“Tell me you love me.”

T

Challenging the Myth of Modern Love

“The Greeks had the good sense to break love into four levels: “storge” was kinship, “philia” was friendship, “eros,” sexual and romantic love, and finally divine love was known as “agape.”

They might interpret the sentence, “I love you, but I am not ‘in love‘ with you” to mean, “I feel philia toward you but not eros.”

However, while the Greeks gave love four spots in the dictionary, this emotion was feared.  Both Plato and Socrates saw this emotion as, “Love is a serious mental disease,” and “Love is madness.” Moreover, it was the Greeks who coined the phrase, “lovesick.” [1]

Here I go again, stirring up the brown; acting the man of the town. However, given the state of our world, I thought I might add a thought or about what I feel is missing.

For the past few years, we have been inundated with attacks on our vocabulary relative to whether it is conservative, progressive, independent or just plain ridiculous chatter inspired by those challenged in the arts of logic and reality.

“He told me he loves me, but how do I know?”

“She said she loves me, but she did not say it in a politically acceptable manner, so I am wondering if she does love me.”

It appears to me that the use of the phrase, “I love you,” is more of an emotional tool than an expression of true love. To my thinking, saying I love you projects an emotion that may, or may not be honestly felt by the person saying it because it has become mechanical for too many people.

I see nothing wrong in saying I love you, but let us not allow it to become complacent.

“I told you I loved you when I left this morning; all you said was “same here.” Gee thanks, love the effort!

            “I Love You” are three words, not proof of love; anyone who thinks they are is, at least in my book, a damned fool and ignorant of what love is.

            I would rather hear, “I am here for you because I love you.”

            “I am always on time to pick you up for dinner because I love and respect you.”

            I will never understand how people can relate sex to love. “I am going to go home and make mad passionate love to my mate!” Bullshit, you are going home and have wild sex, at least you hope you will. The love part comes in after the sex when you realize that the person in bed with you did not charge for his or her services, did not jump up right after climax to hop in the shower and leave, but stayed in your arms.

            Men are notorious for not saying I love you but equally notorious for using non-verbal forms to communicate their feelings. In relationships, women, or partners if you prefer, tend to listen for the words of love; they want oral communication. Men, on the other hand, tend to show their feelings of love and dedication to their mates with actions. The problem being, their mates, do not always see, or maybe appreciate those actions.

            Do you want examples? OK, how about the man who makes you breakfast, helps with household chores and kisses you, just because you are with him. Is he sending a message? I think so.

            What about the man you are dating; is he always on time to pick you up? Does he take out to beautiful places for dinner, maybe to the theatre? Does he act protective or dominating?

            There are millions of ways a man demonstrates his feelings for someone via actions, but there is only one way to say: “I love you!” You have to ask yourself if not hearing those words every day is more important than all the little things he automatically does because it pleases you.

            Now someone is going to ask, what about the gay relationships? What about them? You have to be a biological male to want to demonstrate your love, nor do you have to be a biological female to receive that love. The key, at least for me, is both the verbal and physical demonstrations of love and union between humans, they are equally important.

“What one does is more important than what one says as in Politicians need to be reminded that actions speak louder than words. This statement, a proverb found in many languages, including ancient Greek, was first worded in precisely this way in English in Colonial Currency (1736).” [2]

I say, look to the mountain to hear the voice in the wind.


[1]              How Do You Define Love? | Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/contemplating-divorce/201502/how-do-you- (accessed February 20, 2019).

[2]           The American Heritage Dictionary Of Idioms : Npr, https://www.npr.org/books/titles/173059631/the-american-heritage-dictionary-of-i (accessed February 20, 2019).

Assume

Let’s break down the word assume: Ass U Me. How’s that sound now?

Sounds to me like you and I are both asses if we assume, but we do it, almost every day of our lives. Ever wonder why that is?

My guess, based on my experience and obvious lack of information along the way, is that we’re too easily influenced by hype, need for acceptance and just plain lazy asses.

I have, or I should say had, because I think they disowned me for reasons they either refuse to state or seem to have some form of proof of my guilt, in either case, none that I know of are aware of the big picture, but they assume I am guilty as charged.

I will be the first to admit there are issues, many of which I’m guessing none of these assumptive rejectionists are well informed about, nor do they care to be. What they do care about it their ability to speak freely on matters pertaining to me as though they are experts on my life and philosophy.

What fools we be, to bend the knee, and blindly reject what we refuse to see.

I’ve learned that through writing and, probably more importantly, editing, the value of citations (aka cites) to substantiate a point; example:

“Jimmy stole Johnnie’s laptop! He should be arrested!”

First question that comes to my mind now is, how do you know this is true?

“Umm, er, ahh, well Johnnie told me.”

Second question, how does Johnnie know?

“I dunno, but he said he did.”

Pretty classic assumption on the part of junior, but not provable in court, unless of course, Johnnie has a pic, a recording, or a witness, all of which are, in essence, citations.

Had junior said, Johnnie said, “Sally saw Jimmy take his laptop, you would have a citation.” (OMG, I’m dating myself with those names; can’t wait to mention Spot.)

The issue is this, an assumption is nothing more than unproven idea based on no facts.

In writing, especially college level, citations are critical to every paper a student may write. If you’re quoting (citing) a comment in a book, you need to identify the book, author, page(s) and other information that allows the reader to access your proof.

In a court of law, what is a witness? Basically, a witness is a living citation. (I’m stretching the definition, but hey, if you’re starting to understand better, it’s worth it.

So let’s take this a step further with Credible Citations. Obviously, in our little scenario, Johnnie is not a very credible witness cause he “dunno.” He is assuming, not proving his claim.

In writing, one must employ credible citations or risk being challenged for plagiarism (stealing someone else’s ideas, work, etc.) which can destroy your hopes of ever being truly believable.

Would this be a credible citation: “Sally said, Johnnie said Jimmie took his laptop?” Nope, why look at the spelling of Jimmy. Small error, but a critical one, especially in court.

How about this one: Sally said Jimmy showed her his “new” laptop and she saw Johnnie’s name scratched on the bottom. Yes, you have witness and source point for verification.

The same principle holds true when writing example: “We have only just begun to fight.” With the quotation marks, we are claiming it as a direct quote, not an assumption. Now we need to show who or what we’re citing and where we got it.

Franklin D. Roosevelt, October 31, 1936, https://patriotpost.us/documents/284. This is a very simple format, college level formats are more detailed, but it gives you a path to the statement.

Learning to cite, or if you prefer, quote people, places or things in your life decreases a tendency to assume facts are true, rather than proving them because assuming makes an ASS of U and ME.

Assumptions are the tools of the trade for those wanting to control people. “You must believe me because I know everything.” But cannot prove anything but you must assume I do.

Everyday, I hear people demanding we make assumptions on matters because their information comes from polls, experts and people who know. What pools, what experts and what people, they rarely provide those details.

I think the most tragic and demoralizing display of assumption by propaganda came with the attack on the Covington Catholic High School student who simply stood and smiled at someone harassing him, and his fellow students. Allegedly, through the use of well edited video, propagandists manipulated the situation to make it appear that the student was the culprit in this incident. As a result, assumptions were made by many radical extremists that the high schools kids were at fault and threats were made against them. Thankfully, an unedited version of the incident showed that the high school students neither physically nor verbally assaulted anyone but, because the original edited video was shown by mainstream media without citation, it was assumed to be correct and the threats keep coming.

The result of these assumptions may affect innocent people for years to come. It could have been avoided, but no wanted to verify until it was too late.

How should love be shown?

I’m curious, do all people demonstrate their affection for another in the classic romantic manners of the movies and novels?

Of those that do, can you tell me if that truly makes a difference or are there other acceptable ways to demonstrate your love for another.

Now, before anyone chews my head off, I want to explain something here. I’m not against the romantic love as seen in movies and novels but I am against fake demonstrations of love.

Anyone else ever heard this phrase? “You have to love me for me! Accept me as I am!”

Umm, nope, I do not have to love anyone period. I love those I choose to love and I show my affection for them in a thousand different ways, but I don’t say I love you 100 times a day, nor will I kiss you if you smoke.

Why you ask? Because you didn’t smoke when I fell in love with you, your smoking clings to your clothing and hair and I don’t kiss ashtrays.

Will I still love you? Yes.

How about hearing this: “Why don’t you snuggle and spoon with me in bed?”

I’ll start with the smoking issue here and add on, you breath also smells like stale beer and vomit, you just puked all over the bathroom and I think you forgot to unzip your pants to piss.

Will I still love you? Yes.

Why can’t we afford to go on a nice vacation like others do?”

Since you’ve been using your credit card everyday to buy packs of cigarettes for $8.00 each in your fancy bars, I’ll start with your smoking. I’ll follow that up with the bar tab receipt you dropped showing how much you enjoy aged Scotch and imported ales. Last, but certainly not least, let me mention the money you lost at the casino when you said you were at your friend’s house. Don’t worry, I covered the car payment but there may be an issue with the rent again, and it was nice of the Casino to take your car keys and send you home in a cab.

Will I still love you? Yes.

By the way, I forgot to mention someone by the name of Kelly, not sure if it’s a guy or a girl, keeps calling for you. Won’t tell me what it’s about or give me a number for you to call back. Not sure what it’s all about but the last call came in from a state STD clinic.

Will I still love you? Yes.

You ask why there is no longer any affection between us, it’s pretty simple.

I love you, always have and maybe always will, but now I have to love me more.

Alone again.

As a child, I spend a lot of my time alone, isolated from the rest of my family by the strict rules of my mother who believed in encapsulating in certain areas of her life. It was tough for me, especially when I started elementary school because I couldn’t bring any friends home which would have been great if someone had taught me how to make a friend. I did, in time, make one friend; his name was Henry, and he was my buddy.

In retrospect, I think Henry found me and took the effort to become my friends because he saw the loneliness. Today, thinking back on our friendship, I honestly think Henry was the first person I loved; not love in the physical sense, but the love of having someone care and caring in return. We met in the second grade, and during those years, we walked to school together, talked and collected glass containers for their deposit, but he never came to my house; he couldn’t because he was black and I was a strawberry-blonde white boy with freckles. But we were real friends. I lost track of him the summer of my fourth grade when my family moved from our apartment over our store on Franklin Avenue in Minneapolis, Minnesota to a house in Bloomington, Minnesota where I had to walk to school alone; alone, scared and lonely.

            It wasn’t too long after we moved that Henry and his family also moved. I don’t know where they relocated to, nor could I find out; I had lost Henry. Several years later, when I was working as an Emergency Room Orderly (we weren’t called ER techs back then) at Minneapolis General Hospital, a white lady came in with someone who was ill. She looked very familiar to me, but I couldn’t place where I knew her from. After her friend was taken into an exam room, she came over to me and said, “are you my honey boy?” There was only one person who ever called me “Honey Boy” and that was Henry’s mom because she said my hair looked like golden honey in the summer sun. I melted! I literally lost it. I put my arms around her and broke down, crying like a baby right in front of everyone. My charge nurse, Olive Lindbergh, took us into a private room and told me to take a break.

            The first thing Henry’s mom said to me before I could even ask, was “He’s gone, baby. Henry is with God now.” I almost fainted. (I’m not ashamed to say, that as I write this now, I am crying.) When I calmed down, she told me told me that Henry had tried to contact me by leaving notes at our store, but I never got any of them. He had wanted me to know where they were moving to and how to get in touch, but I never got them. Then, the summer of his eighteenth birthday, while sitting on the front stoop of their house, Henry died peacefully. His heart, the biggest heart I’ve ever known in my life, gave out. Henry had been born with a heart defect, but he never told me because he didn’t want me to pity him, he wanted me to be his friend.

            I stayed in touch with Henry’s mom and dad until they too left me to join Henry. That was when I really started to feel alone. I had no family support, nor good friends in my life. I had only me and a need to be with people. I went on in my life searching for a connection, a person who would be like Henry; kind, smart and always there for me; needless to say, I made a lot of tragic mistakes along the way. Now, I’m seventy-five years old and alone again, only this time it’s worse than ever before because I’m losing some of my survival abilities to cope with life in this day and age.

            I am alone again, and this time it’s different. (continued in “Loneliness”)

I AM ME, IT’S ALL I CAN BE.

IN WANT I DID DISCOVER,

FIXED TRUTH HAD COME TO ME.

MY SEARCH SUSTAINED BY PAIN,

DEAR LABOR MEANT TO BE.

SEEKING TRUTH, I OFTEN FLOUNDERED,

INNER VISION BLIND TO FATE.

SELF-LOATHING’S HEAVY BURDEN,

BORN DOWN BY PRIMAL HATE.

ONCE THOUGHTS OF SELF DESTRUCTION,

BROUGHT ME TO LIFE’S DOOR.

THERE FACED BY SELF-WORTH CHOICE,

MY LIFE JOURNEY IN LAST SEASON.

PASSION TO EXPLOIT SORROW,

DID YIELD TO TIME OF REASON.

NOW I STAND BEFORE YOU,

A MAN TRIED IN FIRES OF TIME,

NEITHER PERFECT NOR SPECIAL AM I.

AWAITING DEATH’S TOLL TO CHIME.

LET ALL WHO ASK REMEMBER,

TO CHALLENGE THOUGHTS OF FEAR,

FOR EACH MUST LEARN AS I DID,

TO ALWAYS KEEP MIND CLEAR.

FOR I AM WHO I AM,

IMPERFECT AS I MAY BE.

I AM WHO I AM,

PERHAPS YOU ARE LIKE ME.

Change – Curse of the Self

I’m an avid student of human behavior, not for any class but for myself; to know, understand and accept myself in the hope of being the best me possible. Oh sure, I have quirks and desires that may not fall into any real mainstream regimen, but then that’s me.

What I’ve found very interesting, yet extremely troubling is a growing inability for people to accept that they have faults; even more so, that they are either unwilling to or incapable of appropriately dealing with those faults.

My fault is not my fault it’s your fault for causing my fault because you have more faults than I have, ergo your faults caused my faults because I didn’t have any faults I’d admit to before I met you and your faults now you have forced to me think about my faults which are actually your faults projected onto me.

Now here’s the logical question: “I’m lonely, why can’t I find happiness with anyone? Someone who will love me for me.”

Whoa, did I actually say logical question? My bad, how about a self-motivated logical question? Ya, that fits better.

For me, building a solid and lasting relationship takes cooperation, dedication and a willingness to change. A willingness to sacrifice old habits and misconceptions to open one’s mind to new potentials and understanding of the self and the importance of that self in a union with another.

Changes in a relationship do not work. Changes in people, do. Look beyond the obvious to see that which is within. Remove the mask, to that others might know you.

Unite with the self in peace and harmony before you attempt to unite with another.

How Political Correctness Destroys Communications

I had a very interesting experience the other day at the AT&T store. I stopped in to get some help and a young black technician assisted me. He was very polite, extremely intelligent and from somewhere in Africa. 

For those who haven’t noticed, I have very long blonde hair, and I will admit I get a lot of compliments on it, especially since I’m 75-years-old.

So what happened?  I’m glad you asked.

This young man, through a natural instinctual impulse, asked me about my long hair. He wanted to know if it was real, natural and what it felt like.

He said; “It looks like silk, may I touch it?” 

I said yes, please do and so he did. He told me he had never touched a white person’s hair before. “It feels so different than mine. Thank you for permitting me to learn.” 

Did you get that last key word? “LEARN”

Was it politically correct for me to allow him to answer his questions, or should I have denied him access as it would have been politically incorrect?

Know what? I don’t care whether it was or not, he was curious, polite and honest in wanting to know and understand. He formed no opinion of my whiteness or my politics, he merely communicated his desire to learn.

Why can’t we all do that? Why can’t we communicate our desires to learn about others?


I made a new friend at school. A brilliant and motivated young man who has physical challenges that make getting to and around the campus difficult, but he does it without help. As a matter of fact, he declines offers of help if he knows he can do something by himself.
He’s great to talk to but a little difficult for me to hear as I am going deaf, but believe me when I say, this young man has boundless wisdom and kickass determination to accomplish his goals. But he is always alone in his struggle because other students and many faculty members are too politically correct challenged to step up and communicate that they don’t understand what drives him and what he needs to excel. 
I believe that political correctness has made these people very insecure. They want to know, they want to understand, but they don’t dare ask.
It is because of this that my friend often sits alone, at a table in the library. When he sees me coming, his face lights up and get excited because I come to see him, to talk to him, to communicate with him, to make him feel a part of the student body, to let him know he is important. 
As we sit and talk, I often see other students furtively looking; I can sense their questions and insecurity. They too have challenges, they too need real friends, and they too, need to learn how to communicate as my friend does. But how?
Is it politically correct to invite oneself into another’s conversation? Sure, as long as you’re polite.Is it politically correct to ask about a person’s obvious physical challenges?Sure, if it’s done politely.Is it politically correct to offer assistance when concerned?Sure, if you see a need and ask if you might be able to assist. Is it politically correct to say, “I want to be your friend, will you be mine?” Who cares if it’s politically correct or not, making a new friend is more important than being politically correct. Is it politically correct to ask what causes a person’s challenges?Sure, my friend doesn’t want pity, he wants understanding and communications.
I wonder what would happen if those who sit and stare got up, walked over to my friend and said: “Hi, I’m …., may I ask you a question?” Would that be communicating, or would it be politically incorrect?