming a space explorer are gone. But I refuse to give up trying.

Am I going to stop at step seven? No, each new challenge is a chance to learn something new. I came to school to learn. I am learning at school. I will remain in school to learn for as long as the Spirits allow me to. I’m a fighter! Today, if I were asked the most important thing I’ve learned in the process of starting college at my age, I would have to say – know yourself and do not be afraid to voice your limitations. If you are considering enrolling in college, please take the time to meet with the counselors in the Access Department well in advance of the start of classes to discuss your challenges and the support available to you.

Living Mitakuye Oyasin

A true story.   

At the turn of the 21st Century, I received my Social Security Disability which allowed me to stop living on the streets and get a place. I found a furnished room with bath and carport (I had no car), in the Casa Grande no-tell Motel on Rte 66 (Watson Rd.) in suburban St. Louis. It wasn’t the Days Inn, but it was out of the weather. The rules didn’t allow cooking in the rooms, so I got a small grill and put it in the carport, there to enjoy my grande cuisine; also got a microwave and small coffee pot.

The motel still exists; it’s on a business strip, heavily trafficked with a small creek and wooded area in the rear; probably more like a drainage ditch. I suspected there were raccoons and possum back there, so, rather than throw away foods I couldn’t eat, I would place it in a small dish I secured on a low tree limb. It worked; miraculously, every night, the food disappeared. Lol.

What I also began to notice was raccoon paw prints in my carport, so I got dry dog food and a couple of plastic bowls from the dollar store and put it out there and the miracle of miracles, every night the food disappeared All that remained was soggy crumbs in the water bowl.

Slowly, as the raccoons and I got accustomed to each other, I would leave my room door open while sitting just inside; there to watch the action. To say the least, it got interesting. I had eight regular visitors and a couple of party crashers. I tried getting them to wear name tags, but they refused to be labeled.

On the perimeter of my carport was a concrete curb. The side away from my door had bushes where the raccoons had blazed a trail to the food dishes. Almost as soon as the sun started going down, they would appear; most heading towards the food but one occasionally marching right into my door and checking things out. Then one night, she sat at the top of the curb trying to climb down, but her front paws weren’t working.

As I watched her struggle, she would look at me cautiously as if to say, “Will you harm me?” Using my walking stick, I put some food on the end and slowly pushed it her way. She was hungry but couldn’t feed herself. It was then that I noticed that both of her front arms were broken so I walked closer and put food within her reach.

In the morning, I called a friend who worked with wild animals and told her the story. That afternoon, she brought over a trap, and we set it up. The next morning, there was my little friend waiting patiently, as if to say, “About damn time you got up!”

We took her to the rescue center vet who operated, repairing both arms. The vet stated it appeared she had attempted to climb into a dumpster when the heavy open top flew over and smashed her arms before she could avoid it. I think the operation took about six hours. When done, the vet said he wasn’t sure it was going to work, but hoped so.  He kept her for a few days of observation then released her to my friend who would nurse her. She also paid the $ 6,000.00 vet bill.

Following about four weeks of recovery, she was fit enough to leave so we took her back home and released her. She stayed close then one night didn’t come. She was gone for maybe four weeks when she suddenly reappeared at my door with four little ones in tow. They walked up to me as if to say “Hi, gramps, we’re home.” No fear, no anger just as if they always belonged.

It was a reminder that Mitakuye Oyasin is real.

No Price on Humanity

Recently, I met a young person who is going through a very traumatic period of life that is quite similar to what I endured for a number of years. I do not want to embarrassed or cause any further issues so I will simply call refer to this person as DC.

While growing up, DC was subjected to a pretty rigid life in a controlled religious environs that stifled creativity and individual thinking. When my friend was able to escape the situation, DC was preyed upon by sexual predators and cast off like a used paper towel to end up living in a vehicle, rather than a home with love and caring.

One day, DC met someone who offered a place to stay in return for physical activities, none of which are important to this paper. I only mention them to set the proper tone. Desperately in need, DC agreed to the terms, a mistake soon regretted. However, not to be defeated, DC endured while establishing a community presence and finding work. All the while with the specter of home life demands weighing heavily. Predictably, those demands erupted into a very bad situation placing DC at risk for injury or worse, and once again homeless.

In the short time I have known DC, I’ve discovered a very sensitive and remarkably intelligent human being who has made some bad mistakes, none of which cannot be overcome. The problem now being an overabundance of advice confusing issues!

Yes, I said advice; DC is getting a lot of conflicting advice which is having a dramatically negative effect. It would be horrible for someone not in such a critical situation but is even worse for DC.

Who to trust?

Who to believe?

Who to turn to for help?

To the best of my knowledge, no one in DC’s group of friends has offered more than temporary assistance. It’s tragic, but true of human nature. Can I blame them? No, of course not, they think they are acting in DC’s best interests when in actuality, they are acting in their own by thinking theirs are the only answers to the problems.

This is the current state of many “humanitarian efforts” these days.

I think it great that people sympathize and are willing to help but unless they’ve walked the path, they can never empathize. To push someone such as DC to make life changing decisions at this time is almost an assault on emotions however necessary it may be. That may only be accomplished by one who has walked in DC’s shoes.

As I have done before with others I have promised DC housing, sustenance, help getting into college and whatever other things I can do to make life easier and more successful without unwelcome stipulations. DC alone must make the decision to accept or not. Whatever that decision is, I will not abandon DC as I was once abandoned by my family.

The problems being:

Who can DC trust?

Who can DC believe?

Who can DC turn to?

People who know me say Nyk, you’ve been crapped on before by people you’ve helped, why continue?

My answer is because I’m me.

I believe that if we do not try to help those in desperate need, we not only work against them, we may even be defeating ourselves. Imagine, perhaps DC might go on to create a cure for hunger or cancer; may become a great world leader or even possess the knowledge to end wars. We do not know, nor will we until we step up and believe in people like DC and keep our promises to help.

Hugs to all who need one today.

Papa Nyk

Humanity or Insanity?

The Choice is Ours.

Is American becoming, or has it always been, the land of hypocrisy?

“If the state will not trust its citizens to act temperately and sanely without restrictive legislation, let the state use its laws to enforce temperance and sanity. If the state will not allow the conscience to function, let the commands of conscience be unheeded, and commands of state are enforced-if possible. The state has arrogated to itself the power of defining goodness; let it now do its utmost to make its definition felt. If the power of defining goodness is substituted, let the enforcing agency of goodness be substituted, too; i.e., let the police, and not the conscience, make men good. “It is true,” in effect say the mass of people to the state, “we shall render your silly laws lip-service, for you are powerful, and such oral obeisance is expedient-and cheap. But further than that we will assume no responsibility; yours is the law-yours too is the duty of enforcing it.” So, the game begins. Men gravely nod their approval of paternalism when uncompromising zealots are present but thumb their noses and drain their cups when only laughing companions are near to see. Even what sincere observers of Prohibition there are violate with impunity other laws the rationality of which is certainly more evident.” (Ruddy, 1929)

“Hypocrisy is the art of affecting qualities for the purpose of pretending to an undeserved virtue. Because individuals and institutions and societies most often live down to the suspicions about them, hypocrisy and its accompanying equivocations underpin the conduct of life. Imagine how frightful truth unvarnished would be.” [Benjamin F. Martin, “France in 1938,” 2005] (Online Etymology Dictionary: “hypocrisy”, n.d.)

“John Stuart Mill when he observed:

The disposition of mankind, whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own opinions and inclinations as a rule of conduct on others, is so energetically supported by some of the best and by some of the worst feelings incident to human nature, that it is hardly ever kept under restraint by anything but want of power. On Liberty 28 (1885).” (Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring., n.d.) (Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring., n.d.)

Today, in our Congress, those we elected, pay, and deserve respect from are working long hours on two major concerns in America:

  1. How to keep out borders open, eliminate all our national security and introduce a neo-Socialism.
  2. How to legalize infanticide.

Am I the only one to see the hypocrisy?

To attain these goals, the people who allegedly work for all Americans, are busy concealing facts, disregarding witnesses and ignoring experts in both the national security sectors and medical fields.

Those we trusted to protect us, are playing political games with the lives of every American citizen.

            How, in the name of all that is sacred to our country and society are they getting away with this?

            They can do it because American voters have surrendered to false promises and hypocrisy of radical Socialist agendas.

            Here is a list of Federal Laws Providing for the Death Penalty.

                        18 U.S.C.  23326        Murder involving torture.

                        18 U.A.C.   1958         Murder for hire.

                        18 U.S.C.     111         First Degree Murder.

                        18 U.S.C.   1091         Genocide.

                        18 U.S.C.   241, 242, 248, 247 Civil Rights violations resulting in death.

My questions regarding this are:

Which, if any, Federal Laws would be broken by the recent enactment of the New York state Abortion law allowing for full-term abortions?

If a Planned Parenthood clinic receiving taxpayer money (Federal funds) to operate performed abortions which, if any of these Federal Laws would they have broken?

            If a doctor working in a facility that received Federal Funding, which, if any of these laws would he or she have broken by leaving a delivered, full-term infant then setting it aside to die because the mother didn’t want it.

            The same questions must be asked of the clinic staff and of midwives.

            I, for one, feel that the use of taxpayer funds murder innocent children is a Federal Crime and should be treated as such.

Bibliography

Federal Laws Providing for the Death Penalty. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from https://deathpenaltyinfo.org/federal-laws-providing-death-penalty

Furman v. Georgia – MR. JUSTICE BRENNAN, concurring. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from law.cornell.edu: https://www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/text/408/238#writing-USSC_CR_0408_0238_ZC1

Online Etymology Dictionary: “hypocrisy.” (n.d.). Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from Etymonline.com: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=hypocrisy

Ruddy, C. J. (1929). Hypocrisy–A By-Product of Paternalism. Notre Dame Law Review, 4(6), 374. Retrieved 2 1, 2019, from http://scholarship.law.nd.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4403&context=ndlr

Civilized?

Read an article this morning about those states that are passing legislation to allow the murder of innocent children under the guise of a woman’s right to choose. In essence, what this appears to mean is that a woman can go out, have unprotected sex, get pregnant then has nine months to decide the fate of that that innocent child.

The most grotesque part about this is there appears to be no limit in the number of times a woman can do this.

THAT IS NOT CIVILIZED. Fact of the matter is, that is beyond the comprehension of the average person. It is making an innocent child the sacrificial victim of an out of control society.

While I acknowledge that there are exceptions to everything, I personally feel that any woman who demands the murder of an innocent child because she failed to protect against creating an innocent child should be sterilized.

These woman who demand we respect their decisions because it’s their body, should not be allowed to use it as an execution chamber. I also feel that any man who fathers a child because he also was too self-absorbed to prevent creating a new life should held accountable for the future of that child and, allowed a presence and voice in that child’s future.

It is long past time we stop making others pay for out irresponsible actions.

“Dear Papa Nyk, why should I have to give up eighteen or more years of my life because I made a mistake and got pregnant?”

Dear Ms. ****, Why should an innocent child give up his or her life because you made a mistake and got pregnant?