Protests Ain’t What They Used To Be

I came of age during the dawn of the Age of Aquarius, a time of hippies, love, rock and roll, drugs and protests. In those days, my contemporaries knew how to protest. At least at first, antiwar and pro-love demonstrations were spontaneous and effective. Most of the original protestors were authentic. They really were against war. After a while, they were joined by the cowards, who just were afraid of military service.  Like most movements, they were eventually taken over by special interests.

Full disclosure: I wasn’t a protestor. I was one of the ones being protested. I was serving in the military in San Francisco during the 60s. I had garbage thrown at me when returning from Viet Nam. I know about protests. 

This weeks school walkout was nothing like the protests of my youth. It was a manipulation of students by anti 2nd amendment interests. It was made to look like a 17 minute protest to honor the dead 17. Who could be against that? Then it became an anti-violence protest. Whose in favor of violence? When it was over it was painted as what it really was: anti-gun protest. Most of the kids who participated had no idea. In some places, the protested lasted much longer than 17 minutes and included desecration of the flag. I wonder how many student participants were cool with that. 

My fourth grader grand daughter got a note from the school to get parental permission for the protest. I don’t remember the antiwar hippies having notes from mommie. My high school grandson protested the protest, telling his friends, this isn’t a protest; it’s an organized school activity, announced and promoted at the school. “Think for yourselves, dudes.”

I want kids to be involved. I want them to be moved by unnecessary violence and compassionate for the victims. I want them knowledgeable about the issues and mature enough to form their own opinions. Schools could do better by servicing their primary function: education. I’m proud of my grandkids. They are smart enough to know issues and passionate enough to adopt the causes that touch them. They are also discerning enough to know when they are being used. In the passion of youth, I suspect they aren’t going to put up with it. I know I won’t.

You libtards, take your hands off my grandkids. I put up with being hated for my military service, but mess with my grands and this Vietnam Vet could be your worst nightmare.