It’s time to come clean.
Spill the beans.
Make amends.
Apologize.
I admit it. In this crazy — no, lunatic — times we live in, I have come to the conclusion the only chance I have not to be “cancelled” by the “progressive” people out there is to get a hold of and control my own narrative. Sooner or later, they’re gonna’ come gunning for your hero (that would be me). With over 1,700 columns totalling close to a million words under my belt, I know I have offended some folks.
So, before anybody decides to look back at eveything I have said, written and done, I am coming out first. I am gonna’ beat ‘em to the punch and fall on my proverbial sword.
My mea culpa (which means “through my fault” in Latin) follows.
I know, somewhere down the line over the past 35 or so years, I have called someone a “snowflake.” It’s probably in print somewhere, too. I know I questioned outloud and in print (because I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer), why the LGBT alphabet brigade allowed another letter into their group — Q (for questioning).
I openly confess that before I was of double-digits in aged, I played “smear the queer.” Of course, back then — back before sexuality was something all kids thought of before they turned four years of age — queer to us just meant the guy to tackle or the guy who was “it.” Queer did not refer to sexuality in our little, white-washed part of the world.
(I know, I know . . . ignorance is no excuse for offending those who wish to be offended.)
I acknowledge I am not “woke” or politically correct. I profess to searching out information, even if I don’t like what I find and I admit I expect the same from every American.
It’s true, I believe many liberals of today are not. I think they are something other than liberal. I think they have tarnished the term liberal and turned it into something it wasn’t meant to be. True liberalism brought the world the Enlightenment and the ideals of individual liberty versus mob rule; reason over emotionalism and the right to dance to your own tune, even if someone else doesn’t like the song.
It may come as a shock to some readers out there, but I also declare I have opened doors for women and girls (and boys and old folks and young folks and black folks and white folks, unicorns, leprechauns and even those pesky teenaged folks). Why? Why would I do something so unforgivable? Maybe because it’s the polite thing to do. Holy cow, I have just come to a realization: I am a serial door opener.
I hope Heaven can forgive me.
As I have stated in the past I am sure I have microagressed. I accept the fact of having chauvinistic tendencies. Please forgive me, for I have complimented women on their hair or outfits (of course I have complimented men on their hair and outfits, too).
Yup. It’s true. I rooted for Tom Brady and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to win the Super Bowl.
I own up to the notion that I do not understand why so many people want to be segregated into so many different groups. And, I reckon that is because I have toxic masculine ways about me — you know the ways, like failing, dusting yourself off, trying again, doing your best, expecting nothing from nobody and believing the world is not fair. Oh, dangit! My Neanderthal personality is coming out again. Please forgive me.
Holy crap. All this reminds me of when I was a kid and Catholics had to attend confession in a little darkened booth.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been seven day since my last confession . . .”
And, then I would make stuff up to confess.
“I have yelled at my sisters three times . . .”
“I ate the last piece of cake and said I didn’t when Dad asked if I had.”
Man, that means I even lied to a priest!
I am guilty of those things and many, many more. So many things I cannot even remember them all. Please forgive me. Please don’t cancel me, Bro’ because I am kinda’ contrite. I will try to do better. I won’t compliment people, hold doors, question politicians and trends. I will keep my mind and mouth closed. I will blend in and try to find something that offends me. I promise.
Comment to: DontRushDon@gmail.com

  don rush, don’t rush me