Broken Dreams & Empty Chairs
By Bill the Butcher
Over fourteen years ago a young woman sat on a porch in Texas. She was reeling from a long battle with the CPS (Child Protective Services.) Behind her was the twelfth green of an Arnold Palmer golf course. Before her was a house modeled after Graceland, Elvis’s house. In her hand was a pencil, and a pad. She was alone. Where a year before this porch was filled with people. Children played on the golf course, running back to the yard when someone had to “play through.” Not one, but three smokers were smoking various meats for the guests to enjoy, and there was a full bar. Accommodations were available for any guests who did not wish to drive home after drinking. The family had three homes here, all on the same street, all within one block. Many of the guests were police officers, who, with their wives or girlfriends, would use one of the golf carts that were available to tour the golf course. It was the Fourth of July.
As the young woman sat there she looked at the porch. It was empty. No meat, no cocktails, no people. Only empty chairs. She had lost her children from her own actions. She had accepted that. She was a realist. She had been born in Nashville and raised on Eight Mile Road in Detroit. Her father ran a recording studio. She was twenty-one years old, but the age in her eyes wasn’t the years, it was the mileage. The case workers could never understand her life, but she didn’t blame them. She blamed herself. As she’d done so many times before she began to write the words to a song as she took in the empty chairs. There was no music, but the silence sure was loud.
Today I listened to Roger Landry’s Fourth of July broadcast on The Liberty Beacon care of the Republic Broadcast Network. He asked me to give him feedback. Normally, I’m not good at critique, but as he was speaking to me I looked up at my porch . . . and the empty chairs!
It’s the Fourth of July again. Roger called it Celebration and Reflection. Look around you. I know you have seen empty shelves at your store this week. And, I know that there were far fewer at your house celebrating the holiday this year, and I know there were some empty chairs. Reflect on that!
Roger made a point that nothing that we’ve been subjected to during the last two years was by chance. It was all methodically planned. It’s just a paper mask, a two week lock down, transitional inflation. If we had been told where we’d end up now, two years ago there would have been a decidedly different reaction.
So, we wore the masks, stayed at home, watched Netflix, and watched the empty chairs. And every time we thought that it would end there was a new, improved health crisis, always with the promise that the government hoped there wouldn’t be another lockdown. We didn’t even understand the implied threat because we’d been conditioned. We were already nervous about going to Walmart. We were already masked up. We’d already missed two years of family and friends. We were already loyal subjects. America was receding in the rear view mirror of a car without gas. All we had left was empty chairs!
All those years ago, as the young lady sat on that porch, and penned the words to her song, she had no idea of the timelessness of those words. She was reflecting on the results of her own actions, but the words she wrote that day would speak to us through the years. I wish to end with the chorus of that song. The lonely cry of a street kid from Detroit. The words of the Prophet, iJackie.
Life’s a circle we all know, there ain’t no new way to go, and if you stay home you’ll probably be just fine. Broken dreams and empty chairs, we’ll all face the fire down there, and I hope yours burns cooler than mine!
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This article (Broken Dreams and Empty Chairs) is republished by contribution with attribution to the author Bill the Butcher and The Butcher Shop.
About The Author: Bill the Butcher is the purveyor of The Butcher Shop which is a collection of independent writers ranging from journalists to op/ed, from conservative to liberal. Whatever cut of literary meat you prefer the Butcher Shop is here to serve.
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