Ah, Nature

I've been meaning to post this.

You may recall a year ago I had told of an incident that had occurred when I untarped my pasture mower deck, expecting a snake to be underneath, found none, but unbeknownst to me was the fact that there had been one curled up in the folds of the tarp and, when I lifted it off the machine, the bugger fell at my feet.* I didn't realize he was there until I felt him slide along my leg.

An interesting feeling.

Well, this year I was ready. I took my camera with me when I went to uncover my mower. That's how sure I was that there was a snake lurking. There is always a snake lurking underneath the tarp (they're big on warmth and seclusion).

Here are some photos I took.

Tarp being slowly lifted, revealing something black curled up and happy:

A closer look reveals ...

I wanted my mower. He wanted it too. Thus the look I got when I tried to nudge him:

This last photo gives you an idea as to how long a black rat snake can get. This one is six feet, give or take. Next year I'll bring a tape measure.

I finally coaxed the little guy off the mower, only to have him slither underneath and go up and wrap himself around the blade.

So I took him for a ride. After about 75 yards of bouncing along, he plopped onto the ground and, when last seen, was heading south.

Beautiful little creatures, aren't they?

- - -

* Sorry about the awful sentence structure. I've only had 1 and 1/2 cups of coffee so far.

** Before you write, no, I don't wash and wax my mower.

On Fathers Day

Passing the torch.
Grandfather. Father. Son.

Baseball.

As it should be.

Seems Only Fair

Since I wrote rather disparagingly about a gaggle of liberal women the other day, it was suggested in an email that it was only fair if I let everyone know what I look like, so that they could return the favor.

Seems only right:

That's me, sitting in McDonald's Playland, contemplating thoughtfully of my next "From On High" post.

Either that or I'm waiting for my Big Mac.

No Match For the Big Dogs

Cocked, locked, and ready to rock.
What you see above is what I used to call my "groundhog rifle." It's a .22-250 caliber Remington model 700 ADL bolt action rifle with a 12X Weaver scope and Harris bipod. I had removed the "iron" sights from the barrel because they were unnecessary for the kind of shooting I did back then. With this little hummer I could "drill nails," as they say.

On the right day, under the right conditions, and with a bit of luck, I was pretty good at hitting my target, even out to 200 to 250 yards. I could say that I was even a reasonable marksman with this rifle out to 400 yards, but I'd be stretching the truth. Shots that far out were more luck than anything else.

As any Marine sniper will tell you, putting the crosshairs on the target is a small part of achieving pinpoint accuracy. On long-distance shots, before one pulls the trigger, one needs to take into account such things as windage, elevation, and bullet weight (I used a 55 grain Remington bullet with standard factory loads) (the heavier the bullet, the more it drops).

Estimating windage (the amount of drift that occurs between the muzzle and point of impact as a direct result of air currents) comes with experience. Calculating elevation (or trajectory) doesn't have to. It's done for you. I used to carry a small sliding-scale chart that I used to figure how high I needed to aim based upon that bullet weight and the distance to the target. For example, if I was 250 yards away from the target, knowing that I had my rifle "sighted in" at 200 yards, I might calculate that I needed to aim 3 inches above the point of intended impact in order to hit that which I was aiming at. (The purist will say that barrel length makes an appreciable difference as well, and that's fine.)

All that said, I considered myself to be a pretty decent shot, in the day.

But I don't hold a candle to the big boys. The big "boys" being the men and women in the armed forces who are trained to do that which I did for fun and relaxation.

400 yards involved, for me, a whole lotta luck.

For them, it's little more than a stone's throw.

The record? In Afghanistan it stands at 2,657 yards. But we aren't talking groundhogs.

Imagine trying to hit a target a mile away - or more. How is it even possible?

I see that and I know I'm out of my league. I'll stick to throwing snowballs.

These guys rock.

* I'm told they are using .50 caliber rifles but I have no way of knowing that.

True Story

A letter to the editor of the Roanoke Times about gays in the military reminded me of an incident that took place several years ago, when I was young and stupid. For having consumed great quantities of alcoholic refreshments at premium prices on a regular basis.

I was sitting at the bar one night in a dump outside Detroit with a couple of friends, where I'd been downing bourbon at a pretty steady clip (the night was warm, the bourbon on ice was cold, the rest is fond memory; fuzzy but fond).

At some point, after a few hours of fun and relaxation, I needed to urinate.

So off to the (really awful, disease-infested) restroom I went.

When I came back to the bar, I looked at the two guys sitting there and said, with eyes popping open,

"Hey, you're not going to believe what just happened in the men's room."

"What?" they asked in unison, with a certain amount of trepidation.

I said, "You know how, when you're standing at the urinal sometimes and there's someone at the next urinal beside you, you raise up on the balls of your feet and peek over the side to see how big his penis is?"

They stared.

"What?"

"You know what I'm talking about. When you're sometimes standing at the urinal and there's someone standing at the urinal next to you, you raise up on the balls of your feet and peek over the side to see how big his penis is. Don't tell me you guys never do that."

Silent disbelief.

"So I peeked over the rim of the urinal next to mine, where a black guy was taking a squirt, to see how big his penis was, and - to my total surprise - happened to notice it was tattooed."

"What?! You're making that up!"

"No. I swear, he had tattooed on his penis a woman's name."

"It said, 'WENDY.'"

"Wendy?"

"Yeah! The entire length of his penis!"

No."

"Yeah! So I asked this fella, who had dreadlocks going in all directions, 'Sorry to interrupt you at a time like this but I'm curious. I notice that you have the name WENDY tattooed on your penis. What's that all about?'"

And in my best Jamaican accent I tossed out the punchline:

"He looked at me rather oddly ... then replied, 'Oh, no, mon. That doesn't say Wendy. That's ...

... WELCOME TO JAMAICA. HAVE A NICE DAY.'"

They hit the floor.

I ordered another round.

True story. I don't make things up for the weblog. Ever. Well ...

An Announcement

It is with great pleasure that I announce the marriage of my favorite daughter, Jodi. Michael Kasprzyk, the lucky groom, is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps, currently assigned to the general staff with the 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, stationed at Camp Lejeune.

Wedding plans had to be abruptly altered recently as a result of his being ordered to Afghanistan on May 1. When he gets there, he will be in the Combined Security Transition Command, which involves itself in the training of Afghan forces. Michael specifically will be the Liaison Officer to ISAF, the International Security Assistance Force, which is run by NATO.

Paula and I are very proud of his accomplishments and of the work he does for our country, and admire his unwavering loyalty to duty, honor, and country.

We are also proud to welcome him into the family, and for putting up with my daugh ... uh, skip that.

We hope that Michael has a safe deployment to the war zone, knowing that, and being grateful that, in going there he makes this chaotic, strife-torn world a better place.

We also hope that he and Jodi have a long, rewarding, loving, sharing life together.

Our best wishes to the two of them.

I Raise 'Em Right

Daughter Jodi sends a message: "Dad, this is what I want for my birthday."

Here she is aboard the U.S.S. North Carolina recently.

So where does a guy go to buy a 20mm anti-aircraft gun for his favorite daughter?

* Note: I'm not sure if the trash can in front of the weapon is a replica of an original or if the Navy was kind enough to provide waste receptacles like this for the North Carolina's sailors for their used Kleenexes after they blew their noses (between kamikaze attacks).

Fishing Is About Family

The good-looking guy you see above is a Fuhrman.

We Love Nature But ...

... I'm not sure we want one of these little fellas in my back yard every night.

These two photos (above and below) were taken of a mature adult black bear (200 pounds?) standing on my patio at about 7:30 yesterday evening. He had just hauled down a bird feeder from a nearby poplar tree and devoured the suet cake inside. A tender morsel that cost me 92¢ plus tax at Walmart.
He's seen here, wondering why Paula and I were interrupting his meal (for the record, I was about thirty feet away).
We were able to convince him, after a considerable amount of coaxing, to head back into the Jefferson National Forest, which is just behind our house.

But he'll be back. We are now a food source. I hope not literally ...

The Few, The Proud ...

Young Chase getting instruction on what I think is an M240 7.62 mm machine gun over at Camp Lejeune last weekend from one of America's finest:

The kind of lesson one retains for a lifetime.

A Look Back Into Our Past

If you ever have the opportunity to peruse "greatest movies of all time" lists, you'll usually find included the 1915 D.W. Griffith epic, "The Birth of a Nation." Problem is, because of its overt racism (behavior that was cultivated a century ago), you'll never find it being televised on Turner Classic Movies. Or anywhere else. Station heads don't have a death wish.

So we're faced with a situation in 2008 where a movie is considered by the experts to be one of the greatest of all time, and few people alive today have seen it.

One exception being me.

I ordered the movie from Netflix the other day and sat down to watch it yesterday evening.

All I can say is ... wow.

For a number of reasons. Not least of which had to do with the fact that the Ku Klux Klan was once held in such high regard by mainstream America that a blockbuster movie (by all standards, this one was a smash hit when it was released) glorifying efforts - manifested in physical assaults, lynchings, and terror tactics that an Osama bin Ladin could appreciate today - to suppress the then-newfound freedoms of the African-American community after the Civil War ended and Reconstruction began could be so blatant in its hatreds, animosities, stereotypes, and venomous prejudices and be so well received.

The movie having been made in 1915, there is no verbal dialogue. As was the practice in the days of silent movies, there are only the occasional slides offering up narrative between sometimes over-the-top melodramatic scenes of love and war (the innovative sweeping panoramic battle scenes provide critics the primary reason for considering this movie one of the best of all time) and suffering and hatred and fear and all the other stuff that goes into an epic flick.

Absent dialogue, one is confronted with captions that read:

The result. The Ku Klux Klan, the organization that saved the South from the anarchy of black rule, but not without the shedding of more blood than at Gettysburg.

And:

We shall crush the white South under the heel of the black South.

And, at the end:

"Liberty and union, one and inseparable, now and forever!"

Union. The Birth of a Nation. That nation being a Klan-protected white America. Now and forever

All I could think about, as I watched this (3-hour) classic was: Man, we've come a long way. And thank God for it.

- - -

Special note: the theme is really repugnant so if you're angered or revolted by such things, I'd not recommend that you rent the movie. For the historian, though, it provides a window into our post-Civil War past that you'll not see captured anywhere else in cinema.

For the curious - like me - who wonder how it is that the Klan could have had such a following as to bring about a parade down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington D.C. in the Griffith years that was attended by tens of thousands of celebrating participants and on-lookers ...

... it all becomes clear.

A Day Out With The Boys

Thought I'd post a few photos of the paintball excursion I went on recently.





The good-looking guy in the front row, far left is me. The others are all drunks and derelicts.









The shirt (left photo) says "Annihilator" Jerry Fuhrman. An executive assistant's idea.


It was at this point that I'd prepared a list in my mind of which people I wanted to take down. A lengthy list, as it turned out.



The limp-wristed guy in the photo to the right is me.




Note the fella on the right. He got shot in the mouth with a red paintball. When asked what it tastes like, he replied: "like paint."

The field of battle.

Great fun had by all. Came away with only four nasty bruises from paintball impacts.

What a Joint

I told someone yesterday that I'm probably out of my element when I find myself staying in a hotel that, if I were the manager, I wouldn't allow a lowlife like me to enter. But staying here I am. Welcome to my temporary home away from home - the Rosen Shingle Creek Hotel.

I had to get a map in order to find my way around.

I need (but haven't been supplied with) a shuttle bus to get from the reservation desk to my room. 

The hotel logo is on the toilet paper in my room, for God's sake. (Think I'm not swiping that? - no pun intended.)

Nice digs.

On Deer Hunting

I've given you my reasons in the past for my having given up hunting deer. The mystique died long ago. My favorite line is this: It takes some of the fun out of the sport when I can simply walk out in my back yard and club one over the head with a hammer.

You think I exaggerate.

See the cute little creature in the photograph below? He (she?) is about to raid the bird feeder in my back yard. I walked to within eight feet of the animal this morning, snapping photos along the way, before it sauntered off. Unafraid. Unconcerned. At a leisurely pace. A bit annoyed, I think, that I interrupted breakfast. It's momma was about fifteen feet further on.
My choices:

Hunting license, wallet with IDs, topographical maps, aerial photos, toiletries, medicines, toilet paper, toothbrush & toothpaste, soap & shampoo, comb, first aid kit, binoculars & lens cleaner, spotting scope, seat cushion, water and other beverages, food & snacks, watch, knife (skinning/pocket), sunglasses, scents, backpack w/ pack frame, gambrel and pulley, game/meat cloth or bags, bone saw, electronic rangefinder w/ GPS, flashlight (small & large), extra batteries (AA, AAA, C, D, 9volt), headlamp, camera w/tripod/lenses/film/batteries, camcorder w/tripod/light/mic/charger, AM/FM radio, ammo, gun cleaning kit, bipod, camo clothing, fanny pack, gloves, mittens, wool/Nomex rain gear, poncho, cold weather boots, jacket/light/heavy, socks, wool/Polypro thermal underwear, hat, blanket, blaze orange jacket, deskunking kit, space blanket, lighters, firestarter & waterproof matches, compass, handheld two-way radios and chargers, cell phone w/ cigarette lighter cord, signal mirror, survival signal strobe, water filter/tablets, ax, tables & chairs, lanterns w/ extra mantles, cook stove w/ propane, trash bags, shovel for latrine, sleeping bags, pillows, chain saw (w/ fuel/oil/sharpener), portable heater, rope, tree limb loppers, playing cards, tarp/canopy, tent, ground cloth, water jug(s), 5 gallons of water.

Oh, and a gun.

Price tag $4,285.26.

Or:

Bird seed - 79¢ - and a pocket knife - $3.88. 

Now you understand.

A Day Of Warmth & Celebration

Jodi and Chase at the D-Day Memorial in Bedford last weekend. They were there for the gathering of Rolling Thunder. And to enjoy a wonderful day.

A Family Outing

Some of you may have been troubled to find, when you dialed up your favorite weblog on Sunday morning, that I hadn't posted anything. The world probably seemed out of kilter.

"Fuhrman didn't blog. What's going on?"

Well, there was a good reason.

There's only one thing I enjoy doing more than weblogging and that's ...

... being with family.

We had a camp-out the evening before toward the back of my property.










We hunted for newts in a mountain stream ...
















We learned all about nature ...




















We took the kids on ATV rides ... (Paula has her own ass-kickin' machine)













And we slept ...








I love you guys. But family will always come first.

The Circle Of Life

This is a butterfly bush.

Paula and I plant them because they are lovely.

And because they attract lots of butterflies.

Hence the name.

Of course the butterflies attract scads of praying mantises, which look exactly like butterfly bush stems.

The praying mantises like to eat the butterflies.

Crows love to eat praying mantises. Especially the ones fattened by the butterflies we attract.

Teenagers in the area like to shoot crows.

And when I get my hands on those teenagers ...

Thus, we come full circle.

A parable.

Why I Became A Conservative

I've told this story before but the subject matter finds its way into the news again.

Years ago, I was reading some magazine (Time? Life? Look?) and came upon an article that was depicting the adventures of Peace Corps volunteers in some faraway land. They were constructing a well for the local natives. And they were gleeful and full of pride.

The village natives too were all smiles, standing behind the white boys and girls who were building their well for them. Everyone was happy.

Except me.

I reacted by yelling at the magazine: Why can't these people dig their own well?

I understand the need and the offer of assistance, and I realize that the poverty-stricken masses may very well have required, and were probably grateful for, the donation of the materials and tools necessary to construct the well. But why did it require that these wide-eyed Americans come in and labor for them? Why couldn't they have just taught the natives how to construct their own well? Why didn't the locals already know how to dig a well? Why hadn't they dug their own well?

What was going on? What kind of people fly half way around the world to do for others that which others should easily be able to do for themselves?

Well, that was long ago.

Let's go to July, 2007:

I received my copy of Time magazine and came upon a story entitled, "Vacationing Like Brangelina." The first paragraph of the article:

Getting in touch with your inner Angelina Jolie is easier than it used to be. The so-called voluntourism industry, which sends travelers around the globe for a mix of volunteer work and sightseeing, is generating almost as much praise and criticism as the goodwill ambassador herself. Are volunteer vacations--which have become so mainstream that CheapTickets recently started letting online customers book volunteer activities along with their vacations--merely overpriced guilt trips with an impact as fleeting as the feel-good factor? Or do they offer individuals a real chance to change the world, one summer jaunt at a time?

The article was accompanied by the photo above. The caption: "Volunteers with the group Globe Aware dig a trench to lay a water pipe in Costa Rica."

Affluent white boys and girls, presumably from the USA, went down to Costa Rica to dig a trench for the locals. And were happy for having done it. And the natives, who stood around watching these northerners dig the trench for them were gleeful ...

"Overpriced guilt trips with an impact as fleeting as the feel-good factor."

I didn't get it then. I don't get it now.

Birthday Boy

Is it possible that Chase is five years old already?

Photo taken at his birthday party in Longwood Park, Salem, Virginia.

Happy birthday, Chase.

Tackling The Big Issues of the Day

I'm watching a movie on TV this morning about the life of Moses, and I'm wondering:

Why is it, whether a flick involves biblical stories from the Middle East or tales of ancient Rome, that the characters in the movie speak with a highbrow British accent?

Shouldn't Moses have a Palestinian accent? Shouldn't Nero have an Italian accent? Why British?

Just wondering.

A Fine Day For A Family Outing

Some families go to the park on a nice warm and sunny Sunday in May. Others enjoy the lake. We go shooting.

This is a photo of Kaid Fuhrman, heir to the Ponderosa, heading to the back of my property with me to shoot the livin' hell out of a dead tree with a new Beretta 9mm.

Jarrod taking careful aim. He said the tree kept moving on him. we were a bit skeptical ...
We made some noise, frightening the area wildlife. And more than a few poachers. A two-fer.

We let the kids draw rings around the results with magic markers. The groupings narrowed as we went along and as we became more familiar with the feel of the Beretta (it's very light-weight, by the way; nothing like my Colt .45 auto). Toward the end, we started keeping score. I won.

With steaks on the grill and a few Buds to top off the day (Jarrod drank that sissy beer - Sam Adams), a fun time was had by all. 

Good Time. Good Cause.

We had tons of fun yesterday at the book-signing benefit held in Roanoke for Kevin Jamerson, the Moneta firefighter who was injured on the job and who is facing staggering hospital and medical bills. I took quite a few photos of the event. I'll share a few.






You can see we had a huge turnout of fire equipment from area departments. The response is greatly appreciated.



Author and Roanoke firefighter Lt. Rhett Fleitz is seen here talking to one of the many people who came in to buy his autographed book and chat with him. As you can see, (click on the image to enlarge it) Rhett also pitched in and helped sell some of the merchandise there at the First Due Gear store.


Here, left to right, are the sponsors of the benefit drive, Jarrod and Sarah Fuhrman, and the man of the hour, Kevin Jamerson.

Thanks to everyone, and especially to Sarah and Jarrod, for making this a success. Hopefully we helped pay a few of Kevin's bills.

Thanks also go out to all of you who stopped by. My greatest reward was in being able to chat with you and get to know some of you I've only communicated with via email in the past. Such is the America we've created for ourselves ...

Again, thanks from the bottom of my heart.

A Definition

Earth Day: A calendar date that is set aside for really smart, privileged, affluent white people to assemble and provide instruction to those without intelligence or wealth on how the latter are to be sacrificing in order to save the planet's resources.

The End Of An Era

Roanoke firefighter Jarrod Fuhrman will soon be moving from Fire Station 3, which is set to close next month, and will be moving a few blocks to nice new digs. The celebration of fond memories has begun:

Roanoke firefighters celebrate Station 3 

About 150 recalled the past before the station's staff moves to a more modern building. 

By Ruth L. Tisdale, The Roanoke Times

Battalion Chief Bobbie Slayton remembered Fire-EMS Station No. 3 as one of the busiest of all the Roanoke stations.

"It was central in locations," said Slayton, who had worked on and off at the station since 1965. "Some of the finest firefighters Roanoke had to offer have come through these doors, and the same ones have gone out."

More than 150 firefighters gathered Sunday afternoon to share memories, laughs and celebrate the closing of the 98-year-old station on Sixth Street Southwest.

The station, which opened in 1909, is scheduled to close when the new station on Franklin Road opens in early May, said Roanoke Fire Chief David Hoback. 

You Need To Get a Life

First Law of Weblogging: When entering this arena, never take yourself too seriously.
--
I received an email the other day announcing the fact that, according to BlogNetNews, From On High is the seventh most influential weblog in the state of Virginia. I couldn't tell you why, nor how that opinion was derived. I made note of the fact that I was ranked just behind the kids-with-keyboards over at Raising Kaine and just ahead of Ben Tribbett at Not Larry Sabato.

I gave the news cursory thought, and I then deleted the email and went about my life.

But I got to thinking this morning that, as much as I don't care about such things, I know someone who does. I resolved to see what Ben has to say about this affront to his very being. From on High is more influential than that which he devotes his every waking moment, his very existence to? That can't be sitting well.

As I suspected, his undies are in a major bunch:

BlogNetNews has a new ranking for most influential Virginia blogs. Here's the top 10:
1) Virginia Virtucon
2) Black Velvet Bruce Li
3) Mason Conservative
4) Ward View
5) Bearing Drift
6) Raising Kaine
7) From On High
8) Not Larry Sabato
9) VB Dems
10) Below the Beltway
Lowell has some thoughts up- including the fact the guy doing this ranking used to be a Bush speech-writer. Unbelievable. Like Lowell, I'm mad- this is bordering on an outright lie-and I feel personally smeared.
By the way only four of the "Top 10" use Sitemeter, but here are the traffic levels in the last week:
Not Larry Sabato 15,979 (40,958 page views)
Raising Kaine 12,877 (36,057 page views)
Black Velvet Bruce Li 4,390 (10,063 page views)
Bearing Drift 2,517 (7,979 page views)
I don't appreciate this guy lying and misleading people. That's f***ed up.

Whew. This over a silly weblog ranking. I wonder how he'd react if I had stolen his bicycle.

Ben, three things:

1) You accuse "this guy" of misleading people and, at the same time, you mislead people by suggesting that I don't use Sitemeter. I do. I see your error as a simple oversight, however, not some plot against our democratic way of life, and certainly not an attack on my manhood.

2) The ranking is accurate. Deal with it.

3) Get your arms around the concept of influence: A power to affect persons or events, especially power based on prestige, etc.

You write gobs of stuff each day. And you have a sizeable teenage following. It can probably be said with confidence that you even influence them to want to vote some day when they are old enough. But when it comes to the power to affect adults and to affect events of consequence, well ...

... some got it and some don't, big guy.

Here's hoping you can move out of the "also ran" category when the next ranking comes out.

In the meantime, I'm seventh and you're not. Bummer.

Oh, and (4) Don't forget The First Law of Weblogging.

And I Get Paid To Do This

Had the opportunity yesterday to check out the war-readiness of our United States military. I was given a tour (albeit whirlwind) of both our Naval Air Station Oceana and the Navy Amphibious Base in Little Creek, both in and around Norfolk (which the locals pronounce Nah'fuck). I was hoping to get to Portsmouth as well but time didn't permit.

Actually I was conducting business with the Navy.

Still, I can officially report: All is in mighty good hands. Key word being mighty.

A Story

A seminary professor was vacationing with his wife in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. One morning, they were eating breakfast in a little restaurant, hoping to enjoy a quiet, family meal. While they were waiting for their food, they noticed a distinguished looking, white haired man moving from table to table, visiting with the guests.

The professor leaned over and whispered to his wife, "I hope he doesn't come over here." But sure enough, the man did come over to their table.

"Where are you folks from?" he asked in a friendly voice.

"Oklahoma," they answered.

"Great to have you here in Tennessee," the stranger said. "What do you do for a living?"

"I teach at a seminary," he replied.

"Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well,I've got a really good story for you."

And with that, the gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with the couple.

The professor groaned and thought to himself, "Great, just what I need--another preacher story!"

The man started, "See that mountain over there?" (pointing out a restaurant window). "Not far from the base of that mountain, there was a boy born to an unwed mother. He had a hard time growing up, because every place he went, he was always asked the same question. "Hey boy, who's your daddy?"

Whether he was at school, in the grocery store or drug store, people would ask the same question. "Who's your daddy?"

He would hide at recess and lunchtime from other students. He would avoid going into stores because that question hurt him so much.

When he was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to his church. He would always go in late and slip out early to avoid hearing the question, "Who's your daddy?"

But one day, the new preacher said the benediction so fast, he got caught and had to walk out with the crowd. Just about the time he got to the back door, the new preacher, not knowing anything about him, put his hand on his shoulder and asked him, "Son, who's your daddy?"

The whole church got deathly quiet. He could feel every eye in the church looking at him. Now everyone would finally know the answer to the question, "Who's your daddy?"

The new preacher, though, sensed the situation around him and using discernment that only the Holy Spirit could give, said the following to the scared little boy. "Wait a minute!" he said. "I know who you are. I see the family resemblance now. You are a child of God."

With that, he patted the boy on his shoulder and said. "Boy, you've got a great inheritance. Go and claim it."

With that, the boy smiled for the first time in a long time and walked out the door a changed person. He was never the same again. Whenever anybody asked him, "Who's your Daddy?" he'd just tell them, I'm a child of God."

The distinguished gentleman got up from the table and said, "Isn't that a great story?" The professor responded that it really was a great story!

As the man turned to leave, he said, "You know, if that new preacher hadn't told me that I was one of God's children, I probably would never have amounted to anything!" And he walked away.

The seminary professor and his wife were stunned. He called the waitress over and asked her, "Do you know that man who just left that was sitting at our table?"

The waitress grinned and said, "Of course. Everybody here knows him. That's Ben Hooper. He's the former governor of Tennessee!"

* Authour unknown

Let Me Settle This

Leave it to our esteemed legislators in Congress to come up with a solution to a problem ... that won't solve the problem.

As the White House has now informed them:

White House Opposes D.C. Vote 

Constitutional Concerns Put Bill in Jeopardy
By Mary Beth Sheridan, Washington Post Staff Writer

The White House declared its opposition yesterday to a bill that would give the District its first full seat in the House of Representatives, saying it is unconstitutional, and a key Senate supporter said such concerns could kill the measure.

"The Constitution specifies that only 'the people of the several states' elect representatives to the House," said White House spokesman Alex Conant. "And D.C. is not a state."

He declined to say whether President Bush would veto the bill, but … 

Here, fellas. Let me help you out.

1) The people of Washington DC deserve the franchise.

2) The people of Washington DC are prohibited by the Constitution from voting because they don't fall into the category of "the people of the several states."

3) See map for solution.

Allow the citizens of Washington D.C. to vote as residents of the state of Maryland, with that state's proportional representation in Congress being adjusted to compensate for the influx of voters.

Problem solved.