REFLECTIONS

20 September 2023 - The Chinese gain of function biological warfare has now resulted in a Nipah outbreak in India. My previously stated concerns for a Nipah and MERS outbreak are, unfortunately, coming to fruition. No remarks from the Manchurian Candidate.

https://www.reuters.com/business/healthcare-pharmaceuticals/what-is-nipah-virus-that-killed-two-india-how-is-it-treated-2023-09-14/

Note the contrasting structures. I remember those red bricks from NBC training as a freshman cadet at UTC; the newer structures were graciously supplied by France, more than happy to construct a "P4" lab in order to further the Chinese military's ambitions. But not to worry as China has assured us "...The BSL-4 facilities were accredited by the China National Accreditation Service for Conformity Assessment (CNAS) in January 2017,[5]...".

Taking a trip on the Wayback Machine, I am a big fan of Hogan's Heroes and quickly recognized the Sergeant Schultz defense as I watched the grilling of AG Garland, embittered because President Trump did not nominate him for Supreme Court consideration. Garland replacing Scalia? Garland is the antithesis of Antonin Scalia. The Sergeant Schultz defense, brought out of retirement by Obama, continuing with the friendly FBI chat with Hillary Clinton regarding her destruction of thousands of under-subpoena emails, AG Merrick Garland continued the obfuscation of declaring concerned parents and Catholics as terrorists. Garland said he was unaware of this and even stated he was unaware of the Hunter Biden investigation. God help us.

26 Oct 2023 - It doesn't seem nearly a lifetime ago that my beautiful sister Denise Kay entered the world. I was excited to have a sibling and, as a southern boy of five, I was already planning ways to keep her safe. Nobody will mess with my sister. As we grew, my love for my baby sister may have seemed more like tormenting rather than protecting. My earliest memories of Denise find me sitting next to her crib in the midst of a strong tropical storm slamming eastern North Carolina. I can still vividly recall the powerful winds buffeting our house as my mother was carefully positioning candles in our house to provide light. As this was a serious weather event, the governor declared an emergency, requiring my father as a National Guard soldier to be deployed. The lightning bolts and savage winds were frightening, but the calm demeanor of my mother and her reassuring tone tempered that fright. I distinctly remember sitting next to my baby sister's crib, reading to her my favorite book, Bambi. Amazingly, my mother's calmness during this storm event seemed to even reach the baby; Denise was gazing at the ceiling, seemingly impervious to what was happening.

Hawaii provided three years of great fun for Denise and me. I recall as a 9 year old squeezing myself into her way cool ambulance - (courtesy of Santa). Although I had a bike and a homemade skateboard, the lure of sitting inside a vehicle, pedalling like there was no tomorrow and steering with a wheel was simply irresistible. Most kids would have told her big brother, or anyone else for that matter, to buzz off. This is my toy! Not Denise. She always loved sharing with her friends and even her brother.

Those years also were God's provision of a period of joy in the kids' lives prior to events that would profoundly affect our family - the Vietnam conflict. As alluded to earlier, my father's jungle operation skills, honed in the jungles of the Big Island, Hawaii, resulted in his assignment to Vietnam where he trained the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) soldiers in combat. Our family was, at this point in time, conditioned to my father's absence (remember - duty, honor, country). Those periods of my father's deployments were fixed; we knew he would safely return.

Vietnam would change that.

My mother ran the family like a well-oiled machine. She would organize those frequent trips to Nimitz Beach, coordinated with my father's duty requirements, always ensuring inclusion of food and beverages, e.g., Cokes on ice and freshly fried chicken; she double checked her extensive list of beach necessities. Our mother would have made a great Battalion S-4, (supply and logistics).

Denise was quite the young architect with her sand castles; I will always remember Diamond Head looming on the horizon, located due east of Nimitz Beach. I fondly recall a 'live-on-TV oops!' my five year old sister provided: There was a popular afterschool live TV program, The Skipper Al Show; they encouraged young viewers to correspond to the show - you know, "snail mail".

Recently promoted to the fifth grade, I was an emboldened young man who was about to address my first letter containing my tribute to my favorite afterschool TV program. The show featured great cartoons, a sharply dressed ship's captain, and live guests, local elementary school kids. Again, one of those strong memories I have of my incredible mother was when she and I sat down at the kitchen table (where she also, a few months later, taught me how to calculate square roots - before the calculator), where she had a properly addressed sample envelope. She watched like a mother hen as I carefully printed the smaller, requiring more precision, return address; surely, I was impressing my mother. Successfully completing that part of the mission, my confidence soaring, I performed a flawless addressing of the envelope containing my admiration of this seafaring TV show.

Much to my surprise, my probably hyperbolic and obsequious correspondence contained within a well executed addressed envelope stirred them to invite me, as well as Denise and a friend, to appear live on his show. Wow!

As an anecdote: my lofty impression of how events transpired were lowered a bit when the return address on my invitation reflected "The Skipper Al Show", not "Skipper Owl", as I had addressed the envelope. As I was doing my homework, interspersed between cartoons, I honestly thought he was "Skipper Owl"; I had never seen his logo on the screen. Oh well, my printing was good.

My father was unable to be there, as he was deep in the jungles of Hawaii, another sacrifice for him. As a proud father, he would have loved to have been in the studios watching his beautiful 5 year old daughter and knucklehead 10 year old son.

My mother, again the sole parent, drove the three of us: Denise, myself and a fellow fifth grader, Eddie (in our brand new 1964 Chevy Impala) to downtown Honolulu. That was the first elevator ride I remember ever taking, looking through a full length glass window and marvelling at the beauty of a sprawling Honolulu beneath me. Skipper Al (I made sure I didn't slip and call him Skipper Owl...) was a most gracious host, making us all comfortable and at ease. The kids were seated with the Captain, each of us on a stool, as he introduced the next cartoon or chatted with the TV audience; there was no in-studio audience.

I distinctly remember his introduction of a Felix the Cat episode, rather abruptly, after one of his on-air commercials. The particular commercial was for a Chocks multivitamin, a tasty way to get the kids to take their vitamins. After Skipper Al demonstrated the delicious taste of Chocks with a live munching of one, Denise offered her experience with the multivitamin as being quite the opposite. In fact, I remember something on the order of "...it tasted terrible...". Noting the look on the Skipper's face, I quickly pointed out she was conflating her experience with a One A Day tablet. She was right: I also chewed the One A Day tablet; I don't recommend it.

I believe I recall the Skipper's eyes watering from his laughter...

Even at that young age, Denise expressed her seemingly innate motherly skills, as demonstrated with the care of her dolls. She talked to them and kept them clean. Tea parties were on the horizon. I remember her demonstrating her Chatty Cathy pull-string talking doll to me. I must admit, I kind of enjoyed pulling that string. Santa was generous as usual with not only Denise's doll, but also with my much coveted set of football shoulder pads and jersey that Christmas. Thanks, Santa.

Our father's special operations skills acquired in the jungles of Hawaii completed the final phase of his quest to become a drill instructor. I was proud that my father's arduous journey was rewarded by his promotion to staff sergeant and his first assignment as a Drill Instructor. That meant a move to Fort Knox, the United States Bullion Depository and a central theme to one of the best Bond movies, Goldfinger. Having just seen the movie further enhanced the excitement I had. Also, three years on an island, even Oahu, made the family miss the continent; Kentucky was beckoning. Denise and I were so proud of our father, the best of the best, marching with his trainees in graduation parades, sporting those great Drill Sergeant Hats.

Again taking a trip on the Wayback Machine, in his garrison uniform khakis, SSG Daw had a strong resemblance to SGT Carter of 'Gomer Pyle, USMC' fame. (Some years later, another doppelganger for my father was our UT Vols football coach, Butch Jones. Watching Coach's flashing green eyes while giving stern advice to his team, coupled with his flat top, brought back memories of counselling sessions given to me by my father. Sports Illustrated agreed; Butch Jones and SGT Carter - Frank Sutton from Clarkesville, TN - were on the cover of my office copy of Sports Illustrated.).

As the Second Lady of the Daw family, Denise earned her name alongside of my mother's with the christening of my father's 40 HP Evinrude 14 foot runabout - The Joy Kay. Those great fishing trips are treasured memories, including the treasure hunt for wrigglers with our mother's best spoons. My little sister didn't mind getting her hands dirty in our quest for big and fat fishing bait. Denise flourished in the well structured environment provided in a Drill Instructor's home. Best of all, there were few deployments as our father's primary mission was training young men to become soldiers.

Smart and industrious, Denise assumed home chores and became a Monopoly foe for the family. She was acquiring the skills she would soon need to negotiate the paradigm shift in the family structure, as our father was about to be assigned to Vietnam, raging with civil war. Five years of periodic deployments were bad enough, but we were confident that God and our father's warrior skills would ensure his safe return. This time, our father was going to be away for a year and with no guarantee of a safe return.

Again, our mother's continued assurances and our faith in God buoyed us until our father's return. Denise was as helpful as she could be to the family. She looked after our mother when I was at Boy Scout events and fed our boxer, Butch. I am blessed she is my sister who has helped me in so many ways over the years. She and her pediatrician husband, Dennis, have three incredible daughters. Our mother, the first of the beautiful Daw girls to receive Bachelor of Science degrees in Nursing from UTC, is looking down smiling.

28 Oct 2023 - 1970 was an incredible year for me; turning sixteen and that much coveted driver's license opened a whole new world. My father returned safely from Vietnam; there would be no more scanning combat footage on TV, praying for God to look after him. As years have gone by, revelations about the firefight resulting in his Silver Star award clearly indicates He had plans for my father. I remember the parades the family attended at Columbia Military Academy and how proud I was of Sergeant First Class Daw marching with his company of cadets. Military parades demonstrate precision as part of the pomp and ceremony. With the band performing the National Anthem and The Stars and Stripes Forever, among other patriotic music, these events are truly memorable. The crisp uniforms of the cadre and cadets presented quite striking figures. Even so, my father seemed to stand out. I remember on one beautiful sunny day my smiling mother pointing out, as our father was approaching our bleachers for review, every cadet in perfect cadence, how handsome he was. Maybe it was the bright sun but I detected a certain sparkle in her brown eyes. Her warrior was home and all was well.

As if things could not get any better, God's blessings on my family continued with the birth of my beautiful sister, Dawn Kyla. Big sister Denise, again, having honed her motherly skills, went right to work, ensuring her little sister was always safe and happy. I can still remember some trepidation as I was entrusted with not letting Dawn scrape her knee as we ventured a few steps on the sidewalk, continuing her introduction her to Lucky, the family dog. Denise had just done so without incident. Far from being scared, despite never having seen an animal before, and an early indication of Dawn's fearlessness, Dawn's eyes widened and a big grin spread across her face; she welcomed this creature three times her size.

I enjoyed watching Dawn taking in a new environment, especially so when the family travelled to Panama City that July in 1971. As the eye is the only organ in the body that is the same size as an infant and adult, a child's face becomes even more expressive. With all the activity around her, Baby Dawn's eyes widened to the classic saucer shape; I can still remember pointing them out to a girl with whom I was flirting at the pool across from where the family was sitting. Such a beauty, both Dawn and the young lady from Fort Wayne, Indiana.

In contrast to my father's experience with Denise, Columbia - with the beautiful Maury County Courthouse (thanks, Jason Aldean) - accorded him the opportunity to spend more time with Dawn. Again, balancing his duties as an instructor at one of the top military academies in the nation and responsible for helping shape the lives of hundreds of future Army officers, with that of a husband and father, my father relished his role as father to an incredibly smart young lady who continued the role of bait collector for their frequent fishing trips, relinquished by her older siblings.

Dawn's frequent moves as a consequence of being a military child contributed to her outgoing and effusive personality. I don't recall her having enmity toward anyone; in contrast, she was helpful to everyone around her. As she became older and had "boyfriends", my initial concern as a big brother didn't last long, as the few she had were great guys from my perspective. I suspect Johnny had to work hard to gain the love of my little sister; I was impressed with my first handshake with this remarkable man. After leaving a US Army Infantry Division, I quickly noticed a dearth of manly men when I transitioned to a civilian. Johnny was a refreshing departure.

Everything received an upgrade upon Dawn's arrival. After her right of passage by catching her first fish, our father renamed the "Joy Kay" to the "Joy Kay Dawn". My father registered the boat in Tennessee which required changing the Kentucky registration numbers on the hull. My father, always analyzing any task and carefully performing the steps required, meticulously removed the old lettering. As he was preparing the surface for the new lettering and ensuring this would leave a perfect surface, the always by-the-numbers drill sergeant was tracking his progress with lighting from different angles. My job was to remove the backing before passing them to my father. My task was simple; the least I could do was make a neat pile of the accumulating sticker backings. As my father instilled in his trainees and soldiers, as well as his son, proper preparation makes a successful mission more attainable. After accomplishing proper cleanup, a very important axiom: don't throw away anything before asking. Gathering the backings in my hands, I rhetorically (I thought) asked my father if he needed them for anything. To my surprise, he indicated with a straight face he would like me to "place a light coat of oil on them...". As the dutiful son, I carefully WD-40'd them, oh so lightly. As I glanced over my shoulder, my father now had a broad smile as he directed me to put them " where the sun don't shine...". His laughter was so infectious and allowed me to enjoy a father and son moment that would be remembered for a lifetime.

I suspect big sister Denise doesn't have any memory of that dark and stormy night, buffeted by a tropical storm, in her crib as our mother provided us with that sense of security a baby and 5 year old need. However, another stormy night for Dawn will always be remembered, seared into her memory. My great-uncle Bill, one of my father's favorites, lived in Pensacola; this presented many opportunities for the Daw family to fish. We all have great memories of Pensacola Beach and a little east, Navarre Beach ('Jaws II' filmed there). By this time in the eighties, Dawn was quite the seafaring fisherman. Our father had retired the Joy Kay Dawn, as Chickamauga Lake needed a bass boat. Our father always ensured his kids were part of the adventure; he provided tips and expertise that allowed Dawn to gain her fishing skills and acumen, from a cane pole to rod and reel. She was a quick learner. My father's Bass Tracker could skim the waters of the beautiful and huge Lake Chickamauga effortlessly; Dawn has recounted to my nephews the excitement she had on those trips in Mississippi and South Carolina with our father who always put us on fish.

Her first salt water fishing experience must have been exhilarating to my sister who loved the beach, the sun and fishing with our father. I can only imagine the awe Dawn must have had when she could not see land in any direction. That is certainly a unique feeling. One of those fishing trips in Pensacola, however, presented one of the scariest episodes in my little sister's life. I was in dental school at the time and hadn't seen our father's latest acquisition: an ocean going craft. She was beautiful, sleeping six with a kitchen and enclosed cabin, if needed. With a Ford 302 cubic inch engine, fishing adjacent to oil platforms, miles offshore, was possible.

I only know scant details of the harrowing event that was about to occur. To the best of my knowledge, my father's boat had a fuel pump malfunction leaving them dead in the water. As the horizon was darkening from an approaching storm, my father had already headed toward land when the failure occurred. In the grip of the current, the boat was increasingly drifting farther from land. No GPS in those days; there were precious few ways to communicate on the open water, especially miles from other boaters. As the furious storm descended upon them, Dawn recalls torrential rain pounding them. Our father and Uncle Bill bailed water for hours as the boat was in danger of sinking with the volume of rain it was receiving. I believe they were spotted by another boat as daylight ensued. The rain had stopped but they were still dead in the water. The other boat was able to contact the Coast Guard who towed them to safety. Thanks, again, God. Our father subsequently bought a ship-to-shore phone, the highest technology at that time.

I am so proud of my sisters, beautiful and smart; their service to their patients and love for their families continues the example our mother set.

11 Nov 2023 - A salute to all who have served; thanks for your service. As the Marine stud, bomb technician Joey Jones replies when someone thanks him: "Thanks for being worthy of being served.". As an Army brat, I am so blessed I was surrounded by some of the best individuals one would find: the United States Army military community. As my father's quest to become a Drill Instructor required moving every two to three years, not unlike 95 % of other soldiers, family order and discipline instilled early in the children's lives ensured the ability to make those transitions smoothly.

I began the second grade in North Carolina and finished it in Fort Carson, Colorado. I was seven and even at that young age, I was impressed with how many jobs my father had. He was a busy man, driving an awesome linen delivery truck (wow - that beast was big and red and my father was driving it...), painting houses and serving as a soldier with the North Carolina National Guard. My father recalls being part of a house painting team, finding him high on a ladder. As part of the three man team, my father was relegated the ladder guy. My father was always finding ways to make his efforts more efficient, saving time on the job (he did, after all, have three jobs...). After painting the area he could reach and, in lieu of securing his equipment and descending the steps on the ladder, my father suggested his two friends just move the ladder with him on it. Less time on the paint job meant more time with our family. Further, when summer arrived and tobacco harvest time came, my mother and father contributed their efforts: my mother as a looper and my father as a cropper. That's four jobs now.

As stated earlier in my bio, my father's love of country and the Army guided him toward the decision to become an active duty soldier. The Army lured him with a nice enlistment bonus (resulting in a beautiful Impala convertible) and two stripes, enabling a quick promotion to a buck sergeant. This was a reflection of the need for increased military preparedness ahead of a looming national threat: the Soviet Union. The military was recruiting the best of the best, as potential conflict was imminent, thanks to President Kennedy trusting Khrushchev. I remember a big Kennedy smile as he shook the dictator's hand in Vienna. A smile and a handshake only to see the Berlin Wall go up and Soviet missiles placed in Cuba. Castro would not have been successful and the Soviets would not have had Cuba as a launch site for nuclear missiles - 90 MILES OFF OUR COAST - if Kennedy had not undermined the Eisenhower efforts with the CIA Bay of Pigs Invasion. Biden, continuing his role as the Manchurian Candidate AKA the Iranian Candidate, has allowed China to place a listening post - 90 MILES OFF OUR COAST - gathering signal intelligence from the United States; watch what you say on your cell phone.

https://www.wsj.com/articles/cuba-spy-station-brings-china-rivalry-to-americas-doorstep-21c86073

Democrats, as a rule, are never successful in global military operations. The State Department is invariably antithetical to virtually every military operation I can remember. The list of abject failures at protecting the United States with demonstrable strength and resolve in my lifetime: Kennedy, Johnson, Carter, George H. W. Bush, Clinton, Obama and the Manchurian Candidate. God help us. A caveat with Kennedy: he recognized his error and stood up to Khrushchev, blockading Cuba. (I distinctly remember having some concern as an 8 yo third grader that Fort Carson may be at greater risk; it was an important military facility.) Also, Kennedy lowered the highest bracket tax rate from 91 % to 70 %. He was much beloved; I can recall the weeping of my classmates when Mr. Hirata, my fourth grade teacher, called us in from the playground for important news - the assassination of the President. The black and white TV was rolled into the classroom and we watched live coverage of this tragedy.

My father, always consulting with his bride, felt God was presenting an opportunity to serve his country while not working three (or four) jobs. I will never forget my father's smile as he drew back the drapes on our picture window in Kinston, revealing that beautiful blue convertible with white top (down, of course) Chevy parked on the curb. Wow! I quickly glanced to the right, seeing another beautiful smile on my mother, as she was complicit in keeping this surprise from me. That first ever ride in the Impala, accompanied with that 'new car smell', was amazing; I can still visualize my beautiful mother's scarf keeping her hairdo in place while we cruised the countryside. That gorgeous Impala was my first memorable benefit of being an "Army brat".

My first impression of Fort Carson: that's a lot of snow. This North Carolina boy had never played in these depths. One of my family's treasured 8mm videos and a favorite of mine, shows my little sister battling knee high snow. Determined to play with our dog, Butch, Denise was undeterred. My father was not reluctant to utilize new technology; 8mm video and a projector provided the family with much enjoyment over the years with these captured memories.

When news of my father's impending assignment came, I started anticipating attending a new school with new friends. Although excited about the move, I was leaving friends I had known all my life. Being 'the new kid' was an often repeated experience with the Daw children. Continuing my second grade at Fort Carson, on my first day the teacher asked me to stand up and tell the class my name before the morning ritual of reciting the vowels. Reflexively, always remembering what my mother and father said about first impressions, I stood tall and proud and said "Dennis", pausing before correcting myself to "Keith Daw". As mindful as I was of the importance of standing tall, looking someone in the eye and confidently stating your name, I was even more cognizant of the "Dennis the Menace" moniker hung on me by my classmates. Oh, the horrors. At any rate, since then my friends call me Keith.

As an aside, over the years as I have bantered with my patients chairside, I have been conducting a survey. Somewhere between 1961 and now, it seems "w" has been deleted from the vowel list. As a diphthong and a part of my surname, I take offense. I believe this probably occurred in the 90's, as my son Kris was taught "... and sometimes y and w....". While visiting my sister Denise and Dennis for a sumptuous Christmas feast , I had the pleasure of sitting at the kid's table with one of my three beautiful nieces and two studly nephews. As Morgan is a second grade teacher, I asked Morgan, Kyle and Nathan to recite the vowels. All three in unison - "A,E,I,O,U and sometimes Y" - I paused briefly before adding the "W" as the second gliding vowel. When, oh when, did the W leave us? Reflections in my later years...

As I alluded earlier, my father's desire to increase his effectiveness as a soldier found him frequently away from the family; my mother didn't miss a beat in providing a safe and secure home when he was in the field or on deployments. Not long after our arrival in Fort Carson, I saw something I had not seen before. There was my father, still in uniform from his twelve hour day, with Army Field Manuals spread across the family dining table. He had two Field Manuals open, carefully reading and scanning the pages. Always giving my mother and father a kiss before bedtime, I kissed him on the cheek and went to bed, leaving him intently studying. This was a repeated scenario for days; my mother explained my father was studying for "pro pay", recognition for special skills and services. As such, passing the qualifying tests meant increased pay and another rung in the ladder for promotion. And I thought he was a busy man as a civilian.

His efforts resulted in a promotion and my discovery of a parachute in his closet; he had been selected for astronaut training. I was bursting with pride, sharing the discovery with my classmates. "Keith (not Dennis)", they shouted. "You're kidding, aren't you?", was ringing in my ears as I got off the school bus; I was quite the banty rooster. I soon found out my father wasn't going to need this parachute at this time. His quest to become a Drill Instructor could not be sidetracked.

Continuing the sad saga of the United States suffering because of French malfeasances, President Eisenhower, as a deterrent to the "domino effect", sent US troops to Vietnam, beginning a conflict that would result in more than 58,000 deaths, including a number of my father's close friends. After weaseling out of Indochina, dumping that civil war in our laps, and exploiting their resources, “France is determined to regain on her whole territory the full exercise of her sovereignty,” wrote French President Charles de Gaulle. The country intended to stop putting its military forces at NATO’s disposal and intended to kick NATO military forces—and those of NATO members—off of its land. Secretary of State Dean Rusk asked if that included the dead at Normandy.

The Army was going to utilize my father's warrior skills in some fashion; initially, he was selected for astronaut training as the military recognized the Soviet Union's advancements in rocket booster technology. My father's desire, however, to be a leader of men - a Drill Sergeant - would require advanced infantry training; a conflict involving asymmetrical warfare was on the horizon. The family's next move would provide a contrast to the beautiful Colorado snow: it was a bright sundrenched day in Honolulu as we deplaned. Welcome to the beauty of our 50th state, Hawaii.

The Army strives to move its soldiers with children during the summer months in order to avoid abrupt school changes. As this is not always possible, the K-12 schools that were on post consistently kept their students ahead of their civilian counterparts from an academic standpoint. As European assignments are common, the sixth grade required German. Beginning the third grade in Colorado and finishing in Hawaii seemed to reflect a recurring theme. No hesitance in announcing "Keith" as my name, however. Yet another memory forever ingrained was our TWA flight from Denver to Honolulu. Every passenger received a lei as they deplaned. The Daw family was now officially tropical.

This assignment to the 25th Infantry Division, Tropic Lightning, resulted in even more absences of our father, as intense jungle warfare training on the Big Island of Hawaii kept him away for weeks at a time. The continuing strides in my father's military advancement presented a deja vu of sorts. Again, I start seeing my father poring over text books as well as Army manuals. This time, it's college courses. The man never stops.

Training involving combat in an incredibly challenging jungle environment (as an infantryman utilizes dead reckoning with his map and compass to go from point A to point B, terrain recognition is an essential part of his land navigation acumen. It is essential in order to verify his position. How is that possible if he is engulfed by a jungle canopy? Similarly, imagine trying to shoot a back azimuth...) ensures that only the best infantryman would qualify. Although my father's special operation skills would eventually find him as Commandant of the NCO Academy at Fort Sherman, the nation's premier jungle operations training center in Panama, two combat tours in Vietnam would be required. I am blessed my father's example lead me to military service; I cannot imagine my life without those years before private practice. As I salute all veterans, I thank God for looking after my father for nearly ninety years.

17 Nov 2023 - The idiom "hell in a handbasket" seems appropriate at this juncture of our Manchurian Candidate. At the risk of mixing metaphors, the chickens have come home to roost; demonization of everything that has made this country great is at the top of mind with today's Democrat. Why would a parent shell out incredible sums of money for "gender studies" ? This illustrates the multigenerational effort to replace a democracy with Marxism, communism, and everything counter to western civilization. How does Harvard, as only one of many examples, avoid paying taxes on their multibillion endowments while accepting tax payers' funding? "Pay your fair share!" shouts Biden from the mountaintops. Only conservatives, though; 81,000 new IRS agents will ensure they do. By the way, have the Bidens paid any taxes on the tens of millions of dollars from their paymaster, China?

Luke 21:20 comes to mind with the incredible antisemitism in plain sight thanks to unchecked liberalism in our universities. But Biden is more concerned with Islamophobia (?) (!). Or is the "white supremacist" threat more immediate? Strange, I can't seem to pick out the white guy among the hundreds of thugs in endless videos of their ransacking of businesses and overt theft, murder and all sorts of evil. The racism from Demoncrats is sickening. Oh, by the way, the Middle East is about to explode.

Saturday during football season is a welcome relief from the horrors brought to us by our president. Hopefully, Tennessee won't be embarrassed by Georgia tomorrow. Despite the season UT has had, NCAA football is still preferable by eons for just a few hours relief from the chaos in the world. Almost to the point of grasping at straws (gotta watch those metaphors...), I cling to the positive aspects of 2023 football. First, bowl eligibility has been established. Who cannot enjoy watching the most powerful arm I have ever seen; the viral video before the Orange Bowl by Joe Milton III is stunning. I have viewed it probably a dozen times or more; thanks to my son Kris for recommending it to me. Here are two examples:

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/vK2s9_5uZig

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/7wrlkan1IiY

For years, the mantra was "The road to the SEC championship goes through Florida..." and it did, until Georgia and Kirby Smart started their dominance. I can support Georgia to three-peat; but find it difficult to support Florida unless it is out of conference play. Further, I have always considered it unfair to our Peyton Manning "...yeah, but he couldn't beat Florida...". So, as another bright spot in an otherwise bleak football season, I relished Arkansas' defeat of the Gators in the Swamp. Researching Arkansas a bit after the game, I discovered Arkansas still has no dental school; one of the players was regretting having to leave the state for his doctoral aspirations after graduation. As that was the case in 1977, I would have assumed that had been remedied decades later. However, there has been a paradigm shift in dentistry in the last two decades; I would never have imagined orthodontia and, more recently, even removable appliances made without ever seeing a dentist (!). And you can bet the lab tech was not a CDT. From a clinical standpoint, does the patient take a file in order to reduce the almost inevitable supraeruption caused by the missing tooth? Further, how can a remote orthodontic plan be developed without a cephalometric or even a panoramic radiograph? Insanity as well as malpractice.