I went to the bank, picked up a check, ate lunch with the gentleman at a mediocre chain barbecue joint, and we drove off to some other place where I was to put my signature on a thousand twenty-one different forms. Possibly a thousand twenty-two. I lost count. Upon completion, I surrendered the check. The gentleman who was attached to my hip thought I was no longer useful, so we shook hands and went our separate ways.
I then went back to the unoccupied home and used a silly looking Kwikset key to gain entry. It was quiet and serene. It was also starting to get dark. I took out the contents of my backpack (which, by the way, made a TSA agent’s eyes pop out of her sockets) and replaced every exterior lock on the home with my own. I went to Best Buy and bought all the necessary appliances and a TV. Somehow, I got next day AM delivery on all of them. I was thrilled. To celebrate, I grabbed some Sonic and ate in peace before assembling my bed to spend the night.
This isn’t just any story of any old day. I consider it Freedom Day. It is the most important day of my life. It is the day I considered myself a Texas resident and no longer a resident of Commiefornia or Kalifornistan, however you want to slice and dice it.
I was a POW in the left coast for decades as they eroded the very foundation of my life. I felt like they were trying to suck the soul out of my body and replace it with their version of what I should be. I did not have the freedom to do what I wanted. I did not have the freedom to move up in life. I did not have the freedom live life the way I want to live. I was just a pawn in their feel-good sentiment of what life should ideally be.
Their economic policies made it very difficult for me to move up socioeconomically. Every time I get a wage bump, it barely goes anywhere for me. Artificial inflation from increased taxes and increased minimum wage has negated my hard work. It was nearly impossible for me to save for anything there. If anything, I felt complete economic despair. There’s no reason for me to try hard to succeed. It will inevitably go nowhere. I would constantly have to fight a losing battle with the system.
I was not able to buy any firearm I wanted. There were legal hurdles preventing me from owning fun toys safely. If anything, I was considered an enemy of the state because I enjoy shooting sports as a hobby. How ludicrous is that? Of course, it was difficult to defend myself as well. If I was forced to go to a bad part of town, all I had was a knife and pepper spray. All the bad guys had guns and were armed to the teeth. If I found myself in a hairy situation, it would have been a very lopsided standoff. Fortunately, I never did find myself in that situation.
Lastly, and most importantly of all, I couldn’t live the cultural life I wanted to live. There are a lot of people out in Kommieland with the sentiment that white people should be ashamed of themselves for what certain other white people did in the distant past. Certain other white people that had nothing to do with those today. Yes, they thought that mere association of skin color was enough reason for discrimination against an entire population of people. And it’s not just the people, but the underlying American culture itself as well. There are enough people behind enemy lines with that sort of sentiment that it completely affects the way EVERYONE lives, not just those of Caucasian heritage.
Let me explain. First off, I’m not a white skinned individual. And it’s obvious for those who see me for the first time. But that shouldn’t matter. Just because I have a certain skin color doesn’t mean I have to have a certain cultural background and act a certain way. But apparently, I’m supposed to in the land of hopes and loose change. I am supposed to regard American culture as something novel rather than a way of life. I am supposed to be living my ancestral roots. I actually had angry people yelling at me for not knowing an arbitrary native dish or enjoy doing something people of my skin color typically like to do. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate my ancestry, but I embrace it the same way many other Americans embrace their Italian or German or whatever heritage; it’s there, but not overwhelming. When people realize that I am built and grew up American, they get this odd look on their face as if two thirds of their brains liquefied and splattered all over the place. From there they dismiss the fact that I like to lead life with a typical American culture. They continue to believe that I am built a certain way, so their fragile minds don’t explode again. I am literally stuck in a box of which I cannot get out.
Here in Texas, and thus America, it is a different story. If I want to live the life of my ancestors, I can. If I want to live the life of a typical "white" American, I can. Own guns? Sure. Just be responsible. Move up socioeconomically? Oh sure you betcha. Want to live a simple life instead? More power to you. Here, I don’t get judged for who I want to be. I don’t get judged for my skin color. I don’t get judged for owning x number of guns. I don’t get judged by how many Porsches I own either. It is fantastic. Here, I get to be an American living in America.
With that sentiment, I thank each and every one of you for being so supportive and welcoming. It is a privilege to be in a land of freedom and liberty, in a true melting pot rather than a land of forced segregation. Words really cannot express the gratitude I have for everyone here, both on the board and in this great state, for allowing me to have happiness and freedom.
Today, I am grateful for gaining my freedom three years ago. I implore that all of you here be grateful to be in your shoes (or boots) as well. It is definitely something that should not be taken for granted. It’s not just freedom in America, but freedom within America.
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Of all the factory made sports cars, old American muscle cars, a 911 is what I would love to have.
