Tag: substance abuse

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Sex Ed and the Senator

It was the sign. That’s what did it. That, plus this one kid I know…

Everything else was pretty innocuous. Like he intended. Without the sign, Senator Ron Muzzall’s Legislative Review might have earned no more than a quick once-over on its way to the recycle bin.

But there was the sign. And then there was the email.

Ron Muzzall is a Republican serving Washington State’s District 10, appointed in 2019 when his elected predecessor had to step down. Seems like a decent guy. A Whidbey Island farmer and businessman, and a stand-up community member.

And Senator Muzzall thinks sex education grooms our children like a predator. Continue reading “Sex Ed and the Senator”

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Football bonding: fun or sex abuse?

So it took a couple days to get my head around this one.

According to the Seattle Times, Bothell High School football players have a hazing tradition called Rape Squad. Now, yes, today, in 2019. It’s a not-so-secret, boy-on-boy pranking thing, and it’s got the community outraged. The fellas call it “jubies.”

Bothell: Nice leafy suburban school. With a creepy criminal secret abusive bonding ritual.   (Google)

Continue reading “Football bonding: fun or sex abuse?”

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No Off Ramp

Review of A Soldier’s Journal: Last Supper to No Goodbye


Why is this here? A book review about veterans, combat, and PTSD — on a blog about baseball and sex abuse? It all makes sense if you think about it. The trauma, the stress, the anxiety, depression, even the tragic suicides we see among our returning vets, follow the patterns seen in victims coping and healing from sexual abuse.

A psychologist or a scientist of any training might tell you: The human brain and nervous system form a network like a vast freeway system. A huge, interconnected, fractal-like web takes us wherever we want to go, however we want to get there, with endless choices of routes and where to enter and exit. And a healthy young brain revels, rejoices in the options the road map offers. Ons and offs abound. Freedom awaits. Continue reading “No Off Ramp”

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Not a pretty story

Fathers cut a wide swath, don’t they?

You could be an example of strength and courage, an inspiration to generations of offspring. You could be the guy who was always there, without fail, cheering, win or lose, at every game, regardless of the sport. You could be the Cool Dad, the one with all the jokes. Hell, you could abandon your children and still cut a swath when even by your absence you drop a permanent sour turd in their lives that never goes away.

Or you could do it like Marv Marinovich.

1988: Marv and his army and their perfect product. (SI.com) Continue reading “Not a pretty story”

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Too little too late, Mister Pope


It is I, Francis, your shepherd. Hear me, I have spoken.

Great news, Catholics. This week in pedophilia, your very own Pope Francis wrote you a nice letter. A letter too long coming, a letter strong on intention, a letter too weak on real-world action.

As reported by BBC, His Holiness penned the message after a sharp kick in the ass from the Attorney General of Pennsylvania, Continue reading “Too little too late, Mister Pope”

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Leann’s Brown Eyes

No sign of spring yet in our town.

The eyes got me.

They weren’t the first thing we saw. The first thing was a grocery cart, packed with stuff. And a figure hunched alone on a stool, wrapped in layers. And the cardboard sign that turns so many people away.

“Would you give me $5 or a blanket?” is all it said. But the images swirled, angry faces, righteous people. How often has every one of us claimed there shouldn’t be any begging, there’s plenty of help available, dammit there’s free food everywhere you look and what sucker would give these beggars any money when they just buy booze or go off to the casino.

But we needed to talk, a couple old well-fed dudes volunteering for the government, doing the annual Point-in-time Count with a clipboard and a backpack full of fresh socks and granola bars. Continue reading “Leann’s Brown Eyes”

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The shrink who said I’d never write

Yeah, that’s the guy.

He was joking, of course.

And I took it that way. Just to be clear about that part. In fact we got a good laugh about it.

But the joking came after a lecture to a packed room full of writers about childhood trauma’s effect on our adult creative abilities. His premise, based on research, was that writing and other artistic pursuits help to maintain sanity for adults who experienced trauma as children. Continue reading “The shrink who said I’d never write”