Mr. President, Mr. Trump:
I’m not here to pick a fight. I ask that you hear me out.
When I was a kid growing up in central Minnesota, us neighborhood kids would often gather for what was described as “sandlot ball.” Everyone was welcome, even the tomboy gal who could hit and throw the ball as well as any of us — better in some instances. Chicken wire was our backstop, gunny sacks marked our bases, and we often exchanged gloves, bats and balls. We played on a vacant lot that occasionally included a neighbor’s cow anchored out in the grassy field.
And yes, a player from each team called the balls and strikes.
As we grew up, there would be differences expressed. Sometimes, it led to “fisticuffs.” There was an unwritten law that once you bloodied a person’s nose, the fight was over. No need to pulverize the individual. And friends we became again — later.
Your tweets remind of those days. You often tweet and bloody someone’s nose. And then you add to the hurt by additional remarks. Why additional insults? Your first tweet already did the damage. Let it be.
If we are to Make America Great Again, we Americans must work together to accomplish the task. We must develop a team spirit, just as we west-end kids did in baseball so that we were able to bike out to the VA hospital and challenge the able veterans during the week. That was one of my first occasions of seeing what mustard gas did to our country’s men who served in World War I. As the summer days slid by and the early casualties of World War II arrived, the younger vets came enveloped in shell shock.
We were overjoyed when the war concluded in 1945. We were proud Americans to have shown the world that freedom is what we stood for, even at the cost of thousands of lives. But that was not the end of armed conflicts. And soon I followed my brothers who served in WWII. As a Korean War veteran, I look upon the time spent in training and overseas as one of the best times. The Army made me physically stronger and with a greater appreciation for our “way of life.” I continue to feel blessed to be living in the United States of America.
Mr. President, recently there have been remarks about the rich. I recall that you, while running for our country’s highest honor, commented about “making an ungodly amount of money.” Ungodly may not be the correct word; however, there is an easy way for you to sever yourself from being a rich kid. Give your wealth to some worthy shelters and soup kitchens. And please listen to others. Your wife does that: She talks less and listens more.
The Henry family was never labeled as rich people. Our parents gave us a good basic understanding of what it meant to serve God and our country. We worked. We had enough to eat and powdered milk to drink. That remains one of the memories of our children when we would purchase a bag of dried milk and mix in water — and stir, stir, stir. As to children’s clothes, there were plenty of hand-me-downs over their school years. And we lived believing in the American way of life with a concern for those less fortunate than us.
Mr. President, your job is to govern and serve the needs of us Americans. If you agree, then the Revolutionary War and wars since, were not in vain. Am I asking too much? Please, no tweets. Enjoy the Fourth of July!
Citizen Steve Henry