The Fall of the American Dream: Painful Truths Countered with Specks of Hope

By Sidney Mack

Beginning around 2005, this book grew out of frustration and necessity as I observed the slow crumbling away of our so-called American Way. As a teacher, patriot, mother, sister, and troubled soul, I literally began piecing together thiswriting whetherI liked it or not. I kept trying to stop the flow of words, but couldn't. Stream of consciousnessstabbed atme like a dagger,yet Ideclared to myself thatthenegative thrusts of violence, selfishness, and willfulness on the part of societal beings was temporary, not the tip of a disastrous iceberg beginning to crush civility in natureall around me, all around all of us. The tip of collapsehas deepenedin spite of looking the other way or putting my words in a drawer whereI couldn't see them. My language is strongcoupled with a bit of levity, but we must act collectively to make theincreasingly sparce specks of hope materialize into action and perseverance if we are tothrive and survive as a free nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 16, 2009
• ISBN: 9781467843669

Sidney Mack

Actions may speak louder than words in some instances, but words are Sidney Mack's livelihood, her grand staff to lean on as she trudges and skips through life, and her refuge during the onslaughts of strife.  This, her second publication, is delivered once again from the heart, from her compelling need to share her thoughts as a result of living, of being, in hopes her words may inspire, comfort, provoke, or even delight fellow humans.  It might be possible that some readers may venture into deeper thought concerning their lives and even yield to the possibility that a slight change in lifestyle can open windows, or even doors, to a remarkable place in living upon reading the literary works of Sidney Mack.  

Book preview

The Fall of the American Dream

Painful Truths Countered with Specks of Hope

Sidney Mack

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 Sidney Mack. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/14/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4389-6017-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-4366-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009906175

This writing is dedicated to the epitome of human compassion, wit, patriotism, and the capacity to love and forgive … my two sons.

Contents

Foreword 

I. Truths to Ponder

1. The Fall of the American Dream 

2. Disassembling of America 

Attachments:

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Landlord, letter one

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Landlord, letter two

3. Why Do We Overlook the Poor and Needy? 

4. A Historical Expletive Coming to Pass 

5. Clearing the Way for What? 

6. Dear Whoever Would Take Time to Read This 

7. Bum 

8. Father Figure 

9. Dear Virgil on July 4, 2007 

10. Dear Virgil on April 6, 2008 

11. Murder in the Schools 

II. Public Schools Madness

12. The Average Kid: The Forgotten Breed 

13. Dear Virgil and the third-grade murder plot 

14. Teacher Abuse at the Hands of Administration 

15. Performance of a Few 

16. Introduction to Graduate School Position Paper: Should Drug Therapy be Used with Handicapped Persons? 

17. Shoud Drug Therapy be Used With Handicapped Persons? 

18. Towncry and afterthought 

19. My Really Final, Absolutely Final, Truly Final Teaching Day 

20. Ms. Mack, Did The Student Actually Put His Hands on You? 

21. Oh, Dear: Another Murder Through Torture by Teens; So What Else Is New? 

22. My Final Accounting of Teen Violence Out of Control in America: I’m Just Too Emotionally Spent to Say More 

III. Patriotic Counterpoint

The Land of the Free and Home the Brave, Have We Forgotten?

23. Non- Veteran Honors Veterans with Taps on His Bugle 

24. Fathers of War 

IV. The Human Condition of Love: Its Struggles and Its Counter Revelations

25. I Have To Get There (fiction) 

26. Apostrophe 

27. The Man Thing 

V. Cheery Counterpoint: Lighter Fare for the Soul

28. A Spirited Remembrance 

29. Old Historical Site: Cape Hatteras Lighthouse 

30. The Cornfield 

31. Special Night in the Town of Windsor 

32. Talking to Survive, Cheap or Not 

33. The Adventures of Felix and Pip 

34. The Feared Death Sleep 

35. The Helping Wet Hand 

36. The Stopover Collaboration 

37. Want Me to Put My Foot on It and You Keep Walking? 

VI. The End … No. This is the beginning … make America great again. It’s up to You.

Foreword 

Although discouraged and very angry, I still see good in our decaying society, and relay those findings as they relate to my often childlike joy and wonder of life. It is my hope that you, the reader, may be uplifted by these glimpses of life as seen through my eyes. But sad as it may be, too many of my writings in this little book point to the results of the breakdown, our failure to press forward and onward as people ready to fight for internal integrity and peace in America. I wanted the scales to bear the weight of happy thoughts and experiences and discoveries, but the obvious is too evident, too painful to swallow anymore. We’re rapidly losing our decided purpose and desire to stand up for each other in the face of growing chaos and self-serving individuals. People don’t have to be rich to be self-serving. I know plenty of them. You do, too. Would it help if each of us was required by law to reread the Constitution, drawn up by men of vision and purpose? Would it help if we stop overlooking the little crimes we observe around us on a regular basis or stop passing over the unconscionable crimes drawn in detail by the media in hopes they won’t touch us if we stay behind our little fence of isolation we call living? Would it help if each of us would stop feeling sorry for ourselves when, in actuality, we have very little of pointed nature causing us to walk around with our lower lip protruded? Every word I utter in this volume I share because I have lived it. The pieces of negativity have become too heavy to carry around any longer.

I haven’t given up and hope with all my heart that you haven’t given up. I still love life and the joyous moments it provides me over and over. However, we owe it to ourselves and future generations, some of which we’ve already bred, to fight to save ourselves, to recapture the vision and to realize the dreams placed before us by those freedom-fighting statesmen in supreme challenge, borne within that Pennsylvania courthouse over two centuries ago. Joyous moments don’t wipe out the overwhelming negativity that is leaping forward at a pace that scares me almost beyond expression. The bad guys will leave if we make them leave. Some of the bad guys live just feet or blocks from each of us. Don’t let them bring us down. They smile when they see us frown as we walk around. Sit tall, stand tall, think tall, and enforce our liberty as a free and protected culture before it’s gone.

My words in this book are meant to inspire you, the public. Some items are quite liquid and full of levity. Others are downright dark and dank. That’s because the darkness slowly encircling our society is too evident to overlook anymore. Try to see it my way. Even my negative reports may cause you to act positively upon your own negative thoughts you hide from concerning the future of America. I hope so.

Forward and onward means to take a deep breath and stand up for yourself and each other so we can be what our forefathers knew we could be. Renewed pride, perseverance, and throwing out the human garbage, no matter the extent of the filthy acts and practices, will flow over to generations following ours, readying the kids to take the helm with fortitude guided by the upstanding and outstanding values we’ve passed on to them. Don’t make the children of our future clean up our mess. The bad guys thrive on our weakness, our apathetic standing, to take hold until the rotten portion of our population becomes the ruling force. Turn it around. We’re not weak, just tired and discouraged. I believe in me, my sons, my country. Believe with me, act upon your beliefs, and we’ll all see American reality and the American dream come together with splendor, high expectations, and positive excitement. Then we’ll see her alive and well for at least another 200 years.

Author’s Notes 

I think it may be appropriate, particularly if you are curious as to the significance it places on the subject matter of my books thus far, that I reveal the person I refer to as Virgil. My impulse to write again and again began through letters to friends and relatives as well as putting to pen the account of being robbed at gunpoint in my home. I recounted the terrifying experience in writing because a guidance counselor at school told me I should, and the trauma completely altered how I conduct my life on a daily basis. That story of the longest night of my life is included in my first book, A Freckled Girl.

I state my main reasons when writing letters to family and friends, then branch off into another subject or two totally unrelated to my original intention for writing in the first place. I then finalize the whole collection of thoughts into one intended correspondence. Many times, a subject I feel passionate about can go on for two or more pages instead of a couple of paragraphs.

In the case of the letters to Virgil, her name begins with V, but I’ve changed her real name for the purpose of protecting her privacy. She is my best friend and has remained so for over thirty-five years. Indeed, the Dear Virgil sequences you will encounter as you read The Fall of the American Dream: Painful Truths Countered with Specks of Hope or a Freckled Girl are actual letters composed by me and mailed, then received and read by her over the years. She is a genuine personality, non-judgmental, and an angel on this earth in her dedication as a close friend. The day she told me, If I could write like you do, I sure wouldn’t be sitting here, I realized that I might have something worthwhile to say to the world.

My style of writing is completely reactionary. I suppose that’s why I keep pounding the keys, most often revealing real life events. Even the fictional short story included in this second book was written using several actual events of the heart, mind, and body woven together, in that the characters were developed with the inclusion of a close relative, a former lover, me, and my lifetime romance with nature. As I repeatedly proofread The Fall of the American Dream: Painful Truths Countered with Specks of Hope before submitting it to AuthorHouse for publication, I realized I had, several times, referred to particular points from a Freckled Girl, my first published work. The subject matter is not related, yet it is connected due to the fact that both are non-fiction in content and both share personal experiences in my life. I am certainly not advocating you purchase both books in order to assure complete success in digesting the material in this second writing. However, growing from childhood to womanhood emotionally, sexually, and philosophically - as revealed in my first book – definitely relates to my utter concern for my welfare and happiness as well as concern for the whole human race in the face of what’s evolving socially in America and beyond. Making reference to my first book as you read the second one just might aid, even enlighten you, to embrace a particular point more poignantly.

Part I.

Truths to Ponder 

Chapter 1. The Fall of the American Dream  

The fall of the American dream. The fall. Does that mean we are in the fall, the autumn, of our American culture? Are we falling like the Roman Empire? Are we even still dreaming in America? Of course we’re still dreaming. That’s why we’re falling. We are, intentionally or not, closing our eyes to reality and dreaming on, hoping for the best. But our best isn’t good enough. Following World War II, we worked our minds and bodies past exhaustion to make the American dream come true. That hard work paid off in rapidly growing revenues, creating jobs, and delivering goods galore. Well, don’t forget that if our ancestors hadn’t trudged across our United States from east to west, many dying along the way, the American dream would never have taken hold in our imaginations on such a wide scale. Blistered hands and gritted teeth made us what we are today, not the see who can do who and get away with it sons-of-guns. These arrogant, rather nasty members of modern society almost outnumber the honorable warriors among us who still grit our teeth and carry on in the face of unbelievable societal obstacles. The bad guys were easier to spot when our country was younger because there weren’t as many sophisticated crooks as there are today. We hard-nosed and determined folks either shot ’em or ran ’em out of town so we could build our country for the good of all, not just a few. Think about it. In Biblical history, a criminal was stoned to death on the courthouse steps. I do not believe our murderers, rapists, child predators, and other types of pathological sociopaths would be so profound in generating and repeating their criminal activity if they knew that discovery of their degenerate ways would end with such a painful death. Evil people are selfish and have no tolerance for emotional or physical pain. To be stoned to death in front of the citizens of his or her city would be too much. Many would likely commit suicide to avoid being publicly scathed and beaten. Okay. That’s acceptable, too, because criminals cease to be human after the second offense against mankind.

When considering the average population, I think of those who keep believing we’ll make it as a free and flourishing nation. Now, I’m not a feminist or even a liberated sort of woman. We all made America together, toe to toe, lips to lips. We mixed breeds (and that’s what most Americans are, whether European, Asian, or African) aren’t so different from the American Indian. Men fought and built tribal life and the women stood behind the warriors, keeping the domestic side of life going.

That’s still what we do, all of us. Or at least that’s what we used to do. Unfortunately for survival of America, women have attempted to put on the trousers and plow forward like our men. But they’ve failed in their attempts. As we turn the pages of time depicting the second decade of the twenty-first century, most men have little regard for most American females because too many of them have forgotten how to be women. We females are supposed to support our men by bearing their kids, keeping home fires burning, and making our men feel like superheroes sexually and emotionally behind the bedroom door.

I’m sorry, but the rise of the flower children and the burning of bras was the real beginning of the flaking away of the American dream because it capitalized on the loss of femininity of the gender meant to support, hold up, help the conquests of the males by standing behind them with open arms and pride. The haphazard female declarations of independence from male domination started the ball rolling downhill in the foolish name of independent womanhood. I call it the Age of Womanlessness. The old saying has been repeated to me over and over through the years. Men want (and need) their women to be ladies in public and whores in the bedroom. That’s the truth. Why do you think bordellos keep booming all around the world? It’s because those artful chicks know what makes a man feel good so he can go back out and fight the world in preservation of his freedom and that of his family and business associates. Too many of our women are too busy projecting their womanless ways in the worlds of social activity and office procedures, and for what purpose? That overzealous and failed movement has had such a profound effect on our societal displacement that it now plays a major role in the present downfall of our American dream.

And I still don’t see a multitude of women fighting on the war front. They’ve had many, many chances since the end of WWII to get on out there and possibly lose life or limb for freedom and for further declaration toward liberation of the female sex. However, thousands of our men have fought and died to preserve and perpetuate our freedom and our American dream. That’s my point. Women scream and yell for equal pay, equal treatment, but stop short when the expectations become too risky. To hear them bluster, but back off with nonsensical blabber when the going gets too tough, is pitiful. If the liberated movement would die down so women could be women again, our men would rise to the occasion in more ways than one, believe me. I think that part of the reason men overlook too much concerning the survival of the American way is because they are fighting a lonely battle uphill with very few women walking by their side.

Women’s liberation has spoiled our female gender to the point that most men can’t stomach the hollowness of women under the age of forty. Men and women in high places have allowed greed to replace honesty and integrity in the working world. Prostitution has been degraded to slavery of children in all societies, including America. Post-WWII life gave so many Americans hope for the future. We worked for a living throughout most of our adulthood; ballooning housing developments were part of the new world following the mid-1940s, and even low-income families survived and flourished. Today, our population at poverty level (some living in cardboard boxes, others in cars) is disgusting and heartbreaking. Our government won’t help them. The poor don’t want handouts. They just need a boost to move on in the right direction. Tragically, we average Americans close our eyes to the out-of-control crime rate, growing degradation of child molesters, and companies stealing from each other and their own employees. We, that oversized segment of average citizenry called the middle class, just move on behind our little individual fenced-in worlds, pretending our present course will create a fork in the road to the happy rainbow of American heritage and cultural security.

If a visual could be affected, the majority of the American population who pretend to be content and productive would be wearing blinders. I refer to the blinders still used on animal stock so they won’t see anything but straight ahead. If we ventured to look to the side and around us too often, or much at all, we would fall to the ground and beg God, or whoever we communicate with when alone and afraid and confused, to help us recover our quality of life as human beings. We owe future generations our best effort in the face of frustration and fear so as to rebuild our American dream of vitality coupled with assertiveness and compassion. With all the good guys helping, resembling attached covered wagons struggling together to reach the highest point of the pass, the bad guys don’t have a chance to destroy us. Our struggle alone will discourage crime and negligence to the point that our burdens will be light once again. Honesty breeds integrity, and integrity creates harmony. We can do it. We must do it.

Chapter 2. Disassembling of America  

I’m so sick of this. So sick of it. When in hell will we Americans, the faithful who continue to abide in this free society, stand up and be counted? I’ll tell you why we don’t. We’re flatly afraid of our own shadows. I’m the worst. I’ve had too many experiences over the years that shouldn’t have happened concerning invasion of my privacy, my body, my peace of mind. The latest two experiences happened within one month of each other in a quiet and unassuming city in Wyoming. A third experience occurred just months ago in a quiet and unassuming city in North Carolina. Do you want to hear about these happenings? Of course not. You want to remain in your self-colored bubbles of pink and carry on with your quiet, unassuming lives fenced separately from each other and your carefully selected activities. The only time I personally rebelled against physical invasion, one of nine of varying intensity, barreling forth in retaliation no matter the consequences, was accomplished after being physically attacked by a student in 1996. I