I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years' ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today,signeed the Emancipation Proclamation.giant Inflatable Santa This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hOpe to millions of Negro slaves, who,had been seared in the fIames of withering in justice. It canie as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later,the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chainL of discrimination. One hundred years later,the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense, we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of lndependence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that aIl men--yes,black men as weIl as white men--would
be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life,liberty,and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note 'insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. lnstead of honoring this sacred obligation,America has given the Negro people a bad check: a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we've come to cash this check--a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of new. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of Democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlight of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. New is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It wouId be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equaIity. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and wilI now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of 'revolt wiIl continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our
thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physicaI force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a
distrust of all white people,for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today,have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And, they bave come to reaIize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who ask the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?"We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies,heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaIler ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfed as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No,no,we are not satisfied,and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty
stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you batteted by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi,go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina,go back to Georgia,go back to Louisiana,go back to the slums and ghettos of our Northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today,my friends,so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:"We hold these truths to be self-evident;that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood;I have a dream-
That one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice; I have a dream-
That my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character; I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification,one day right there in Alabama littIe black boys and black girIs will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers;I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, and rough places will be made plane and crooked places will be made straight,and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be abIe to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together,to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together,to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day....cheap Christmas Inflatables This will be the day when all of God's children wilI be able to sing with new meaning. "My country 'tis of thee,sweet land of liberty, of thee l sing. Land wbere my fathers died,land of the pilgrim's pride,from every mountainside, let freedom ring, "and if America is to be a great nation--tbis must become true.
So let freedom ring--from the prodigious hill-tops of New Hampshire, let freedom ring; from the mighty mountains of New York,let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous sIopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring !
2009年12月1日星期二
A Friend
He wasn't a guy of big words, and he seemed to live entirely in his own world. I remember that during the days he worked with us none of us exactly knew who he was, where he came from or what he was looking for, and afterwards he disappeared.giant Inflatable Santa Claus Nobody knew where he had gone, what he was doing or if he had friends or a family to stay with. I guess, we didn't even know his name----and even if we did, I've forgotten it anyway.
Those days were more than hard for all of us. There seemed to be no escape from the greyness of our everyday life which was the only colour that surrounded us. The huge concrete blocks we lived in was grey, the grey of the factory dust, even the colour of our clothes, that once might have been white was grey. It must have been a bright and shining white... and I can't exactly recall how much time I spent trying to imagine the kind of white it might have been. Since white was the colour of the kind of paradise I so much longed to live in someday, grey left behind nothing more than a bitter taste of emptiness and depression. I can remember how I noticed once, that any other colour must be a symbol for something, a feeling or whatever. Only grey seemed to stand for absolutely nothing. This was the world I lived in, and so did he.
Having our job in the factory was still luxury though, considering the fact that most of us had families to feed. And not long after he started to work there, I would always find him working at the machine next to mine. We'd work for hours next to each other, staying quiet, with our thoughts drifting away to a different place but still aware of our hands doing the same movements over and over again. We were doing that until the bell would ring to end the work for the day. I used to work in a mechanical way, following the same rhythm over and over again, and so did he. But every time I was about to give up, he would lift his head and give me a little smile, as if he could guess my thoughts. I think it was actually his eyes that impressed me most. They were so dark and straight, and though they seem to be hiding anything, I couldn't get rid of the impression that somehow he must be hiding something.
Since I first saw him, he had always been around, and every time he gave me one of those smiles, he would spread a bit of warmth into my heart, a bit of friendliness. I guess, at the end of the day it must have been him who gave me the strength to go on somehow, just by being there.
Well, to make a long story short, he died only a year after he started working with us. It was a car accident and he didn't have to suffer very long. I must have been his only friend in town, at least that was what I thought when I went to his funeral. The only person I met there was an old lady, maybe his mother. She told me that he had lost his family just the year before and after that he didn't speak any more. He hadn't said a single word. First I didn't believe her. I just thought that he was a fairly quiet person; besides there was nothing much to say anyway. But suddenly I realized that I couldn't recall ever having heard his voice at all. Only then did I realize it!.
He gave me so much and I knew so little about him. He had been my friend and now I had lost him without having had the chance to give anything back. He had been so strong that he was able to give whatever had happened.
Those days were more than hard for all of us. There seemed to be no escape from the greyness of our everyday life which was the only colour that surrounded us. The huge concrete blocks we lived in was grey, the grey of the factory dust, even the colour of our clothes, that once might have been white was grey. It must have been a bright and shining white... and I can't exactly recall how much time I spent trying to imagine the kind of white it might have been. Since white was the colour of the kind of paradise I so much longed to live in someday, grey left behind nothing more than a bitter taste of emptiness and depression. I can remember how I noticed once, that any other colour must be a symbol for something, a feeling or whatever. Only grey seemed to stand for absolutely nothing. This was the world I lived in, and so did he.
Having our job in the factory was still luxury though, considering the fact that most of us had families to feed. And not long after he started to work there, I would always find him working at the machine next to mine. We'd work for hours next to each other, staying quiet, with our thoughts drifting away to a different place but still aware of our hands doing the same movements over and over again. We were doing that until the bell would ring to end the work for the day. I used to work in a mechanical way, following the same rhythm over and over again, and so did he. But every time I was about to give up, he would lift his head and give me a little smile, as if he could guess my thoughts. I think it was actually his eyes that impressed me most. They were so dark and straight, and though they seem to be hiding anything, I couldn't get rid of the impression that somehow he must be hiding something.
Since I first saw him, he had always been around, and every time he gave me one of those smiles, he would spread a bit of warmth into my heart, a bit of friendliness. I guess, at the end of the day it must have been him who gave me the strength to go on somehow, just by being there.
Well, to make a long story short, he died only a year after he started working with us. It was a car accident and he didn't have to suffer very long. I must have been his only friend in town, at least that was what I thought when I went to his funeral. The only person I met there was an old lady, maybe his mother. She told me that he had lost his family just the year before and after that he didn't speak any more. He hadn't said a single word. First I didn't believe her. I just thought that he was a fairly quiet person; besides there was nothing much to say anyway. But suddenly I realized that I couldn't recall ever having heard his voice at all. Only then did I realize it!.
He gave me so much and I knew so little about him. He had been my friend and now I had lost him without having had the chance to give anything back. He had been so strong that he was able to give whatever had happened.
Father’s Day
When I was five, my biological father committed suicide. It left me feeling as though I'd done something wrong; that if I had been better somehow,cheap Inflatable Snowman maybe he'd have stayed around. My mother remarried shortly thereafter, and this man was my dad until I was nineteen. I called him Dad and used his name all through school. But, when he and my mother divorced, he just walked away. Once again, I wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn't keep a father.
Mother remarried again, and Bob was a wonderful, kind man. I was twenty now and no longer living at home, but I felt a great love and attachment for him. A few years later my mother was diagnosed with cancer and was not given long to live. Shortly before she died, Bob came over to my house alone one day. We talked about a lot of things, and then he told me that he wanted me to know that he'd always be there for me, even after Mother was gone. Then he asked if he could adopt me.
I could hardly believe my ears. Tears streamed down my face. He wanted me - me! This man had no obligation to me, but he was reaching out from his heart, and I accepted. During the adoption proceedings, the judge commented on all the undesirable duties of his profession and then with a tear in his eye, thanked us for brightening his day as he pronounced us father and daughter. I was twenty-five, but I was his little girl.
Three short years later, Bob, too, was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within the year. At first I was hurt and angry at God for taking this father away too. But eventually the love and acceptance that I felt from Dad came through again, and I became, once more, grateful for the years we had.
Mother remarried again, and Bob was a wonderful, kind man. I was twenty now and no longer living at home, but I felt a great love and attachment for him. A few years later my mother was diagnosed with cancer and was not given long to live. Shortly before she died, Bob came over to my house alone one day. We talked about a lot of things, and then he told me that he wanted me to know that he'd always be there for me, even after Mother was gone. Then he asked if he could adopt me.
I could hardly believe my ears. Tears streamed down my face. He wanted me - me! This man had no obligation to me, but he was reaching out from his heart, and I accepted. During the adoption proceedings, the judge commented on all the undesirable duties of his profession and then with a tear in his eye, thanked us for brightening his day as he pronounced us father and daughter. I was twenty-five, but I was his little girl.
Three short years later, Bob, too, was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within the year. At first I was hurt and angry at God for taking this father away too. But eventually the love and acceptance that I felt from Dad came through again, and I became, once more, grateful for the years we had.
China Through My Eyes
As best I can recall,cheap Inflatable Castle my first visit to Beijing, in the hot summer of 1990, was
an almost overwhelming experience. I visited a wide range of places over a
three week stay, including some truly amazing historical sites like the Great
Wall, the Old Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, etc., as
well as a Chinese University, markets, an old courtyard house, restaurants,
parks, book stores, and hutongs. Amongst it all, what struck me most was the
friendliness people showed me, and their genuine desire to converse, in English
or in Chinese, about a range of topics – from political issues, to AIDS, to
what Australia was like, and so on.
There were a host of almost topsy-turvy differences between my own country and
China. Aside from obvious differences, such as the food, and the weather, one
could not help but be overwhelmed by the vast difference in population not just
in terms of people, but there were so many bikes and many less cars (very few
of which I could recognize)! I was also amazed to see donkey carts in the
capital of such a major up and coming nation – something I had certainly not
envisioned! While life at that time seemed tough for many people, there was a
tremendous sense that something extraordinary was taking place and that China
had a great future ahead of it.
It was during this exciting three-week period of exploring a very foreign
culture that I met, completely by chance at a party at my younger brother’s
University, a young Chinese woman student who would change my life. We spent
many hours together exchanging ideas and information on where we lived, on what
films and books we had read, and so on, until finally it was time for me to
return to finish my University degree. While completing my degree in
Australia, I continued to keep in touch with my female friend in Beijing, and
decided to return to Beijing upon graduation to study Chinese for six months as
a self-funded student.
After arriving in Beijing again, with a University degree under my belt, I
began my first experience of living overseas without my family. It was both
lonely, as well as exhilarating to live in a somewhat segregated dormitory – a
world of foreign students from a wide range of countries – floating amongst a
sea of Chinese students.
Since all our classes were held in the same building as our dormitory rooms, we
had relatively few opportunities to meet Chinese students. The main
opportunities were to meet at English corners, the Chinese students cafeteria
(most foreign students ate at their own better quality, more expensive, private
and segregated cafeteria), at restaurants, or on the sports field. But through
patience and a strong desire to mix despite our differences, we overcame the
language barriers, the differences in income, the cultural barriers, and the
barriers set by the University, and mix we did! Today, 10 years later, some of
my best Chinese friends are still the friends I met at University in 1991.
An enormous amount has taken place during the 11 years since I first visited
China. During that time I have lived in China for more than 8 years, most of it
in Beijing, but with a year spent living in both Nanjing and Guangzhou. My own
views on China have no doubt also altered over that time as China has
experienced such rapid growth and change, and as I have, over time, and through
travel to most parts of China, gained a better understanding of the size and
diversity of your country.
No longer do I find China such a bewildering place as I have come to
understand,adult Inflatable Slide if not always to agree, with Chinese views on such important topics
as the new world order, the death penalty, family planning, human rights and
maintaining the stability essential for economic growth. Having now spent more
than half of my adult life in China and being married to the same Chinese girl
I first met 11 years ago, I am the proud father of twin daughters who are half
Chinese and half Australian. I sometimes feel much the same way myself!
an almost overwhelming experience. I visited a wide range of places over a
three week stay, including some truly amazing historical sites like the Great
Wall, the Old Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, etc., as
well as a Chinese University, markets, an old courtyard house, restaurants,
parks, book stores, and hutongs. Amongst it all, what struck me most was the
friendliness people showed me, and their genuine desire to converse, in English
or in Chinese, about a range of topics – from political issues, to AIDS, to
what Australia was like, and so on.
There were a host of almost topsy-turvy differences between my own country and
China. Aside from obvious differences, such as the food, and the weather, one
could not help but be overwhelmed by the vast difference in population not just
in terms of people, but there were so many bikes and many less cars (very few
of which I could recognize)! I was also amazed to see donkey carts in the
capital of such a major up and coming nation – something I had certainly not
envisioned! While life at that time seemed tough for many people, there was a
tremendous sense that something extraordinary was taking place and that China
had a great future ahead of it.
It was during this exciting three-week period of exploring a very foreign
culture that I met, completely by chance at a party at my younger brother’s
University, a young Chinese woman student who would change my life. We spent
many hours together exchanging ideas and information on where we lived, on what
films and books we had read, and so on, until finally it was time for me to
return to finish my University degree. While completing my degree in
Australia, I continued to keep in touch with my female friend in Beijing, and
decided to return to Beijing upon graduation to study Chinese for six months as
a self-funded student.
After arriving in Beijing again, with a University degree under my belt, I
began my first experience of living overseas without my family. It was both
lonely, as well as exhilarating to live in a somewhat segregated dormitory – a
world of foreign students from a wide range of countries – floating amongst a
sea of Chinese students.
Since all our classes were held in the same building as our dormitory rooms, we
had relatively few opportunities to meet Chinese students. The main
opportunities were to meet at English corners, the Chinese students cafeteria
(most foreign students ate at their own better quality, more expensive, private
and segregated cafeteria), at restaurants, or on the sports field. But through
patience and a strong desire to mix despite our differences, we overcame the
language barriers, the differences in income, the cultural barriers, and the
barriers set by the University, and mix we did! Today, 10 years later, some of
my best Chinese friends are still the friends I met at University in 1991.
An enormous amount has taken place during the 11 years since I first visited
China. During that time I have lived in China for more than 8 years, most of it
in Beijing, but with a year spent living in both Nanjing and Guangzhou. My own
views on China have no doubt also altered over that time as China has
experienced such rapid growth and change, and as I have, over time, and through
travel to most parts of China, gained a better understanding of the size and
diversity of your country.
No longer do I find China such a bewildering place as I have come to
understand,adult Inflatable Slide if not always to agree, with Chinese views on such important topics
as the new world order, the death penalty, family planning, human rights and
maintaining the stability essential for economic growth. Having now spent more
than half of my adult life in China and being married to the same Chinese girl
I first met 11 years ago, I am the proud father of twin daughters who are half
Chinese and half Australian. I sometimes feel much the same way myself!
2009年11月30日星期一
Life is a Box of Chocolate
Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You
name them-work, family, health, friends, and spirit, and you're keeping all of t
hese in the air.custom Inflatable Snowmen You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop
it, it will bounce back.
But the other four balls: family, health, friends and spirit are made of glass.
If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damag
ed or even shattered. They will never be the same.
You must understand that and strive for balance in your life. How? Don't undermi
ne your worth by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different t
hat each of us is special.
Don't set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is
best for you. Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to t
hem as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless.
Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the f
uture. By living your life one day at a time, you live ALL the days of your life.
Don't give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over unti
l the moment you stop trying.
Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect. It is this fragile thre
ad that binds us to each together. Don't be afraid to encounter risks. It is by t
aking chances that we learn how to be brave.
Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find. The quickest
way to receive love is to give it. The fastest way to lose love is to hold it to
o tightly. The best way to keep love is to give it wings. Don't forget that a per
son's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.
Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been, but a
lso where you are going. Don't be afraid to learn. Knowledge is weightless, a tre
asure you can always carry easily. Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither ca
n be retrieved.
name them-work, family, health, friends, and spirit, and you're keeping all of t
hese in the air.custom Inflatable Snowmen You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop
it, it will bounce back.
But the other four balls: family, health, friends and spirit are made of glass.
If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damag
ed or even shattered. They will never be the same.
You must understand that and strive for balance in your life. How? Don't undermi
ne your worth by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different t
hat each of us is special.
Don't set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is
best for you. Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to t
hem as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless.
Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the f
uture. By living your life one day at a time, you live ALL the days of your life.
Don't give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over unti
l the moment you stop trying.
Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect. It is this fragile thre
ad that binds us to each together. Don't be afraid to encounter risks. It is by t
aking chances that we learn how to be brave.
Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find. The quickest
way to receive love is to give it. The fastest way to lose love is to hold it to
o tightly. The best way to keep love is to give it wings. Don't forget that a per
son's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.
Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been, but a
lso where you are going. Don't be afraid to learn. Knowledge is weightless, a tre
asure you can always carry easily. Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither ca
n be retrieved.
Trick or Treat
I still live at home. I don't mind it, except for the dinner table. I said to my parents, "I've been sitting in the same seat my whole life. manufacturer Christmas Inflatables Let me sit at the head of the table." And my mom said, "The table's round. There's no head of the table." I got mad, because dad's seat is the head of the table, even if the table's round. But I didn't say a thing.
None of my friends go trick-or-treating anymore. They stopped going about fifteen years ago. I didn't. I said, "Do you still celebrate Thanksgiving? Christmas? Birthdays? So, why not Halloween?" Actually, I don't have many friends; I said this to them when I was growing up.
Halloween's a big deal for me. Around the first of the year, I start thinking about my costume. I write down ten or twenty ideas and then, over the summer, I narrow down the list. By September, I've got a pretty good notion of what I'm gonna wear. I do all this planning because when I was seven, I almost didn't have a costume. I couldn't think of what to wear, and all of sudden it was October 31st, and I didn't have a clue. My dad gave me some of his old clothes, and said, "If anyone asks, tell them you're dressed as a parent." So I did. I went as a parent, and it sucked.
I don't have a job. When I was young, I killed my third grade teacher. I didn't mean it. I got in an argument and I hit her in the chest twice, and she went into shock and died. She had had a heart condition, which I didn't know about. They sent me to a different school, where you learn things a lot slower.
Tonight, I'm dressed as Dracula. I got the cape, the fangs, the white makeup, and the fake blood dripping down my mouth. I think I look pretty good. I guess it's a little weird walking around the neighborhood. My parents ask me to stay home and help them hand out the candy, but I say no.
I leave right when it gets dark. My first stop is across the street.
"Hi, Mrs. Ryder," I say. "Trick or treat."
"Oh, hi, Davey. David, I mean." She drops some Milky Ways into my pillow case.
"How's Johnny?" I say.
"Oh, he's fine. Married, still. He just…he just bought a house." She's turned sideways, sort of behind the door, like she's holding back a dog, but I don't think she's got a dog.
"Tell Johnny I say hi," I say.
"I sure will," she says.
"Do you like my costume?" I say. I raise my arms, so the cape stretches out behind me. Then I bare my fangs and hiss. She gets all scared and closes the door. It's a real good costume.
I walk to a bunch of houses and then I get in my dad's car and drive. I've been doing this the last few Halloweens; I drive for an hour and stop in some random town and go trick-or-treating. I always wash the car on the morning before, because I like when it's all clean and vacuumed inside. Sometimes the car gets egged, and I get mad, but the kids run away too fast.
I picked a good neighborhood; every house has lights. I walk up to one and knock. A woman answers, and she's real small.
"Trick or treat," I say.
"Hello," she says. She looks behind me, at the car, and then she says, "Where's your kid?"
"What kid, ma'am?" I say. And I know she's gonna say something like, 'You're a little old to be trick-or-treating, aren't you?' So I just say, "trick or treat," and I stretch out my cape and hiss.
She closes the door, and I figure it's just a big misunderstanding, so I ring the bell, but nothing happens. No footsteps, nothing. So I ring it again, and then the outside lights go off, and I'm kind of angry because I've walked all the way up the driveway. I bang on the door. Finally, a man answers. He's a few years older than me, but I'm bigger. He's got glasses, and I don't like him.
"What the fuck do you want?" he says, all angry.
"Trick or treat," I say.
"Get the fuck off my property," he says, pointing, and now I'm thinking about that teacher I hit. He shuts the door, and that's probably a good thing, because my fists are all clenched.
I used to go to a shrink. She said that whenever I get mad, I should stop for a second and say all the words that come from 'anger.' She said this would temper my aggression. So I say them. 'Range, rang, age, rag, nag, ran, earn, gear, near, ear, era, are, an.' 'Rage' is in there, too, but she told me not say that one. "Let's take the rage out of anger," she'd say.
I say the words real fast. I know them by heart, because this happens a lot. I'm still thinking about how I'd like to stick this guy's head under a paper cutter, so I say them again. Then I say, "Fuck you, you motherfucker," and I kick the pumpkin off the stoop. I get in the car and drive away.
I circle the block a few times. My shrink tells me to avoid violence. She also tells me not to run away from my problems. This confuses me, because most of my problems deal with violence. I figure she's giving me a riddle, but I can't figure it out.
I park a few houses away. I want to talk to the guy. But when he opens the door, I just get angry and punch him right in the face. He stumbles back and I hit him again, and he falls on the floor. His lip is split, and he's got blood running down his mouth, just like me. I see the Snickers on the counter and I throw a few into my pillow case. The woman starts screaming. My hand hurts. I tell her if she calls the cops, I'll kill her. Then I run to the car and drive fast. The street's near the highway, so I'm okay.
When I get home, I count up my candy. It's the worst Halloween I've ever had, worse than when I was seven. My mom comes in and looks at me, and I can see that she's upset about the candy on the floor, so I tell her that I'll pick it up. "Where did you go?" she says, and I say I went west a bit. She says, "Don't forget to change out of your costume," and I tell her I won't. "You shouldn't wear that stuff to bed," she says, and I say, "I know."
None of my friends go trick-or-treating anymore. They stopped going about fifteen years ago. I didn't. I said, "Do you still celebrate Thanksgiving? Christmas? Birthdays? So, why not Halloween?" Actually, I don't have many friends; I said this to them when I was growing up.
Halloween's a big deal for me. Around the first of the year, I start thinking about my costume. I write down ten or twenty ideas and then, over the summer, I narrow down the list. By September, I've got a pretty good notion of what I'm gonna wear. I do all this planning because when I was seven, I almost didn't have a costume. I couldn't think of what to wear, and all of sudden it was October 31st, and I didn't have a clue. My dad gave me some of his old clothes, and said, "If anyone asks, tell them you're dressed as a parent." So I did. I went as a parent, and it sucked.
I don't have a job. When I was young, I killed my third grade teacher. I didn't mean it. I got in an argument and I hit her in the chest twice, and she went into shock and died. She had had a heart condition, which I didn't know about. They sent me to a different school, where you learn things a lot slower.
Tonight, I'm dressed as Dracula. I got the cape, the fangs, the white makeup, and the fake blood dripping down my mouth. I think I look pretty good. I guess it's a little weird walking around the neighborhood. My parents ask me to stay home and help them hand out the candy, but I say no.
I leave right when it gets dark. My first stop is across the street.
"Hi, Mrs. Ryder," I say. "Trick or treat."
"Oh, hi, Davey. David, I mean." She drops some Milky Ways into my pillow case.
"How's Johnny?" I say.
"Oh, he's fine. Married, still. He just…he just bought a house." She's turned sideways, sort of behind the door, like she's holding back a dog, but I don't think she's got a dog.
"Tell Johnny I say hi," I say.
"I sure will," she says.
"Do you like my costume?" I say. I raise my arms, so the cape stretches out behind me. Then I bare my fangs and hiss. She gets all scared and closes the door. It's a real good costume.
I walk to a bunch of houses and then I get in my dad's car and drive. I've been doing this the last few Halloweens; I drive for an hour and stop in some random town and go trick-or-treating. I always wash the car on the morning before, because I like when it's all clean and vacuumed inside. Sometimes the car gets egged, and I get mad, but the kids run away too fast.
I picked a good neighborhood; every house has lights. I walk up to one and knock. A woman answers, and she's real small.
"Trick or treat," I say.
"Hello," she says. She looks behind me, at the car, and then she says, "Where's your kid?"
"What kid, ma'am?" I say. And I know she's gonna say something like, 'You're a little old to be trick-or-treating, aren't you?' So I just say, "trick or treat," and I stretch out my cape and hiss.
She closes the door, and I figure it's just a big misunderstanding, so I ring the bell, but nothing happens. No footsteps, nothing. So I ring it again, and then the outside lights go off, and I'm kind of angry because I've walked all the way up the driveway. I bang on the door. Finally, a man answers. He's a few years older than me, but I'm bigger. He's got glasses, and I don't like him.
"What the fuck do you want?" he says, all angry.
"Trick or treat," I say.
"Get the fuck off my property," he says, pointing, and now I'm thinking about that teacher I hit. He shuts the door, and that's probably a good thing, because my fists are all clenched.
I used to go to a shrink. She said that whenever I get mad, I should stop for a second and say all the words that come from 'anger.' She said this would temper my aggression. So I say them. 'Range, rang, age, rag, nag, ran, earn, gear, near, ear, era, are, an.' 'Rage' is in there, too, but she told me not say that one. "Let's take the rage out of anger," she'd say.
I say the words real fast. I know them by heart, because this happens a lot. I'm still thinking about how I'd like to stick this guy's head under a paper cutter, so I say them again. Then I say, "Fuck you, you motherfucker," and I kick the pumpkin off the stoop. I get in the car and drive away.
I circle the block a few times. My shrink tells me to avoid violence. She also tells me not to run away from my problems. This confuses me, because most of my problems deal with violence. I figure she's giving me a riddle, but I can't figure it out.
I park a few houses away. I want to talk to the guy. But when he opens the door, I just get angry and punch him right in the face. He stumbles back and I hit him again, and he falls on the floor. His lip is split, and he's got blood running down his mouth, just like me. I see the Snickers on the counter and I throw a few into my pillow case. The woman starts screaming. My hand hurts. I tell her if she calls the cops, I'll kill her. Then I run to the car and drive fast. The street's near the highway, so I'm okay.
When I get home, I count up my candy. It's the worst Halloween I've ever had, worse than when I was seven. My mom comes in and looks at me, and I can see that she's upset about the candy on the floor, so I tell her that I'll pick it up. "Where did you go?" she says, and I say I went west a bit. She says, "Don't forget to change out of your costume," and I tell her I won't. "You shouldn't wear that stuff to bed," she says, and I say, "I know."
Remarks at the Peace Banquet
I am only a philosopher, outdoor Inflatable Obstacle and there is only one thing that a philosopher can be relied on to do. You know that the function of statistics has been ingeniously described as being the refutation of other statistics. Well, a philosopher can always contradict other philosophers. In ancient times philosophers defined man as the rational animal; and philosophers since then have always found much more to say about the rational than about the animal part of the definition. But looked at candidly, reason bears about the same proportion to the rest of human nature that we in this hall bear to the rest of America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Polynesia. Reason is one of the very feeblest of Nature's forces, if you take it at any one spot and moment. It is only in the very long run that its effects become perceptible. Reason assumes to settle things by weighing them against one another without prejudice, partiality, or excitement; but what affairs in the concrete are settled by is and always will be just prejudices, partialities, cupidities, and excitements. Appealing to reason as we do, we are in a sort of a forlorn hope situation, like a small sand-bank in the midst of a hungry sea ready to wash it out of existence. But sand-banks grow when the conditions favor; and weak as reason is, it has the unique advantage over its antagonists that its activity never lets up and that it presses always in one direction, while men's prejudices vary, their passions ebb and flow, and their excitements are intermittent. Our sand-bank, I absolutely believe, is bound to grow, -- bit by bit it will get dyked and breakwatered. But sitting as we do in this warm room, with music and lights and the flowing bowl and smiling faces, it is easy to get too sanguine about our task, and since I am called to speak, I feel as if it might not be out of place to say a word about the strength of our enemy.
Our permanent enemy is the noted bellicosity of human nature. Man, biologically considered, and whatever else he may be in the bargain, is simply the most formidable of all beasts of prey, and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its own species. We are once for all adapted to the military status. A millennium of peace would not breed the fighting disposition out of our bone and marrow, and a function so ingrained and vital will never consent to die without resistance, and will always find impassioned apologists and idealizers.
Not only are men born to be soldiers, but non-combatants by trade and nature, historians in their studies, and clergymen in their pulpits, have been war's idealizers. They have talked of war as of God's court of justice. And, indeed, if we think how many things beside the frontiers of states the wars of history have decided, we must feel some respectful awe, in spite of all the horrors. Our actual civilization, good and bad alike, has had past war for its determining condition. Great-mindedness among the tribes of men has always meant the will to prevail, and all the more so if prevailing included slaughtering and being slaughtered. Rome, Paris, England, Brandenburg, Piedmont, -- soon, let us hope, Japan, -- along with their arms have made their traits of character and habits of thought prevail among their conquered neighbors. The blessings we actually enjoy, such as they are, have grown up in the shadow of the wars of antiquity. The various ideals were backed by fighting wills, and where neither would give way, the God of battles had to be the arbiter. A shallow view, this, truly; for who can say what might have prevailed if man had ever been a reasoning and not a fighting animal? Like dead men, dead causes tell no tales, and the ideals that went under in the past, along with all the tribes that represented them, find to-day no recorder, no explainer, no defender.
But apart from theoretic defenders, and apart from every soldierly individual straining at the leash, and clamoring for opportunity, war has an omnipotent support in the form of our imagination. Man lives by habits, indeed, but what he lives for is thrills and excitements. The only relief from Habit's tediousness is periodical excitement. From time immemorial wars have been, especially for non-combatants, the supremely thrilling excitement. Heavy and dragging at its end, at its outset every war means an explosion of imaginative energy. The dams of routine burst, and boundless prospects open. The remotest spectators share the fascination. With that awful struggle now in progress on the confines of the world, there is not a man in this room, I suppose, who doesn't buy both an evening and a morning paper, and first of all pounce on the war column.
A deadly listlessness would come over most men's imagination of the future if they could seriously be brought to believe that never again in saecula saeculorum would a war trouble human history. In such a stagnant summer afternoon of a world, where would be the zest or interest ?
This is the constitution of human nature which we have to work against. The plain truth is that people want war. They want it anyhow; for itself; and apart from each and every possible consequence. It is the final bouquet of life's fireworks. The born soldiers want it hot and actual. The non-combatants want it in the background, and always as an open possibility, to feed imagination on and keep excitement going. Its clerical and historical defenders fool themselves when they talk as they do about it. What moves them is not the blessings it has won for us, but a vague religious exaltation. War, they feel, is human nature at its uttermost. We are here to do our uttermost. It is a sacrament. Society would rot, they think, without the mystical blood-payment.
We do ill, I fancy, to talk much of universal peace or of a general disarmament. We must go in for preventive medicine not for radical cure. We must cheat our foe, politically circumvent his action, not try to change his nature. In one respect war is like love, though in no other. Both leave us intervals of rest; and in the intervals life goes on perfectly well without them, though the imagination still dallies with their possibility. Equally insane when once aroused and under headway, whether they shall be aroused or not depends on accidental circumstances. How are old maids and old bachelors made? Not by deliberate vows of celibacy, but by sliding on from year to year with no sufficient matrimonial provocation. So of the nations with their wars. Let the general possibility of war be left open, in Heaven's name, for the imagination to dally with. Let the soldiers dream of killing, as the old maids dream of marrying. But organize in every conceivable way the practical machinery for making each successive chance of war abortive. Put peace-men in power; educate the editors and statesmen to responsibility; -- how beautifully did their trained responsibility in England make the Venezuela incident abortive! Seize every pretext, however small, for arbitration methods, and multiply the precedents; foster rival excitements and invent new outlets for heroic energy; and from one generation to another, the chances are that irritations will grow less acute and states of strain less dangerous among the nations. Armies and navies will continue, of course, and will fire the minds of populations with their potentialities of greatness. But their officers will find that somehow or other, with no deliberate intention on any one's part, each successive "incident" has managed to evaporate and to lead nowhere, and that the thought of what might have been remains their only consolation.
Our permanent enemy is the noted bellicosity of human nature. Man, biologically considered, and whatever else he may be in the bargain, is simply the most formidable of all beasts of prey, and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its own species. We are once for all adapted to the military status. A millennium of peace would not breed the fighting disposition out of our bone and marrow, and a function so ingrained and vital will never consent to die without resistance, and will always find impassioned apologists and idealizers.
Not only are men born to be soldiers, but non-combatants by trade and nature, historians in their studies, and clergymen in their pulpits, have been war's idealizers. They have talked of war as of God's court of justice. And, indeed, if we think how many things beside the frontiers of states the wars of history have decided, we must feel some respectful awe, in spite of all the horrors. Our actual civilization, good and bad alike, has had past war for its determining condition. Great-mindedness among the tribes of men has always meant the will to prevail, and all the more so if prevailing included slaughtering and being slaughtered. Rome, Paris, England, Brandenburg, Piedmont, -- soon, let us hope, Japan, -- along with their arms have made their traits of character and habits of thought prevail among their conquered neighbors. The blessings we actually enjoy, such as they are, have grown up in the shadow of the wars of antiquity. The various ideals were backed by fighting wills, and where neither would give way, the God of battles had to be the arbiter. A shallow view, this, truly; for who can say what might have prevailed if man had ever been a reasoning and not a fighting animal? Like dead men, dead causes tell no tales, and the ideals that went under in the past, along with all the tribes that represented them, find to-day no recorder, no explainer, no defender.
But apart from theoretic defenders, and apart from every soldierly individual straining at the leash, and clamoring for opportunity, war has an omnipotent support in the form of our imagination. Man lives by habits, indeed, but what he lives for is thrills and excitements. The only relief from Habit's tediousness is periodical excitement. From time immemorial wars have been, especially for non-combatants, the supremely thrilling excitement. Heavy and dragging at its end, at its outset every war means an explosion of imaginative energy. The dams of routine burst, and boundless prospects open. The remotest spectators share the fascination. With that awful struggle now in progress on the confines of the world, there is not a man in this room, I suppose, who doesn't buy both an evening and a morning paper, and first of all pounce on the war column.
A deadly listlessness would come over most men's imagination of the future if they could seriously be brought to believe that never again in saecula saeculorum would a war trouble human history. In such a stagnant summer afternoon of a world, where would be the zest or interest ?
This is the constitution of human nature which we have to work against. The plain truth is that people want war. They want it anyhow; for itself; and apart from each and every possible consequence. It is the final bouquet of life's fireworks. The born soldiers want it hot and actual. The non-combatants want it in the background, and always as an open possibility, to feed imagination on and keep excitement going. Its clerical and historical defenders fool themselves when they talk as they do about it. What moves them is not the blessings it has won for us, but a vague religious exaltation. War, they feel, is human nature at its uttermost. We are here to do our uttermost. It is a sacrament. Society would rot, they think, without the mystical blood-payment.
We do ill, I fancy, to talk much of universal peace or of a general disarmament. We must go in for preventive medicine not for radical cure. We must cheat our foe, politically circumvent his action, not try to change his nature. In one respect war is like love, though in no other. Both leave us intervals of rest; and in the intervals life goes on perfectly well without them, though the imagination still dallies with their possibility. Equally insane when once aroused and under headway, whether they shall be aroused or not depends on accidental circumstances. How are old maids and old bachelors made? Not by deliberate vows of celibacy, but by sliding on from year to year with no sufficient matrimonial provocation. So of the nations with their wars. Let the general possibility of war be left open, in Heaven's name, for the imagination to dally with. Let the soldiers dream of killing, as the old maids dream of marrying. But organize in every conceivable way the practical machinery for making each successive chance of war abortive. Put peace-men in power; educate the editors and statesmen to responsibility; -- how beautifully did their trained responsibility in England make the Venezuela incident abortive! Seize every pretext, however small, for arbitration methods, and multiply the precedents; foster rival excitements and invent new outlets for heroic energy; and from one generation to another, the chances are that irritations will grow less acute and states of strain less dangerous among the nations. Armies and navies will continue, of course, and will fire the minds of populations with their potentialities of greatness. But their officers will find that somehow or other, with no deliberate intention on any one's part, each successive "incident" has managed to evaporate and to lead nowhere, and that the thought of what might have been remains their only consolation.
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