Memoirs and Political Observations of a Midwestern W.A.S.P.: A View from Flyover Country

By Michael Sullenger

Michael A. Sullenger was born and raised in a small Southern Indiana town. Over the years, his travels and education, coupled with his Christian upbringing and his undergraduate and postgraduate studies, have cultivated his personal political views. Those views and observations are the focus of this book. His perspective is that of someone raised with Midwestern and Christian values, which he feels differs greatly from those on the East and West Coasts, as well as in most large cities. Those who have lived their lives through their school years and into early adulthood have a moral view of life and what it means to be a responsible citizen who contributes to our American society that clearly differs from the liberal members of our country. He asks straightforward questions that deal with our current political direction, from a Christian point of view. He also points out fallacies that are ever present in today's political system, along with challenging today's Christians to evaluate the politicians and political party they support against the biblical teachings in the Old and New Testament, as well as the Ten Commandments. If you find they fall short of those teachings, maybe a change is in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098009816

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Growing Up Hoosier

My Parents

My mother when she graduated from nursing school from Indiana University's School of Nursing

I was born on October 4, 1947. My natural mother was a fourteen-year-old teenager from Peru, Indiana. At the time of my birth, she was staying at the Suemma Coleman Home for Women on North Illinois Street in Indianapolis, Indiana. This was a special home for unwed mothers (teenagers). Young girls could stay at the home until they delivered their child. Once the delivery was complete, the child was put up for adoption. I know virtually nothing about her save what my (adopted) mother told me.

At two months of age, I was adopted by Doctor and Mrs. Adron A. Sullenger. Dad was a radiologist and mom was a registered nurse (BSN). They were in their early thirties and adopted because my father was epileptic and didn’t want to pass the disease along to any children. I don’t know if that would have happened, but he was not going to take any chances. Later, a younger brother (Steven Ray) was adopted followed by, a few years after that, our younger sister Sue Ellen. Each of us was brought into the family at around two months of age.

Understanding what it means to be adopted has a different meaning for each individual. For me, it was God placing me in a better home with a loving couple who wanted children, whether their own or from someone else. These people are the only parents I’ve ever known. They raised me and my siblings as Christians. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Now having said that, I must also confess I didn’t see that quite so clearly in my younger years. I recall on a few occasions when I was embroiled in one of my tantrums or upset about something or other, I would tell my mother that she didn’t love me. I would say no one loved me. Otherwise, why was I given away? Why didn’t my real mother want me? Of course at that age, I had no idea. I was too young and immature to understand the trail of life and why a young girl might be placed in a situation where it was necessary to give up a child.

Good, loving parents don’t have to be blood related. The love, devotion, and nurturing we received from them, coupled with their teaching us how to be productive Christian members of our American society, have resulted in my appreciation for all they did and for God’s greatness in placing me in their home and guiding me through life to this day. As the cliché goes, hindsight is 20/20.

(front row left to right) My sister Sue Ellen,

my brother Steve and me. In the back row (left to right) are my sister June, mom, dad and Alberta

Mom and Dad also brought in two sisters, Alberta and June Brock, who became big sisters to my brother, sister, and I. They were already starting high school. June, the younger of the two, was about seven years older than me. Alberta was nine years older. Once Alberta and June graduated from high school, Dad asked them what post-high school education they’d like to choose. Alberta chose a nursing school while June chose to go to a beauty college where she learned how to cut hair and do all the latest hairstyling fashions women enjoyed.

When my father was in his senior year of medical school, working toward becoming a surgeon, he became an epileptic. He suffered grand mal seizures. These seizures would cause him to pass out, remaining unconscious for several minutes. Mom would instruct us kids to stay clear in order to give Dad time to come back to his senses. It was scary at first, but later, we became more knowledgeable and understanding. Because of the disease, Dad changed his focus from surgery to radiology. This meant he would have less doctor-patient interface. His focus was always on others.

My dad at his graduation from Medical School from Indiana University's School of Medicine

My mother was a stay-home mom who raised us kids with the help of a lady named Mary Smith. Because Mary was black and like a second mother to us, I had difficulty in understanding why some whites felt the way they did about black people in our city. As I grew older, I began seeing this on a larger scale. Mary helped our mother raise us kids and watched over us when Mom had to drive Dad to his various work locations. Mom was quiet and easygoing. She made sure we had clean clothes, hot food, and clean home and environment to grow up in. Her love and concern for us kids were always apparent. Between Mom and Mary, we were taught the differences between right and wrong. We were praised when we were good and punished when we weren’t.

Dad had grown up without a father from the age of fourteen, much as I had. He was born in Sebree, Kentucky, and moved with his family later to Boonville, Indiana. It was while they lived in Boonville that my grandfather Sullenger died. I don’t recall if it was from a stroke or heart attack. Dad was an Eagle Scout and member of the Order of the Arrow. Dad was very self-sufficient, determined, and a quick learner. He invented something to do with preparing blood by separating the plasma from the red and white cells while he was working at Eli Lilly. I’m not really clear on what it all entailed. What I do know is it paid for his college and medical school.

Dad was also a strict disciplinarian. He didn’t believe in the concept of spare the rod and spoil the child. If we got into trouble, we were punished in a manner that fit the crime. All too often that meant a spanking. For those of you country folk reading this, that would be an ass-whooping. If we were at Grandma Cottingham’s farmhouse in rural Central Indiana, it meant being instructed to cut a branch off the willow tree in the backyard. Ouch! Either way you refer to it, we got the message when it took place. There was nothing missing in the translation.

We also knew we were punished out of love. If that’s not clear, that tells me a lot about how you were raised. If you didn’t heed his admonishments when you did something wrong, he would emphasize the point with the paddle. As I look back over those years, I appreciate what he, my mother, Mary, and my Grandma Cottingham all did. I understand they did it because they loved us and wanted us, kids, to have a clear understanding between what was right and what was wrong. They wanted us to grow up as responsible adults.

Our father was also a person who valued honesty and integrity. He told us kids if we did something wrong and didn’t tell him, the punishment would be harsh. On the other hand, if we told him what we did and were honest, while we would still get punished, it wouldn’t be as severe. He took us at our word if he asked us about something. If he found out we had lied, we’d be punished for it. He wanted to ensure we clearly understood the value we should place on our word when it was given. Unlike politicians today who say they’ll do something or that they stand for something, only to change direction when talking with a group or person who didn’t see things that way. These people will do or say anything for a vote.

Our father also taught us the important lessons of kindness and generosity based on biblical teachings. Dad’s heart was really big. While a person who believed deeply in honor and integrity, he also believed in the importance of the Christian charity and helping others. I saw this firsthand when he hired Regis Mart Theriac (born November 13, 1918, in Vincennes, Indiana) to be his driver. After becoming an epileptic, Dad wouldn’t drive. He had an earlier man who drove for him when I was younger. I can’t even remember what he looked like let alone his name. When the need arose, Mom would drive Dad to his various work destinations.

Reg, as everyone called him, was a survivor of the Bataan Death March that took place during World War II in the Pacific. The day after Japan attacked the US Naval and Air installations at Pearl Harbor on the Hawaiian Islands, they also began their attack on the Philippines. On April 9, 1942, approximately seventy-five thousand US and Philippine troops were captured and forced to endure a sixty-five-mile forced march under extremely harsh conditions and treatment by the Japanese soldiers. Thousands died as a result of injury, disease, malnutrition, or at the hands of a Japanese soldier who would execute them if they couldn’t keep up. Reg had difficulty holding down a job because he suffered from periodic bouts of malaria and other ailments, all the result of his captivity and treatment by the Japanese. When my father hired Reg, he told him whenever he was sick and unable to come into work, he was to stay home and call. Dad said, "Cuma can drive me where I need to