Bill Cosby Speaks Out

Bill Cosby

"They're standing on the corner and they can't speak English. I can't even talk the way these people talk:

Why you ain't,
Where you is,
What he drive,
Where he stay,
Where he work,
Who you be...

And I blamed the kid, until I heard the mother talk. And then I heard the father talk. Everybody knows it's important to speak English except these knuckleheads. You can't be a doctor with that kind of crap coming out of your mouth. In fact, you will never get any kind of job making a decent living.

People marched and were hit in the face with rocks so we could get an Education, and now we've got these knuckleheads walking around.

The lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal. These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids. $500 sneakers for what? And they won't spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics. I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.

Where were you when he was 2?  Where were you when he was 12?  Where were you when he was 18 and how come you didn't know that he had a pistol?  And where is the father?  Or who is his father?

People putting their clothes on backward: Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong?  People with their hats on backward, pants down around their crack, isn't that a sign of something? Isn't it a sign of something when a girl has her dress all the way up and has all types of needles [piercing] going through her body?

What part of Africa did this come from? We are not Africans. Those people are not Africans; they don't know a thing about Africa ...I say this all of the time. It would be like white people saying they are European-American. That is totally stupid.

I was born here, and so were my parents and grand parents and, very likely, my great grandparents. I don't have any connection to Africa, no more than white Americans have to Germany, Scotland, England, Ireland, or the Netherlands. The same applies to 99 percent of all the black Americans as regards to Africa. So stop, already!

With names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed and all of that crap .. and all of them are in jail. Brown or black versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person's problem. We have got to take the neighborhood back.

People used to be ashamed. Today a woman has eight children with eight different 'husbands' -- or men, or whatever you call them now.

We have millionaire football players who cannot read. We have million-dollar basketball players who can't write two paragraphs. We, as black folks, have to do a better job.

Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids, you are hurting us. We have to start holding each other to a higher standard. We cannot blame the white people any longer.'

~Dr. William Henry 'Bill' Cosby, Jr., Ed.D."

The Old Apple Tree

Apple Tree - My Reading Tree

I don't know why, but last night as I was lying in bed waiting to fall asleep, I thought about an old apple tree we had in our side yard when I was a child.  It was an ancient, gnarly old thing, and so big I couldn't wrap my arms around it.  

I remember it had the most wonderful bark and one side of its trunk looked just like the wrinkled face of an old man with his eyes closed.  I always imagined that he had been trapped inside the tree forever by a wicked witch, and he was just waiting, hoping for a genie to come along and break the spell to set him free.  

Just above the old man, a long, thick branch grew straight out in a perfect right angle from the trunk, and right over it, a round hole had formed in the tree itself. 

That branch is where I loved to be.  I would climb up there and sit and read for hours, my back against the trunk, legs stretched out in front, with an extra book tucked in the hole for later.

But that old apple tree wasn't just for reading and climbing.  It was great for other things, too.  We kids used it as 'base' when we played tag and it was perfect to hide behind for hide and seek. 

I remember once having to memorize the poem, "Trees", by Joyce Kilmer when I was in the fourth grade and thinking, She must have had an old apple tree, too, when she wrote the poem.  Ours also had a nest of robins in its hair.

Daddy always said he wanted to take the tree down.  "Lord knows, it isn't good for anything but dropping leaves in the fall and it hardly ever grows an apple."  He and mama thought it was such an eyesore, and maybe it was, but Mother Nature saved him the trouble.

One hot summer night, we had a huge thunderstorm and it woke all of us from sleep.  One particular flash of lightning was much brighter than the rest.  Daddy said it sounded like the lightning hit something nearby and he went downstairs to look around.  

When he came back upstairs, he told us the lightning had split the old apple tree right down the middle.  

I loved that tree.  It was like losing a good friend.  But I always wondered if the lightning broke the spell and set the old man free ... 

   

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

There Comes a Peace in Knowing

Doug "Doc" Kempf - KIA Vietnam '69

Through my other blog, Memoirs From Nam, I have now met several people who knew and served with my husband, Doug, ("Doc"), a combat medic in Vietnam.

I will be forever grateful to these men for the courage it took to reach out, because I have come to understand just how difficult it is for them to talk about brothers they lost in country.

From a widow’s perspective, their reaching out creates a precious Bridge -- a Bridge of Healing. To hear from someone who knew and served with their loved one, someone who may have been the last to see him alive, does help answer some of the agonizing questions they have held inside for decades.

Several years ago, I received a letter from Lt. James McCraney, who was Doug’s friend in Vietnam. On the day Doug was KIA, the Lt. had also been part of the same mission.

With his permission, I posted that letter here on the blog, where it touched the hearts of those who read it. (Memoir of Douglas S. Kempf, 8-2-10)

Later, I spoke with Lt. McCraney by phone. It was emotional, but it was good for both of us to talk about Doug, and I respect Lt. McCraney for the courage it took to contact me. There were some things he couldn't share, but it was an important beginning. He said some day, maybe he would be able to tell me more.

Time passed and we stayed in contact through occasional emails. Then I received another letter that touched me deeply. It was as difficult for me to read as I know it was for him to write.

I extend my most profound and sincere thanks to you, Lt. James McCraney.

"Cathy, 

I am ready to tell you as much as I can remember about my short time with Doug. As I have mentioned to you before, I was a brand new 2nd Lt., not two months out of Officer Training. I was flown out to a remote firebase on the edge of a small, rice-growing, and very poor village. This firebase was so small that I can't even remember the name of it. 

As I made my way from the landing zone, (which was in the middle of a road), I saw a couple of guys walking toward me. One was the guy that I was to be replacing, and the other was Doc Kempf. Both had big smiles -- one was about to go home, the other just seemed genuinely glad to meet me. 

I went in and met the officers in charge of the artillery unit at this base. Doug hung around and after a while showed me my "hooch". It was mostly sandbags on top of a metal culvert and an air mattress. His was next door. I don't think that Doc ever met a stranger. Everyone knew and loved Doc. He was our friend and our Mama. He treated us for everything, listened to us, and he always seemed to know what to do. We hung out a lot whenever we both had some "free" time. 

I was asking him about being in country and where all he had been He stated that the infantry had been south in the area called Pineapple -- this is the Mekong Delta. All were glad to get out of there, since it is wet and muddy most of the time. It was the rainy season when I hit Nam and it would rain until November or December. 

Doug and I would sit in our hooches and fight the rain, play cards, but mostly we would talk. Since I was single, I didn't have family to talk about like he did. He always talked about you and about how he missed you, since you had only been married for such a short time. He showed me pictures, too, however, the only one that I can remember clearly now was a photo of his niece. He was so proud of all of you. 

Doug and I didn't know when the next mission in the boonies would be. Bear in mind, this would be my first mission. He tried to prepare me as best he could, telling me what to take and all. Also trying to let me know what to expect even though you can't explain it. Remember, he was my Mama at this time. Even though I was an officer, I never looked at Doug as an enlisted man. We were just friends, that's all. 

One day he asked me to go into the village with him to "doctor" some of the kids. They were dirty and had skin rashes on them. Doug would treat them and give them what "goodies" that we had. I was always fearful that someone would kill us down there, but he didn't seem to worry. He had a great big heart especially for the kids. I told him that he would make a great doctor someday. 

The time came for my first mission. We were going out for about three days recon. Doug didn't seem to think that this would be much. He was right. They were uneventful, long days of scorching heat -- when it wasn't raining. Since I was an artillery officer, I walked in the formation in the middle with the Captain, his radio, and Doug, We were always together, or close. 

Upon coming in from this mission, Doug worked on us as best he could. He called me a big baby since he cut a boil out of my back. I told him that he could at least give me a stick to bite on. He just laughed. 

Doc treated scratches, sore feet, or whatever else ailed us. We would laugh and talk and dream of home and loved ones during this downtime. Doug always liked to hear me talk, since I was from the deep South. I told him that he talked funny to me and he would even try to talk like me -- I couldn't get the Yankee out of him. 

The next mission was in September. There was still a lot of rain and humidity. This mission was to be for two weeks. That is no fun. Again, Doug told me how to pack. For the life of me, I don't know how he always seemed to be in such a good mood. We had been out for one day and nothing happened. 

The second day, around 11:00 am, we were ambushed. The forward units were hit the hardest. Doug and I were in the middle of the unit and "fairly" safe at that point. They radioed back to the Captain that we had hurt and dead. This had gone on for about 30 minutes. 

Doug was listening to the Captain's transmissions. He started to go and someone pulled him back. He would look at me and me at him. He knew what he had to do. Momentarily, someone hollered "Medic". He didn't balk this time. Grabbing all of his gear, he raced up to the front. 

We thought they were gone. That was not the case. They had left a couple of guys behind just to wreak havoc on us. As Doug got close, one of them opened up on him and Doug never knew what hit him. I hate to be so graphic, but that is how it was. He did not suffer. 

After everything was really over, it was time to gather everything up. We called in medivac choppers and had to cut down trees in order for them to hover and receive the hurt and dead. 

As I got to the front and saw the ponchos on the ground, I asked who they were. Someone turned to me and pointed and said, "That's Doc Kempf". I can't describe to you -- and I mean that -- how I felt. All I could think of was, no, no, no! I uncovered him to make sure. He looked peaceful, if that is possible. 

As the chopper hovered and the grass was blowing from the rotors, I helped strap Doug into a "chair-like" device to pull him up into the chopper. The last visual I have of him is seeing him going up and going round and round with his arms outstretched. I can't get that out of my head -- and I don't really want to. 

That was the end of a too short, but fulfilling, friendship. I have shed many tears over Doug throughout these years. His death has touched me like very few have. I know that all of you feel so much more for him than I could ever feel, but I was fortunate to have been exposed to him. 

I never knew anything more after we came back in from this mission. We had a medic replacement, but no one could take Doug's place. He was discussed many times after that. 

Respectfully,
James"

 “A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

The Burning Letter

Table in the Foyer

The Burning Letter

Wading through morning's harvest 

of the mail reaped the usual 

bills, flyers and junk ads. 

Then I spotted 

the familiar lazy scrawl 

on the table before me. 

After all these years ... 

a pearl among the cow pies. 

I marveled at how the letter felt, 

tucked into the pocket 

of my blue jeans, 

first halved, then quartered, 

where misbehaving hands and mind 

won't breach ceremonial rules, 

not to touch 

or want to open it. 

I was unable to ignore the letter 

or throw it away. 

I'm not sure how long 

I walked around with it there. 

I only know 

it began to burn and blister 

and it scorched my self-control. 

It was not until I saw the jeans 

in the washer, letter and all, 

twisting and turning 

in the soapy water 

that I was even aware 

of what I'd done

just to find some peace. 

(From the Book, Anatomy of a Poet)

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“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Blast into the Past

One Saturday morning, Robert had to leave for work early at 6:00.  Not yet ready to head to the computer, I poured myself a second cup of coffee and I don't know why, but I turned on the TV.  Understand, this is something I rarely (if ever) do during the day, preferring instead to listen to music while I write, edit, or blog.

Anyway, between sips, I flipped through the meager network programming at that time of the morning.  I was searching for something, anything, to fill a few minutes, but all I could find were stupid ads for makeup, jewelry, vacuum cleaners, or gym equipment.

"The Rifleman"

Then, suddenly, I found myself in some kind of crazy time warp -- I had somehow moved through time and and I was a child again.  There in front of me was Chuck Connors as The Rifleman.   

The Cast from "Gunsmoke"

When The Rifleman was over, I went to Dodge City, Kansas, with Matt Dillon, Doc, Festus and Kitty in Gunsmoke.

The Cartrights from "Bonanza"

After that, I spent some quality time at The Ponderosa in Bonanza with Hoss, Little Joe, and Adam -- oh, and don't forget Pa.

I lost several hours that Saturday morning -- but they were good, quality hours.  It was just like old times and yet I was seeing these people and places through different eyes, through a whole different perspective.

As a child, all of these people were larger than life.  They were real.  For as long as the show was on, I was right there with them, listening and learning.

Watching them as an adult, I can now see the importance of what I was learning.  These shows all reinforced the values and lessons my parents taught -- rights and wrongs I passed to my three daughters, and I still value them to this day.

How sad to think there aren't too many quality role models on TV for today's children that reinforce parents' values and lessons.

The video games I've seen advertised are all so violent and bloody.  I wonder what they are teaching our children and grandchildren ...


“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Mothers and Daughters

A Forgotten Treasure

When I was looking through my bookcase one morning, weeding out the books I want to keep from those I will donate, or give away, I found a forgotten treasure.

It has special written all over it and it's something I will keep forever.
This tiny book was a gift from my youngest daughter, Heather, when she was eighteen.

Just before graduation, she announced that she wanted to move to Texas to live with her older sister, Carrie, for the summer.

Carrie was going to be working part time as a waitress and part time on an indian reservation for summer break from The University of Notre Dame. She assured Heather that she could also work at the restaurant with her.

For weeks, we discussed (and argued) about the move. Texas was a long, long way from our home in New Hampshire and I wasn't convinced she was ready to move away.

Then I received this book from Heather and it came with a letter. When I found the book this morning, the letter was still tucked inside. Like memories do, at times, the letter made me cry. Now I want to share it with you:

"Mom, 

Sometimes, I think you and I are one and the same. I see so much of you in me. I think that's what makes our relationship so complicated. 

It's not that I think you're trying to run my life. I know it's only that you want what's best for me -- so we stick our noses out. I've said my fair share in how I think you should run your life, but in the end, you decide your own destiny. 

So, understand that I'm not leaving you. I'm only leaving New Hampshire ... and I will survive out in Texas, because you've taught me I can do anything I set my mind to. I aspire to be the best at whatever I do and that was also something you taught me -- confidence. If I fall on my ass out there, it was never meant to be. But I have to find out for myself (like usual, I will learn something). 

I just need you by my side on this one, no matter what the outcome may be, okay? I need to know you're behind me, or else I may doubt myself and that's not the right thing for a move like this one. I am putting myself first for once. If I stay here any longer, it would be for you, and Will, and Dad. All three of you don't want me to go. 

Now, should anything happen to me, you know what I would want (just in case ... it's a long trip!) I would love visitors for the summer time. You'll get a great tan down south, that's for sure! 

I'm going to miss having you only a hug away. You've always been there for me for anything -- but I promise you, our friendship will never fade. It's too strong to ever do that. 

I'm only 18, and that means I still have about a million more mistakes to make before my life is over! Just think how many more times you can say, "I told you so." 

Please, please give me your encouragement. That's all I really need right now. 

Love, Beanie"

Needless to say, Heather did make the move to Texas, and now that summer is far behind us. It was an important milestone for her and she learned a lot, both of us did. What I learned is that I wasn't ready for her to move away yet ...

"Beanie" now has a fourth child, their third son. She has created her own company, is a wonderful and caring mother, a loving wife, a devoted daughter, and I'm proud of the happy independent woman she has become.

I've learned more from my three daughters than they ever learned from me ...

Amazon: The Love Between Mothers and Daughters


“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Sometimes You Wonder ...

Yesterday, I got an email from my best friend, Margie.

They have the most adorable dog and his name is Noodle.  He's one of those new hybrid dogs, a goldendoodle, which is a cross between a golden retriever and a poodle.

This photo isn't Noodle, but it's darn close to how he looks. Noodle's ears are longer and I think he's much cuter, too.

Needless to say, Noodle is a very large dog, but he has the sweetest, most gentle disposition of any dog I've ever known.  You can't help but love him.

Anyway, Margie's email was priceless and I just had to share it. Oh, and the names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent ... mostly, because I've known her for fifty-something years, and she's not ... (giggling)

"Good Morning, Cath', 

First, you have to realize that when Bill goes to sleep, he only gets up for a couple of things: 

1.  To go to the bathroom.2.  If the alarm goes off. 3.  Awww, and of course, if Noodle needs him, he is right there. 

Understand, I could be dancing nude at the end of the bed and he would sleep through it. (Probably a good thing, 'cause it's not a pretty sight). 

The night before last, I woke up at 2:00 and had to go to the bathroom. In the dark, I climbed over Noodle, who was sleeping on the floor, and I headed out of the room. 

When I came back in the bedroom and was once again stepping over Noodle, he decided to stand up. 

Needless to say, I went flying, arms flailing, and I crashed into the the dresser at the end of our bed. (Actually it's an armoire, but no matter how I try and spell it, I can't get it right). 

So anyway, my loving husband sleepily says, "Marg, is that you?" 

I wish I would have thought quick enough to say, "No, it's the fourteen frigging elephants that get up in the middle of the night!" 

Bill, still in bed, says, "Is Noodle okay?" 

I managed to say, "Yep -- he is fine.  He went to the kitchen and is having his midnight snack." 

Mind you, I'm still on the floor in the dark and Bill is still in bed. 

Finally he says, "Are you alright?" 

"Not sure,"  I replied. 

"Do you need me to get up?" 

 
Swallowing all my pride, I said, "Okay, I think so." 

Nothing was broken, only a few cuts and bruises ... he is sleeping well again. 

At times I think, hummmm, maybe I should yell, "FIRE!!" and then run like hell with Noodle. 

Oh that's right, Bill got one of those frigging screens for the garage and I would have to crash through that ... 

I hope this gives you a laugh, but remember, this is a true story! 

Love you,
Marg"

[A very special thanks to Margie and Bill Shelly and, of course, Noodle.  I love you all!]


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Big Little Book of Whispers

Big Little Book of Whispers

by Robert S. Cosmar

Introduction:

As we grow older, we start to question our old belief system. Maybe secretly, we even begin to wonder, "Is this all there is?"

Society, our parents, even our schools and churches, have always told us how and what to think and believe.

We sense there is more -- maybe we even 'know' there is more, but we aren't sure how to find what the 'more' actually is.

I would like to recommend a book that will help you to find your own answers. Are you ready to ‘know’ who you truly are?   ~C.J. Heck

About the Book:

The heart speaks in the language of feelings; words are the tools used to convey those feelings to others.

This book is for the aware and the newly aware, and for anyone who is ready to open their heart and look into the self.

The Big Little Book of Whispers is a 520-page collection of short insights (whispers) which speak to the heart and reveal the true nature of your inner life.

Each insight (whisper) is a view into that inner life and designed to assist the mind by creating a bridge between intellect and intuition.

For the mentally-oriented, this book may seem odd, childish, or even silly, but for those who wonder and yearn for more awareness of the true self, it will be a gateway to the eternity that exists within.

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http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/337796?chapter=1

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Reviews:

This book will help everybody wherever you are in life.

“Really, really enjoyed this heartfelt book, It’s the best I have ever read in this area of wisdom. Full of awareness shared so beautifully, and skilfully.” –Haqiqa

Seeds of Wisdom

“Simple, clear messages from the soul, with lots of room for your own wisdoms to form around the seeds offered on each page. This is the kind of book you could use for daily pondering of life and how it applies to your own situation in the moment.” –Sue Rumack (Author of “The Pulse of Awakening, How to Connect with Soul and Life Purpose”)

A Book to Enlighten

“This is a book I will cherish for a long time to come. It is not a novel to race through, but to savor the words, and comprehend and obtain the full meaning and truth, from the passage. There are over 2,000 whispers in "Big Book of Whispers", and I am unable to list all my favorite passages...they all have meaning and purpose and are unique in themselves.” –Coccotoro

“When one is ready to look into his/her self, that's when the universe conspires to let us know, by all means, about what we need to know.  And during such a mission, I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to read this book.

There is no particular way to read this book. You can turn through the pages from the beginning, or open any page, and you are assured that it will be something worth ruminating upon in the mind.”

--Divya Nambiar

“I just love this book!  It's a must read. The short insights by author are timeless, true and can be applied in day to day life to make it better.  The one who may not like to read it in a spiritual sense can read it in philosophical, or practical, sense and help oneself. There are no words to describe how joyous I am feeling after reading it.  Thumbs up!” --Disha

"There are some who will say my review of Robert's book isn't as valuable as a review by someone else. After all, I am Robert's life partner. I also edited the book, so surely I must be biased. They are entitled to their opinion, however, they would be wrong.

There are well over 2,000 whispers in "Big Little Book of Whispers". When I took on the task of editing this 520-page book, my mind tried to convince me it could be a daunting, tedious experience. It was not.

As I began to read, more often than not I found myself lost within each page, the editing forgotten, my mind and heart working together as I felt each word, each whisper, come alive with meaning.

It took me four readings to finish the editing. Each time I began, I found new truths that touched me, like a seed sprouting and growing, page by page.

If you are aware, or awakening, this is a book you will cherish. I would give it ten stars ..." --CJ Heck, published poet, writer, blogger and author of five books.

Other Books by Robert S. Cosmar:

Trilogy of Awareness: Heart to Heart Is Where We Start
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The Magic of Love and Intimacy
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Awareness: Being Fully Alive
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Robert S. Cosmar

Where You Can Find Robert:

Knowing Whispers Blog
Goodreads
Facebook Fan Page 

LinkedIn

AboutMe

Google Plus

Twitter

Amazon Author Central

E-mail Robert

[Besides being the author of four books in the spiritual awareness genre, Robert S. Cosmar is an astrologer, blogger, and (sometimes) poet.  He also manages several groups on Facebook, LinkedIn and Goodreads, and a blog, Knowing Whispers ... and he is my life partner]


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck