Ammo Grrrll declares that IT WAS MEANT FOR GOOD! She writes:
When I was a very small child, I used to hear my dear Mama say, “The Road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Childhood is a very confusing time. Like the child who drew a chubby man in the manger scene for Sunday School and told his teacher that was “Round John Virgin, Mother and Child,” misinterpretations can occur!
I remember thinking that there was some ACTUAL road – paved, not gravel – and if I could just avoid that particular paved road, I would not end up in Hell. I have since FOUND that road to Hell, by the way – and it is the 347, also called John Wayne Parkway — which leads into and out of the Dusty Little Village. If there is construction on that road or, God forbid, an accident, it can take two hours to go 16 miles. But I digress.
When I was a teenager, I believed that the saying meant that while plans and intentions were a good first step, that FOLLOW THROUGH was even more important. It is not enough to INTEND to begin work on your Term Paper in a timely fashion. Long before Nike ruined sports, I figured out that you have to JUST DO IT. And not the night before it’s due.
But never once did it occur to me until late in adulthood that the saying might mean that what you THOUGHT you were doing for good could be an actual disaster. And last summer that lesson was right “at hand.” We spent half the month of July and all of August in Prescott, AZ to get a brief respite from the relentless summer. We stayed in a Residence Inn where we had modest cooking facilities. It was on the third floor of the large hotel.
Of course, there were elevators and I was shocked at how many young people took that elevator DOWN from the second floor to the lobby. Up, I could understand a little, especially carrying coffee, but down? Come ON, young people, it’s literally 20 steps. Now as I’ve mentioned before, in our Gated Geezer Enclosure everything is on one level, so I had done precious little stair-climbing at all in 15 years.
And so my good intentions were to show those young whippersnappers that a lady of late, late late middle age could always take all three flights of stairs. Up and down. The first week, I thought I might die. To make it even more of a workout I would always walk the entire length of the second floor to the other door going up yet more stairs to the third floor, which was then another length to our room. And I would make this three-floor down then up stair walk FOUR TIMES A DAY! Impressed yet?
Here was the problem: by law, all room doors of hotels plus all doors leading to the floors must be Fire Doors, very heavy with a thick, awkward oblong metal handle which I just barely fit around with my late, late, middle aged arthritic little hand. And you needed to exert quite a bit of pressure to pull that door open. Really quite a bit.
And for six weeks I continued to do that, even though my important right hand was getting progressively more numb, clearly experiencing some pretty serious nerve damage. And I never put together the mysterious pain and numbness in my hand with opening those heavy doors 16-20 times a day until very near the end of the six weeks. And YOU thought I was pretty smart, or at least somewhat clever!
I am happy to report that it has only taken me all of five months to recover most of the feeling in that hand except for the very tips of my thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. So much for that great intention to do stair-climbing for my heart and weight!
So why do I mention this besides a vain hope for sympathy? Because I think it is a metaphor for many other misguided intentions. Liberals are taking it on the chin these days and not without reason. But truly I know many liberals (not Leftists) who are kind, generous, and the most well-intentioned people in the world.
Take Affirmative Action. Please! (Rim shot!) That first came down the pike with the Bakke decision in 1978 wherein an older white Marine who had served in Vietnam applied to Medical School. Bakke had higher scores than the black man who was let in instead, but many people thought that seemed “fair.” This white guy was already an engineer! Give the black guy a chance! Just for a little while, until minorities can “catch up,” what say we abandon all pretense of either merit or fairness? It will all work out great in the end. Young people of color will have role models to admire! Heck, it’s only for a few years, right? Right?
But close to half a century on, really three generations, that turned out to be not just a slippery slope, but a luge run, and soon just a grift. Because, let’s be honest – it taught exactly the wrong lessons. It taught that Victimhood is forever. That there was no need to aim for excellence because you had to clear a much lower bar. Eventually, with “equal outcomes,” and “set-asides” you didn’t have to do anything, because skin color, or sex, or sexual orientation, or manufactured sexual categories would get you there simply because it was your turn.
The fireman next door to us in Minnesota said all he had wanted to do in life since childhood was to be a fireman. He passed all the physical tests with flying colors. But he was weak in Math. The Department offered a remedial class in Math for potential applicants and he signed up, studied, and passed. He said the class was over half black guys (at that point, NO women could pass the physical test. Not to worry – later, they changed that test, too.) Anyway, the DAY that Affirmative Action (quotas) hiring was mandated, every single black guy disappeared from the class. Would it have killed them to actually learn Math?
And the disaster of epic proportions continued. Just last month we learned that teachers in New Jersey no longer have to test at a 6th grade level in Reading. And I know that, like me, you said, “Please tell me this is some right-wing conspiracy theory.” But, alas, it was not.
I distinctly remember my scores on the 7th Grade Iowa Basic Skills Test, which was the bomb at that time. My chart informed me that I was reading at the 12th grade, 4th month level, however in the heck they measured those things. That was because I LOVED reading. My parents read to me from before I could talk. And I read three books from the public library and three books from the school library a week all through grade school. There was nothing I enjoyed more. How in the name of all that’s holy can you TEACH if you can’t read?
The emphasis always should have been on “how to bring the lagging-behind up to speed,” not “equal outcomes” and quotas, which is exactly what the proponents promised would NOT happen and which is exactly what did. There isn’t a test in America – from the SATs to the standards for being a Firefighter or Navy Seal that has not been dumbed down or made easier so that unqualified people can get into college or snag high-paying jobs. One small glance at the California fire disaster shows the results. (I suggest women applicants for these high six-figure jobs gain 100 lbs, get a bad haircut and change their names to some form of Kristin. A Martian applying could come to that conclusion.)
In 1972, before Affirmative Action, I became pregnant after two tragic miscarriages. Even though we were poor, we were determined to have the best Obstetrician money could buy. The best small practice in the city included a wonderful black Obstetrician. I believed he had probably had to be TWICE as qualified as a white person to get into Med School back then.
It’s far past time to figure out what HE did and do that instead. My guess is that he came from a two-parent home and was held to high standards. Oh, and also that he studied and passed the very same Medical Boards as his white colleagues.
