Jefferson Memorial - You're Next!
We’re at the Golden Hall of Critical Thinking to revise history. At the very least, obscure it a bit. Maybe attack a Christian or two getting smart to our ways.
Like grade school kids in a classroom, each of us sits in our familiar chairs. The hall is thirty-three feet long by thirty-six feet wide. I’m told thirty-three and thirty-six are evil numbers—both are even number of 1s in a binary expansion.
The longest standing member in the group—the big man—directs the ship. He gets the wheel. We follow in his wake.
The book is not allowed in the Golden Hall, but somehow the big man always has the book sitting on the meeting table. He likes to rip and burn pages from the book as if it were perforated and used to kindle fire.
Well, it is about that time. Rip! The games are about to begin. The big man lit a match. A page out of the book burned.
Personally, I hate the smell of burning paper. So I held my breath like I always do. But, this time the big man noticed. He looked at me. I felt uncomfortable. I smiled and then breathed quickly the noxious smoke.
While staring at me like a cobra ready to strike, the big man spoke: “Today, we’re talking about partial and intentional omission of truth.” I wondered if the big man noticed I was about to pass out from breathing the floating soot .
A one-eyed man at the table garnered the big man’s attention. I took the opportunity to hold my breath.
“We’ve lost ground on the 1797 Tripoli Treaty,” Cyclops said.
How could we lose on that one? I wondered. The Tripoli Treaty explicitly stated that America was not a Christian nation.
“Some Christians took the time to read the entire treaty," the man said, his forehead blinking. "They’ve discovered the statement was for diplomatic value only. Also, the treaty failed, war ensued, and the statement about not being a Christian nation was removed from the new treaty.”
Chit, I thought. Bummer. The big man is not going to like that.
The member leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, we’ve also flopped in keeping President Adams’ 1798 Proclamation 8 under wraps. Some schoolteachers decided to teach America’s actual history.”
“Humiliate them!” the big man said. “Remind them of separation of church and state.”
“We’re working that now,” the member said, his eyelid almost touching his widow peak, “but some are starting to fight back.”
The big man slammed his fist down. The table shook. Gees, I thought. That had to hurt. The big man was about to rip another page out of the book, but stopped when a woman with dipstick-measurable-makeup spoke up. “Not to worry,” she said.
The big man closed the book. I exhaled.
“I’ve been working on Thanksgiving," makeup mom said.
Everyone around the table seemed to salivate.
“Go on,” the big man said.
“I ensured the Library of Congress contained the appropriate direction to our nation’s public school teachers regarding Thanksgiving.” She snapped her fingers. “If you’ll notice”—suddenly a document, Teacher’s Guide, Primary Source Set, appeared in front of all members, “I’ve deftly guided schoolteachers away from teaching Thanksgiving’s complete history.”
The big man smiled. Just don’t light another page, I silently pleaded. What’s he going to do when there are no more pages? Burn us? I turned my attention to the lady’s document and took a moment to read it. Oh, she’s good. Real good.
Her document brought up the Spanish expeditions in the 1500s to the New World, and their thanksgiving celebrations, but failed to mention that the Spanish were thanking the writer of the book.
Also, her document identified Governor Bradford and the colonists celebrating a feast with Native Americans, but ignored Governor Bradford’s proclamation that at the center of any thanksgiving would be the writer of the book.
Additionally, her document brought up French Huguenot colonists celebrating thanksgiving, but overlooked the historical fact that the Huguenot colonist’s thanksgiving celebration was directed to the writer of the book.
Oh, lady! You’re a genius.
“You’ll note,” she continued, “that I cite Sarah Josepha Hale’s letters as influencing President Lincoln to establish a national day of thanksgiving, but I don’t mention that Hale wanted this special day reserved for thanking the writer of the book, and I completely glossed over President Lincoln exhorting citizens to be mindful that during Thanksgiving, Americans should thank the writer of the book.”
Several members at the table started snickering. Mary’s little lamb was getting slaughtered.
Two cigars spontaneously lit in the big man’s hands. He gave one to the woman. Everyone knew the big man’s cigars were special ordered.
“And to top it off,” she said, “I recommended any further study be concentrated on Thanksgiving food.” She laughed. “Who can resist a Turkey leg?”
Everyone, including me, laughed with her.
“Very good,” the big man said. “You’ve hidden entirely the motivation behind Thanksgiving.” The woman’s head stretched up like a pelican arching its neck. She exhaled cigar smoke. The big man looked around the table. “Who’s next?”
I felt the folded paper in the pocket of my shirt. I decided to keep it there. I came to the meeting to suggest that we rile some Antifa protesters. Prompt them to deface the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C. I reconsidered. Maybe later, I thought. The folded paper read:
“God who gave us life gave us liberty. Can the liberties of a
nation be secure when we have removed a conviction that
these liberties are the gift of God? Indeed I tremble for my
country when I reflect that God is just, that his justice cannot
sleep forever” (Jefferson Memorial, Washington D.C.).
“Let’s discuss X-mas,” I said.