My poor little Cheetokins… he’s gone. He died in my arms. He’s gone and he took a piece of me with him.
I feel like I can’t breathe. I am not prepared to live in a world that doesn’t include Cheeto. It seems like such a joyless place.
He had another crisis of breathing on Thursday afternoon, so I rushed him to the vet for another breathing treatment, where they put him in an oxygen “cage”. I was concerned, but he wasn’t as bad as he was the week before, so I figured I’d drop him off and pick him back up a couple hours later, same as then. I tousled his mohawk and said “Love you, buddy. You’ll be feeling better soon, don’t worry.”
And then I left. I LEFT. I fucking left.
I LEFT because my sister was at home with the baby and needed to leave in 30 minutes. I left because I couldn’t sit in the back room with him, anyway. I left because I thought he was going to get some oxygen and everything would be okay, just like it was last time.
I called an hour later to check on him, and she told me that he wasn’t doing that well, that he was the color of mud. (I noticed that before I dropped him off—that his tongue wasn’t pink like normal, or even blue-tinged when he needs oxygen—it was flesh-colored. It was so odd that I told Brian about it on the phone, so I knew exactly what she was talking about.)
She told me that she’d given him some medication to help open up the airways and even started an IV to deliver medication. I said “What? Is he going to be okay?” I thought she was going to tell me that he needed to stay a few more hours.. overnight, maybe.
But she said she didn’t know…then she paused and said “Can you come in?”
I panicked. “Are you telling me that he’s so bad that you want me to come in?”
“Yes.”
I said I’d be right there, and flew upstairs to get the baby dressed. I was out of this house in less than 5 minutes and was FLYING down the back roads in to Lawrence. I had to check myself, because I kept creeping up to 80 mph and the baby was in the car and it was raining. I was sobbing, and saying “No, no, no, no, no…. not today, no, no, not today, I’m not ready!” I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was bargaining.
About ten minutes later, I was almost to Lawrence and I felt… a twinge of something. My heart leapt into my throat and my mouth suddenly went dry. I knew they were going to call. I dug my phone out of my pocket and stared at it. About 30 seconds later, they did. But my phone… it froze. It fucking froze, and I kept trying to hit the “accept” button, and nothing happened. I was frantically pushing the home button and also trying to reboot it, but it wasn’t responding at all. I was screaming, because I thought they were calling me to tell me he was dead. So I started another mantra: “No, no, he’s not dead. Not dead. No! If you can hear me, hang on, buddy, I’ll be right there. Mommy’s coming, I’m coming, please wait, please wait for me…”
Five or six minutes passed. My phone finally rebooted. I called the vet back. She said “He crashed… [inaudible] DYING, but we got his heart back, that’s the important thing. Are you almost here?”
I screamed “I’m coming, I’m coming… oh my god, I’ll be there in less than ten minutes!!!”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. My worst nightmare was coming true. I called Brian to tell him and they’d already called him, too. He was 30 minutes away. His voice was shaking and he was worried that I was going to get in a wreck on the way to the vet. I was worried he was going to get in a wreck. I also worried that neither of us would get there in time, and that Cheeto was going to die alone.
When I finally arrived, I yanked the baby out of the car seat and RAN into the vet’s office and to the back room. And then I saw my little buddy… he was lying there with a tube down his throat. He was listless, and barely breathing. I said “Cheeto! Oh my god, Cheeto, I’m here, honey! I’m here and I love you!” I think he got a little too worked up when he heard me, because he immediately started vomiting. She had to pick him up, and he was so limp. He didn’t even have the energy to hold his head up. I had to turn away for a second. Watching my baby vomit around a breathing tube was one of many things that day I wish I hadn’t seen.
They moved him to another table to hook him back up to a heart monitor, and they were taking his blood pressure and I was stroking his head and his ears and sobbing and telling him I loved him and I was so sorry I wasn’t there sooner, that I came as fast as I could. I leaned down and kissed his head, and they told me his heart rate was coming down, and to keep doing what I was doing, because I was calming him. I was looking into his pretty little golden brown eyes and he was looking back at me. I know he could see me. But he looked so sad. He just looked so tired, and so sad. I knew. I was sobbing “He’s not coming back from this, is he? This is it.”
The vet looked at me and said “I don’t know. We need to wait and see if he recovers.” I remember thinking that I hoped Brian would make it in time. I didn’t care what the vet said, I could feel the life seeping out of him. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. He was so, so tired of fighting. His little body was shutting down and my heart was breaking.
There was a flurry of activity that I was only halfway paying attention to. I don’t remember taking my eyes off Cheeto. One of our friends arrived and told me that Brian was on his way. Someone took Jack and I knew he was crying for me. I remember feeling torn that he needed me, but Cheeto needed me more. I needed to keep Cheeto calm so he didn’t struggle against his breathing tube. My regular vet came back and hugged me tightly and then left without saying a word. The emergency vet said he had a lot of gas in his belly. They were putting more medication in his IV. I was just petting him, and whispering to him, and kissing him. Telling him he was a good dog, the coolest little dog in the WORLD, and I was so, so lucky to be his momma. I thanked him for being my best friend for so long, for loving me unconditionally, and I hoped he spent every day of his life knowing how much he was loved. I told him I was really sorry that he was going through this, that I was sorry I wasn’t able to help him or cure him, and I hoped he wasn’t in any pain. I also told him daddy was on his way, and would be there in a couple minutes, just hang on… just hang on…
And thankfully, Brian arrived. And he, too, was struck with the horror of it as soon as he walked in. He talked to Cheeto, pet him, cried… he took Jack up front for a few minutes. We didn’t want Jack to see any of this, but he won’t let anyone but us touch him. I remember Cheeto tried to get up a couple times, but of course we couldn’t let him. They came back a few minutes later, and our friend was standing there talking to Brian and I remember something in the air changed and the room seemed to stand still for a second. I caught Brian’s eye real quick and shook my head with more despair in my heart than anyone should ever have to experience.
A couple seconds later, I don’t know how to explain it, but I saw the life leave Cheeto’s little body. I didn’t see his spirit or anything, but I saw the life leave his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t in there anymore. I knew it before his eye started twitching back and forth from a seizure. I knew it before his belly stopped moving up and down. I knew it before they actually told me he arresting again. And I knew while they were injecting more epi that he wasn’t coming back.
The vet tech looked at me and said “Do you want us to continue?”
It felt like a lifetime, but it was only a few seconds. Somehow I made the right decision and said no. I didn’t want him to keep suffering like that. And I wailed. I wailed for a solid five minutes. I had to turn my back, because he was twitching and moving and gagging and they were telling me that he was already gone and these were just reflexes. I already knew. I saw the MOMENT he died, just like I’d felt it the first time in the car. Didn’t anyone else?
When I finally calmed down for a few seconds and they had removed the tube from his throat, I had to whisper to him some more. I had to tell him it was okay, and that I hoped he was breathing easier now and his body didn’t hurt so much from having to work so hard pushing the air in and out. I told him I loved him more than anything in the world, and I always would. I told him when he got to heaven to go find my previous dogs Jack and Cedrick, because they’d play with him. And to find my grandma, because she’d watch out for him until I got there. I told him a lot of things. He’d heard it all before. At times, when I chose to recognize the fact that he was 12 years old, I’d cuddle with him on the bed and allow myself to think he might not be here forever, and I’d sob and tell him all sorts of stuff. He probably didn’t need to hear any of it, because he KNEW how well-loved he was. But I needed to sit there with him for a while and I needed to say it. Just in case.
After a while, someone came in and gave us our options. Take him home and bury him, cremate him and get his ashes, or they said they could “just take care of the body”. He wasn’t my puppy anymore, he was a “body”. His poor, broken little body. I knew I could never take him home. Not like that. I wanted his ashes. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, but I want them. I’ll decide later. She hugged me.
I asked her how I was supposed to just get up and walk out of there. How am I supposed to just leave him lying there. She rubbed my shoulder.
I stayed for what felt like forever… until he stopped feeling warm, and then I knew I had to go. I had already seen too much. I was already going to have to work really hard to get those awful last moments out of my mind. I wanted to remember his soft, floppy ears and his funny little mohawk and his velveteen fur. I didn’t want to feel his body start to stiffen.
I went up front and gave Brian some time alone with him. And when he came out, we just sat there in shock for a few minutes. It had all been so sudden, it almost didn’t feel real. But not even my overactive imagination could have conjured up this. This was too awful to imagine.
I looked at the clock. It was about the time Brian should have been picking him up and bringing him home. I had told Cheeto on the way to the vet that when he got home that night, he and I were going to go root on the bed and spend some alone time together cuddling. I was glad we had that last car ride together, though. Just the two of us. And for some reason, he got up in my lap and sat on my left knee between the door and the steering wheel like he used to, and I stroked his head.
My scruffy baby
My sweet, sweet baby. I miss him so much. The house is so empty without him. I am trying to come to grips with the fact that he’s gone. I’m having “phantom dog syndrome”. I see him everywhere I look, and yet nowhere at all...
When I get up off the couch, I look down to see where he is so I don’t step on him. When I’m feeding the baby, I look down expecting him to be sitting under the high chair, waiting for food that will inevitably drop. When I’m outside, I expect to see him running around and sniffing the trees and bushes. If I’m in the bedroom, my eyes automatically wander to the spot in the closet where he liked to sleep. If I open the pantry, I expect his nosy little butt to be right there, checking to see if there was any food around the trash can. If I’m doing the dishes, I expect him to come running over and lick all the dirty silverware. If I’m cooking at the stove, I expect him to be under my feet. Every time food hits the floor, I weep as I bend down to pick it up, all because my furry little vacuum cleaner isn’t there to suck it up anymore.
When we leave the house, I look up to the window by the door and expect to see his little face looking out at us. When we come back and he’s not at the usual spot wagging his tail to greet us, it makes my heart ache. When I go to bed at night, I always pause in the kitchen like I’m forgetting something. But I’m not forgetting— I’m remembering that he’s gone, and that I can’t feed him, give him his Benadryl, and let him go outside like I have every single night for 12 1/2 years.
Whenever we were in the house together and I hadn’t seen him for an hour or two and wasn’t sure where he was, I’d say “Cheeeeeeeeto, where are youuuuuu?” and he’d amble over to me with his head cocked like “Here I am, mom. What’s up?” I would give anything to be able to do that right now, and see his scruffy little face again.
He’s so much a part of my life that the world feels alien without him. I’m really not sure how to function. I know at some point that I WILL be okay, but I also know that not a day is going to go by where I’m not going to desperately miss him, and it’s going to be many months before I won’t shed any tears. I know this because of the grieving process I went through when I lost my grandma, who was also my best friend for a very, very long time. I’m unlucky enough to know that you never get over things like this…not really. The loss is so great that it lingers with you forever.
I am glad that he’s not hurting anymore. The past couple of years have been very hard on him, and his occasional night coughing had escalated to the point where he was pretty much coughing all the time. Even when he would be lying there resting, he was still working pretty hard to push the air in and out. It was forceful enough so that you could hear him exhaling from six feet away. Having had coughing spells in the past when I’m sick, I know that after two or three days of coughing, your ribs hurt like hell. Can you imagine the pain of coughing on and off for two years? Combine that with osteoarthritis, and pain was probably an everyday occurrence for Cheeto. I am glad that he is finally free of that.
But the emptiness… the emptiness in my house and in my heart is the worst.
And when I close my eyes and relieve the bad moments, I have to try and make myself stop and try to remember something funny or happy. I have millions of memories to draw from—he was the most amazing dog I have ever known. I think that even as he was dying, he was trying to please us. I think he hung on the past few weeks until I realized that there really ARE worse things than death, and that I didn’t want him to continue suffering in pain just because I felt like I couldn’t deal without him.
On the day he died, just a few hours before, I posted some of those thoughts on Facebook. I had just come to those realizations, you know what I mean? I couldn’t bring myself to go there before. I keep wondering if he was waiting and waiting for me to get there, and when I finally did, he knew he could go. He was a very empathetic dog… if I was upset, he’d lay his head on my knee and “hug” me.
I told Brian yesterday that he chose the BEST 12.5 years to be in my life. He came into my life at the PERFECT time. Right around the time that my grandma died, and he was there for many, many sobfests afterwards when I had no one else to lean on (I hadn’t met Brian yet). He was with the two of us through the decade that we spent together without a human baby, and just cherished our little furbaby. And cherish him we did. I honestly can count on one hand the people I know who love their dog as much as we do. Everyone SAYS they love their pets… but do you know anyone else who flew home a couple days early from their honeymoon because they were heartsick and missed their dog? Yeah. I didn’t think so.
Taken just a month ago...
And now… I won’t ever say there’s a perfect time to LEAVE, obviously. However, he did wait until after we had Jack, almost like he KNEW we would have no choice but to keep it together. I am so glad that we had over a decade together with Cheeto before we had a human baby. But I’m also really glad that he was able to meet Jack, and play with him, and shower him with kisses. Cheeto loved the baby so much. And Jack was so gentle with him. They really did love each other. I know Jack won’t remember him, but someday I can show him the pictures and the video of his first doggie.
That funny little orange dog brought me SO much joy and laughter. I guess I can understand that when you love someone that deeply, the grief over losing them will be just as strong. But there have been several times the past couple of days where I’ve felt like it’s too much, like I won’t be able to make it through.
Heartbreaking...
Especially when I keep discovering things that I can’t bear to think about. Like his food bowl. My god, Cheeto was never far from his food bowl. He carried that thing around like Linus with his blanket. He’d put his head on it and use it like a pillow. He’d bring it to bed with him. He’d bring it to you, drop it at your feet, and look up at you like “Food now?” Even if he had just eaten five minutes earlier. He ALWAYS acted like he was starving. Food trumped ALL with Cheeto.
Or his football. This little pink and purple monstrosity that we’ve had for YEARS. We kept buying him toy after toy—he has a toybox that most small children would envy—but he never really gave a shit about any of them. He’d play with them for a few minutes, but that football? That was HIS football. He’d grab it, squeak it three times, and then root around on the bed with it. That was his signal that he wanted to play. And we’d bounce his little butt on the bed, throw the ball, and chase him around the house. He did that again a couple weeks ago after being on the Previcox. When he was pain-free long enough to jump up and down off the bed and run around like he used to. I remember being elated that he was acting like a puppy again, and how glad I was that I finally found something that helped him feel better.
The worst might be his little collar. There is nothing more heartbreaking than a collar that’s not attached to a dog. It’s just… it’s just too much.
We are trying to get out of the house as much as possible and distract ourselves. Do fun things with Jack, who might be the only one on the planet right now that can bring either of us any joy. I switched the desktop image on my phone to one of Cheeto. Jack picked up my phone yesterday and said “Chee!” I thought I was going to die. I feel like I am going to be swallowed up by the sadness.
I love autumn, and October in particular. It’s my favorite month of the year. The weather is perfect, and there’s always so much fun stuff to do. Even more so now that we have a kid to share it all with!
Yesterday we went to Schaake’s Pumpkin Patch in Lawrence. We’ve never been to any pumpkin patch, as a kid or otherwise, so it was a first for all three of us!
We drank some apple cider and wandered around, letting Jack check inspect the pumpkins (though he was more interested in the rocks than the pumpkins), run through a maze made out of bales of hay (video below), chase pretty little girls, and take a tractor/hay ride out into the humongous pumpkin patch, where they dropped us off so we could choose whichever pumpkins we wanted.
Standing with some pumpkins bigger than he is!
Climbing up a rock slide
Brian in the middle of the pumpkin patch
I was able to get some good use out of my new iPhone by recording some videos, too! I love, love, LOVE this new phone! I’ll be able to capture so many cool moments! I am going to have to be careful about how close I hold it to my face, though. I can be a mouth breather, so I need to keep a respectable distance from the microphone. Ha ha ha ha ha.
So I bought a new iPhone 3GS yesterday, which means that I can record video from my phone. *happy dance* It’s my birthday, it’s my birthday… Okay, so it’s not really my birthday (but it’s coming on the 28th, so mark your damn calendars).
Since the iPhone is so much handier (always in my pocket), and so much easier to use than the camcorder is (no editing, just upload!), I will undoubtedly record way too many little video clips and bore you to tears, but bully for you. It’s a momma’s right.
It’s a good thing, because I am STILL working on importing/editing/clipping all the camcorder footage that I have on Jack. It’s a pain in the ass. And I’m running out of hard drive space. Ha!
But I’ve uploaded some good ones from August, though:
It hasn’t been a good month for Cheeto. A few weeks ago, he started limping, which happens time to time if he jams one of his toenails. It usually improves within a day or two, so I usually just baby him and give him his usual pain-relieving low dose of Bayer.
But after a couple days, he stopped putting weight on it entirely, and by the fourth day he wouldn’t even move. We had to carry him around. So I took him to the vet and he had pretty limited motion in both hind legs and his hurting front leg. So she gave me some Previcox, which is an NSAID for dogs. If he improved, that would indicate osteoarthritis. If not, we’d keep looking and try something else.
I gave him a pill before we went to bed and he woke up 9 hours later acting like a puppy again. He wasn’t just feeling better, he was feeling FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC! The transformation was pretty dramatic. I’d forgotten how much he’s slowed down the past couple of years because I see him every day, but wow! That stuff was a miracle drug that seemed to take 5 or 6 years off his life. No joke. We were thrilled! He was running around and wrestling with the cats again and hopping around. It was awesome. He took it for five great days and then had to come off so they could test and get a baseline for liver and kidney function.
Within a couple days of being off of it, he was acting old and creaky again, so the medication was definitely STAYING. They did the tests and prescribed some more pills. Well, on day 3, he woke up fine. He went outside, horsed around, ate breakfast—everything was perfectly normal. I came out of my office around 2 or so to eat lunch and noticed that he wouldn’t go get his food bowl (which he’s done since he was a puppy). He just kind of kept walking in a circle like he couldn’t figure out which way to go. I was annoyed and got it for him. Put the bowl on the floor and noticed that he wouldn’t walk straight towards it. He walked on a certain side of the kitchen along the cabinets, and no amount of cajoling would get him to come over to the pantry.
I told Brian (who coincidentally happened to be home at the time), that Cheeto was acting really weird. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him and continued eating my lunch.
Ten minutes later, he started walking towards the dining room table and bumped into it. I dropped a couple bites on the floor for him, and he couldn’t find them. By this time, I was getting really concerned. I pointed to it and said “Cheeto, they’re right there, honey. RIGHT THERE.” I did it again. And again. Each time he couldn’t find what I was dropping.
“He can’t see,” I said, and started to panic. “He can’t see!”
Brian got up and walked across the room and called for Cheeto. He turned around but didn’t look at Brian. Brian walked closer. Still, nothing. I saw his eyes were REALLY cloudy. My poor, poor baby…
I immediately rushed him to the vet. I kept thinking it HAD to be a side effect of the NSAID. My usual vet wasn’t there, so it was a new lady who knew absolutely nothing about us or Cheeto. Fabulous. She told us that blindness was not a reported side effect of that drug. They ran a few tests on his eyes and told us that the pressure in both of his eyes was really high. They prescribed some eye drops to reduce the pressure. Then she said at some point we were going to have to take him to an opthamologist.
I said “Okay, so why aren’t we just going there now?”
She said that we could, and left the room to call him with the referral. She came back and said he wanted to see Cheeto right away, that he was concerned that it happened so suddenly and in both eyes. And because it was over an hour away and we wouldn’t get there until after 5, that we’d be charged an “after hours fee”. Okay, fine. That sucks, money is tight, but no expense has ever been spared for my little orange buddy and time is of the essence when it comes to eye issues.
So we rush up to the Overland Park opthamologist, who runs more tests: complete loss of vision in right eye but can see shadows in his left eye; normal eye pressures in dogs shouldn’t exceed 25, and Cheeto’s were at 43 (right) and 41 (left). They administered eye drop after eye drop while we tried to keep the baby entertained and tried desperately not to think about how sad it would be if Cheeto lost all of his vision, or how scared he must’ve been to wake up and suddenly not be able to see. It was all so sudden. It came out of NOWHERE.
Test pressures. More drops. Retest pressures. Eventually, the pressures started dropping. He explained to us that the sudden onset of glaucoma was secondary to inflammation caused by some other systemic issue. He was concerned about his lungs (of course, he has chronic bronchitis that we’ve had to deal with for several years now) and wanted to keep him overnight in emergency care. I asked if he took Cheeto’s labored breathing out of the picture—because I know Cheeto’s lung issues are chronic—would the eye pressures necessitate overnight care? He said no, provided the pressures were dropping. Which they were. So we refused to leave him. He’d be far more comfortable at home. I can’t imagine going blind, getting poked and prodded at the vet’s, and THEN being left there overnight? No freakin’ way.
So, we brought him home with three different eye drops, a pill, and strict instructions, which we followed.
The next morning, Cheeto thankfully woke up with vision in his left eye restored. He wasn’t bumping into things and could find whatever you dropped on the floor (provided it wasn’t on his right side). What a relief! So I took him to our vet clinic to recheck pressures and get our regular vet up to speed on what had happened and figure out where to go from there.
The pressure in the left eye was completely back to normal (which would explain why he could see out of that eye again). The right eye had remained unchanged, which was disappointing, but at least it wasn’t worsening. We spoke at length about all the inflammation that was going on, and what her method was going to be for trying to locate what was going wrong, etc.
First we’re going to do a full blood panel and see if that tells us anything. Cheeto is actually at the vet right now getting that done—I will pick him up later this afternoon. It’ll take a few days to get the results back on that. If we don’t figure out anything obvious from that, we may have to proceed with a chest x-ray and/or a sonogram on his belly to look for “masses”. Read: tumors. I immediately teared up when she said that, because seriously… what are we going to do if he has one? He’s 12 years old. I’m not like I’m going to subject him to chemotherapy and radiation, you know what I mean? All of it will need to be discussed, but I couldn’t even let myself go there. I can’t.
My special little puppy
This little furry creature has been my constant little companion for the past 12 years. I’ve had him since he was only a few weeks old and was so small his little butt fit in the palm of my hand. He peed all over the floor, knocked over trash cans while I was at work and chewed up all my leather shoes.
He’s lived with me in Iowa, Missouri, New York, and Kansas and has traveled thousands and thousands of miles. He was my baby long before I had a human baby or even a husband to consider making a baby with. I’ve had him since I was 21 years old… I simply cannot imagine my life without him. I’ve HAD no life without him; he’s been here with me every step and misstep of my entire adult life.
I often wake up in the middle of the night and just check to make sure he’s still breathing. I’ve always worried I was going to lose him, even when he was tiny and healthy and nothing was wrong—my love for him was so intense I was just convinced that the universe was going to snatch him away from me. (I still feel that way, by the way. About him, about Brian, about Jack. But it’s not as bad as it used to be, and I try to suppress it.)
Needless to say, the thought of something happening to him… the thought of him suffering in any way, or being in chronic pain… I.CAN’T.GO.THERE. If I do, I fear I will lose it and never come back.
The vet tried to alleviate my fears by telling me it was only one of a hundred possible scenarios, and not all tumors are malignant. In fact, the one most common in older dogs is NOT malignant and will not take their life. It simply grows at the base of their brain and causes their glands to go wonky and produce a bunch of chemicals that need to be dealt with with drug therapy. So I’m hoping THAT is what they find, if anything. Ideally, these drops will clear everything up and everything will be fine, but… realistically, we all know something bad caused this to happen. Now we’re just waiting to find out HOW bad that something is.
Please keep my Cheetokins in your thoughts and prayers.
Here’s a conversation I had with an acquaintance on Facebook earlier this month (a few days before Obama gave his speech to school children). I think you’ll find it quite amusing. (Or else you think the same way she does, in which case you’ll probably get so pissed at me you’ll want to spit. Heh heh heh.)
Her original post, which inspired me to comment against my better judgment:
President Obama sent an email out to all of the public schools Friday afternoon informing them that all PK-12 students were required to watch a live speech from him on Tuesday, September 8th right after Labor Day weekend. This speech, being aired liv…e on the 8th on CSPAN at 11am CST or noon EST, will be shown to all children at school. A worksheet was attached with suggestions for discussion with the kids b4.
This worksheet encourages them to read books about Obama, as well as discussing the importance of listening to whatever our government officials say, i.e. mayor, congress, senator and president. Talk about conditioning. Because so many parents and some schools were in uproar over it, Obama is airing a preview on Monday for parents to watch. I am not convinced the live speech won’t be different than what he shows us. The email informed schools that parents have a right to request their children don’t watch it, but with the little bit of notice on a holiday weekend, no parents know about it to protest. While it is supposed to be an educational challenge, I believe it is just one more way that Obama can brainwash and condition our children at an impressionable age. Besides, if he is simply encouraging kids to focus on education, why does he think he is important enough to have the influence over children that one’s own parents don’t. Lets face it. If they are not overachievers, some continued: inspirational speech from Obama isn’t going to change that. Don’t buy his lies!
Me:
Telling kids to work hard and stay in school is indoctrination? I suppose I’d take this more seriously if it weren’t mostly coming from the same crazies who yelled for everyone to support our President or it “emboldens the terrorists” and that dissent was un-American and unpatriotic when Bush was in office. They apply a different set of standards to Presidents depending on which party they belong to. That is incredibly hippocritical.
It’s one thing to disagree with his politics, but to accuse him of indoctrination before you hear what he has to say? Even if he DID go in there and say all that, which he WOULD NOT, is the right SO afraid of anyone challenging their beliefs that they’re going to start ignoring people preemptively? How narrow-minded. I would never want to raise children who can’t think for themselves. Beliefs left unchallenged are exceedingly dangerous and result in raising PARROTS, not children with the capacity for independent thought. THAT would scare me more than any unfounded, histrionic threat of indoctrination.
It amuses me that the ultra-religious don’t realize that they are themselves indoctrinating their children by refusing to let them even WATCH it.
PS- I wasn’t going to post anything because I typically don’t discuss religion or politics with anyone, because frankly I don’t really care, but … I figure if you’re going to post it in a public forum like Facebook, you must be okay with people discussing it. While I am quite direct, I’m not trying to attack you. Just tired of all the falsehoods and fear-mongering coming from the religious right.
Her:
Okay, everyone, I expected a few upset people over this. Let me try to address everything. I hope I don’t forget anything here. Firstly, let me say that I am not saying it is indoctrination. I am not even saying that for a fact he is going to brainwash our children. I didn NOT vote for Obama, and even though my votes during the last two elections were based on rights to life and various issues that the Bible teaches, I personally couldn’t stand Bush either. I simply had to vote the lesser of two evils. I certainly agree that too many parents don’t step up, which is extremely unfortunate, but who is Obama anyway to think that if he gets on the tube and tells kids to strive for their best that they are suddenly going to see a light from heaven and hear a choir of angels sing because they finally get motivated or get it. I don’t know anyone personally who was struggling at school that said, I am the success I am today because I heard a speech from a world leader that inspired me. Parents are supposed to be the number one supporters, motivators, and the number one people involved in their child’s life, which clearly is not happening in many cases today, but that doesn’t mean I want Obama stepping up to the plate.
A Russian newspaper journalist wrote a recent article in a Russian newspaper where he, living in a former communist society, stated that the United States is moving towards a socialist government at an alarming rate. He compared us to lost sheep who do whatever our leader says. In 6 months time, we have already handed over our auto and banking industries and as I mentioned earlier, media and healthcare to come next. While I certainly agree that healthcare needs reform, I don’t want the government taking that over. Just look at the government run programs that have run out of money or are failing. Under this president I see our grandchildren being left with an overwhelming amount of debt. I don’t claim that by getting a Republican president in office that this will miraculously get better. As a Christian, I see all of the things prophesized in the Bible beginning to come to fruition, so whether it was Obama or Bush in office, we are warned these things will come to pass.
As far as being narrow minded, God tells us there is no sitting on the fence, we either believe or we don’t. I had already told friends that I am setting up DVR to record his speech on CSPAN and screening the content before I allow my child to watch it. So while I have no problem screening it first and then having that discussion with my daughter in the privacy of my home, I am not comfortable giving even more of my rights over to the government to manage. Next, government will be telling me how to do everything else. We can’t talk about God in schools and teach our children about him. Parents are afraid to spank their kids or discipline them at all because of fears the children will cry abuse ( I am not referring to those who are abusive and should be dealt with). I have the right as a parent to stand up for my constitutional right to raise my family in the manner I see fit. If people keep just stepping aside and ignoring what is slowly happening, then we will soon find we are like the frog in the hot pot of water.The water starts of cold, and and heat is slowly rising so since the change is so gradual, we won’t notice the danger, until it is too late. If the government announced on t.v. tomorrow that they were taking over everything from media, to healthcare, to our finances, etc. there would be widespread civil war, looting, and rioting in the streets, but if they create crisis and take over everything gradually, we won’t know to jump out of the pot. While I would never think it bad to encourage children to strive for their best, I also remember this comes from the same president that supports the idea of work camps for our children. Wonder when he will begin enforcing that law? Not trying to attack anyone either, just standing firm in my beliefs.
At least when all hell literally breaks lose, my hands are clean of it all because I can say with confidence that I tried to warn others.
Me:
I’m certainly not upset at you and stated as much when I posted. I’m sorry if what I said here or on my wall upset you, either, because that wasn’t my intent. I think surrounding yourself with people who have opposing views is a great way to expand your mind, and I’m all about the brain power.
That said, I do understand that some people get uncomfortable arguing and it makes them feel attacked and/or like they have to defend themselves. And that still others resort to name calling. You won’t get that from me. (I can’t promise I won’t do that to public figures or collective groups, though, like I did last night on my wall! Hahahahaha!)
I might get amused and sometimes aggravated by the religious right, but I try to at least hear what they have to say if for no other reason than to figure out where they’re coming from. That desire almost caused me to burst a few blood vessels the past decade when Bush was in office, let me tell you.
At any rate, I don’t think Obama trying to inspire kids in a classroom has *anything* to do with religion. It certainly didn’t in your original post. In your original post you talked about conditioning and brainwashing, which clearly indicated you thought he had the power to do that to young children. And in the same paragraph, you asked who he thought he was to try and inspire them to stay in school, and that it wouldn’t make a difference, suggesting he didn’t have the power to change thinking at all. Which is it?
Also, it’s the parents job to teach their kids about personal responsibility (and not the teachers or the President), but it IS the teachers’ job to talk to and teach kids about God? What about Jews? What about Muslims? What about Atheists?
If we’re going to teach about the Christian God, what about everyone else’s God? It would be fine with me, if they included all religions and made it optional, of course, otherwise it’d be… ummm.. church.
But since that’s not really practical, why not just leave that stuff in church where it belongs, and the parents can take them wherever they see fit?
That’s one of the main principles this country was founded on, after all. Freedom of religion DOESN’T just mean being free to praise Jesus, despite what most Christians think. It means being free to worship whoever you want, and also to be entirely free FROM religion if you want.
Just like the Americans are lost sheep comment… I would argue that secular Americans feel exactly the same way about Christians– that they are lost sheep with blind faith who latch on to certain parts of the Bible which serve their beliefs and completely ignore other parts of the Bible which don’t. The worst is ignoring all the parts about feeding, clothing and sheltering the hurting. I wonder if Jesus would think that was socialism… or would he just think that’s the right thing to do? I don’t know. I’m not a Christian and I don’t study the Bible. But from what I can see that’s EXACTLY what he was trying to teach.
Those are the kinds of contradictions that I like to point out when I argue with people. My point in arguing, by the way, isn’t to upset people, hurt them, or piss them off. It’s to get them to think about it in a different way. Even if they come to the same conclusion again, they’ll look at their reasoning a lot more closely. And if someone with an opposing view says something factually relevant that gets me to examine MY opinions more closely, that’s awesome, too. But once it becomes all about the Bible instead of the facts, I will respectfully bow out, too. I could talk about politics all day long, but God’s word? Will leave that to others.
I don’t have a problem with Christians. I have a problem with Christians who don’t act like Christians. But I had an amazing role model on that front– my grandmother was the most devout woman I’ve ever known. But she was also the most kind, empathetic, generous and wonderful person. She didn’t just preach it, she LIVED it. It wasn’t her sole mission in life to convert others to Christianity. Her sole mission in life was to do God’s work, and to perhaps lead others by example. If more Christians were like THAT instead of all doom and gloom, hellfire and brimstone, maybe more people would be inspired to learn.
I could talk about politics all day long, but I need to work.
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She deleted the post and all the comments soon after. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them. — George Bernard Shaw
