IF I SHOULD DIE, HELP THE NEEDY

By TONEY ATKINS

NORTHWEST GEORGIA -- When there is a world or national crisis impacting people in tragic ways, we usually don’t hesitate to pull out our checkbooks or credit cards to help provide aid to the victims.

What many of us don’t always see is the tragedy in our own communities – individuals and families living in poverty, often going hungry and even homeless during the tough economic times which began when U.S. companies started sending jobs overseas and continuing into the 21st century with increasing economic woes due, in large part, to the government’s huge investment in wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and the failure to create new jobs at home.

A large number of veterans of those and previous conflicts are among those who are now fighting to survive in the world today. Many people are barely surviving on Social Security, disability, unemployment checks, Medicare and Medicaid benefits, none of which are truly sufficient to live a decent life. Elderly senior citizens who live on fixed incomes sometimes have to choose between buying medication or food or other basic needs, and they don't always have relatives who can or will help them. Food stamps, when someone can qualify, don't really go that far in ensuring a healthy diet.

I have heard some folks say that people are in these dire situation through their own fault or because they choose to do live in poverty. That is far from being true, although, unfortunatly, there are many who do abuse the system and ruin things for people who are genuinely hurting because unforeseen circumstances put their lives into tailspins.

I have gone through crises when I needed help and needed it as soon as possible. As I write this, I’m dealing with health issues that are to the extent that, being totally financially broke a week before payday and still owing some on rent. These issues also have me questioning my own mortality without being morbid or self-pitying or being a hypochondriac about it.

Knowing the suffering that impacts more residents than we like to think about, I’m publishing a kind of “will” here that I pray will be followed whenever my spirit passes from this world. I have no material things, especially since selling my car to continue surviving, and no really close relatives to fight over what I don’t have or who would even have to deal with matters of my demise -- you know, those "final arrangements."

When I die, I want any body parts that I haven’t destroyed to be used by doctors to help and possibly save others. I do not want to be put on life support if my recovery will leave me in a vegetative state or dependent on others for the rest of my life. I do not want a funeral service, because it would be too expensive just for the presence of a few if any acquaintances with schedules as busy as they are today. I definitely want whatever is left of me to be cremated, not buried. My spirit will be in the hands of God’s judgment.

Especially, with apologies to florists, please do not send flowers, unless you want to send them to patients in nursing facilities.

I would like for anyone who might want to provide a remembrance of me to do so by donating to certain churches that I know provide emergency help in various ways to local residents. These churches have wonderfully and tremendously helped me in the past, putting the message of true Christianity into caring actions in their communities. If your own church does the same thing, please donate there. Otherwise, I would appreciate it beyond physical death if you would designate that your generosity is especially designated to the needy or “community benevolence” program of the specific church.

My designated churches include: 

Oakwood Baptist Church
115 Oakwood Street - Chickamauga, Georgia 30707
Also: 247 Market Place Lane - Ringgold, GA 30736
706.375.5760
*********************
First Baptist Church of Fort Oglethorpe, GA
2645 LaFayette Road
Fort Oglethorpe, GA 30742
(706) 866-0232
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Westside Baptist Church
1914 LAKEVIEW DRIVE
Rossville, Georgia 30741
phone: 706-866-9213
**************************
Rossville Church Of Christ
1100 MCFARLAND AVENUE
Rossville, Georgia 30741
phone: 706-866-1119
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I pray for a long life to come, so please don't wait for me to die to help those in need, and preferably do so in your own name through a church or an established organization, including food bank missions. Remember that you never know when tragedy can come to your doorstep and you might need the helping hand that reaches out to you.

Thank you, and God bless you.

1 John 3:17-18: If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.

BELIEF IN GOD DECLINING? WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE?

BY TONEY ATKINS

A disturbing new poll, released in June 2012, indicates a growing trend among young adults and teenagers to believe that God does not exist – that there is no Higher Power in the Universe.

Dan Merica, of Cable News Network (CNN), reported: ”The percentage of Americans 30 and younger who harbor some doubts about God’s existence appears to be growing quickly, according to a recent Pew Research Center survey. While most young Americans, 68%, told Pew they never doubt God’s existence, that’s a 15-point drop in just five years.”

The CNN report continued: “In 2007, 83% of American millennials said they never doubted God’s existence.”

However. CNN, reporting on the poll, said: “More young people are expressing doubts about God now than at any time since Pew started asking the question a decade ago. Thirty-one percent disagreed with the statement ‘I never doubt the existence of God,’ double the number who disagreed with it in 2007.”

“There is no God,” a young man in his 20s, told me in an interview. “I’m living in hard times. I have nothing. I look around and see hypocrisy, hatred and violence. I have prayed time and time again, but my prayers are not answered. The Bible says to ask and you will receive. I’ve received nothing, no answers, no nothing” He did not explain exactly for what he was praying.

“Prove to me that there is a God,” he challenged.

“Prove to me that there isn’t a God,” I responded.

I explained that I see a Creator in the intricacies of creation, the marvel of how our bodies just happen to be made with all its parts designed to keep us, along with all the creatures of nature, alive and functioning, with each part doing what it is supposed to do. We have a brain with the capacity for intelligence to see the world but also to have faith in what our eyes can’t see.

I am far from being an authority on physiology or spirituality, and my argument failed to convince the young man. “Show me real proof and I might believe,” he said.

Admittedly, I went through a long period of doubting the existence of God until I was in my 20s. I was not a church-goer in my childhood and adolescent years, but I was brought up in a moral if not a Christian home.

When I was in my third year of college, a pretty girl, for whom I had carried quite a torch, invited me to her fundamentalist church for our first date.

I was impressed by the heartfelt singing of old-time upbeat spiritual songs. I saw beautiful expressions on the faces of many in the congregation as they worshipped. I heard testimonies of what several individuals said that God and His earthly son, Jesus, had done in their lives. They all appeared to be normal, down-home folks who happened to have something special in their lives. The pastor taught from the New Testament of the Holy Bible in a way that I could understand, and I began to grasp in a new way the message that Jesus delivered to His followers.

I was greeted with genuine friendliness when I was introduced to several members of the congregation as Jo and I were leaving the church building after the service.

Admittedly, lust was my ulterior motive for going to the church in the first place, but I found that the young lady's outer beauty extended to the inside. Her pretty face carried a gorgeous smile, and her sense of humor hadn’t changed over the years. But there was something different, something more special about her.

Attending the church services over the next few weeks became an established part of our friendship, and I found that I looked forward to being in that building where ordinary, down-to-earth people believed in a God unseen, but Who still seemed somehow mysteriously alive and present in and for the members of the congregation.


In my spare time, I began reading the teachings of Jesus in the first four books of the New Testament. His message of peace, love and hope had meaning for me that I was only just beginning to comprehend.


I bought a copy of the Rev. Billy Graham’s book, “World Aflame,” and read parts of it at night during breaks from studying my college courses. I was becoming more and more aware of an emptiness inside and something dramatically missing from my life, and the words in the book were food for thought and for my aching soul.

On a particularly depressing day in late winter, I was inexplicably anxious and upset. I skipped a night class and drove to the Civil War national park a few miles from home. I climbed to the top of a stone tower and gazed around the park under cloudy, dreary skies. I had never felt so alone.

I wanted to stop at the home of the pastor of the church I had been attending, but cars outside his house indicated that he had company, possibly the minister who was to begin a revival the following night.

At home, I lay on my bed. Instead of studying, I continued to read the Rev. Graham’s book. I would like to say what passage struck a major chord within me, but I really don’t remember. For the first time in my life, I knelt at my bedside and sincerely prayed, asking God and Jesus to forgive me of my wrongdoings and to come into my life and change it.

A huge weight was lifted from my shoulders.

The first sign that something was different came moments after I turned off my light. There was a loud clap of thunder in the distance. Previously, I would have gone into panic mode. I had been terrified of storms for several years after a windstorm uprooted a tree within a few yards of where I had been standing. An unnatural, all-encompassing fear would have me walking the floor in terror until any storm thereafter would pass.

On this night, however, I went straight to sleep without fear and awoke the next morning full of peace and joy. I remember singing all the way to the college campus. I was happy.

Many other events would occur in the following years that convinced me that a Higher Power was at work in my life.

I became active in the church for several years, and there were wonderful times. I would like to say that as times changed, I lived a perfect Christian life, but that would be an outright lie. However, my belief in God remained intact and I knew that He (or She) answered my prayers, although not necessarily how I wanted, but always in ways that were best for me.

That faith is the only answer I have as to reasons I survived almost being killed several times, as well as overcoming health, financial and other problems.

Our minds are complicated. Our bodies are complicated. The world and the people populating it are complicated. The Universe is complicated.

I love the Internet, which continually baffles me with its complexity and remarkable ability to provide all kinds of information into my home computer, on some folks’ cellular telephones and even onto television sets.

But the Internet, which can spread facts and knowledge, is not always a good thing. Many people with evil intentions infect it, not only with destructive viruses, but with destructive misinformation. People rarely converse with each other face-to-face these days. They email or text. Instead of spreading love and positive hope through the Internet, many spread vitriolic lies and hatred, and a lot of times, the Internet can be terrifying in its relative anonymity.

For some people, the Internet has become a god. They worship it for hours on end as life goes on around them. They miss out on the simple human pleasures that we used to enjoy as recently as a generation ago. Values have changed dramatically, and not always for the best. Truth is put to the test more than ever before. The Internet and its offspring can infect and affect the human mind.


Despite all the good it can accomplish and the convenience that it has added to our lives, the Internet has hardened our hearts, diminished our humanity.


More and more, there are wars and rumors of wars around the world. Dictators slaughter their own people in fear of losing power over them. Politicians lie and make promises, but rarely explain how these promises will be carried out to the benefit of the populace. People maim and kill others, often without apparent reason. Where marriage was once "till death do us part," it has become more like a boyfriend-girlfriend existence, breaking up when things go wrong and going on to other relationships, leaving the children to suffer because of their parents' actions. Too many adults commit criminal sexual acts on under-age boys and girls, not caring about the consequences of their unspeakable actions. Too many people are content to live their lives in ignorance of the truth instead of living in reality.


God's fault? Hardly. He gave us the ability to choose between right and wrong, good and bad.

I truly feel a sadness for those people who say they no longer believe in God. They don’t know all that they are missing in good times and bad -- all that is life.

God is not just inside a church building. He is inside the people who fill those buildings, no matter what their denomination may be. He is inside all of us, waiting to be recognized and acknowledged so that His Spirit can awaken us. He waits for us to treat others with respect, love and decency in a movement that, if spread, could make this planet a much better place to live.

A world without God? How empty that would be. How sad.

MY AUNT BETTE: PRECIOUS, WONDERFUL MEMORIES

BY TONEY ATKINS
I just learned today that one of my two favorite aunts died last Thursday. Her service and burial, of which I was unaware, were several days ago, and I’m left with another hole in my heart.

Bette Dodd, my late mother’s sister, was always a bright spot in my life. Her smile and laughter would brighten a room. From the time she was in high school, this always-beautiful blonde bombshell refused to let me call her “Aunt Bette.” She was Bette to me.

I recall, with a smile, the days when I looked forward to going to the ice cream shop where she worked after school. Then, there was the time she took me to see the original black-and-white version of “The Thing” in the 1950s. Her scream during the climactic scene nearly burst my eardrums.

She always laughed at the way I pronounced the word “familiar” when I was a child. I always said “fame-uh-ler.” Even into my adulthood, she never let me live it down, even though I had long before corrected my pronunciation.

During my crazy adolescent years, I insisted one day that she hop into my old Crosley vehicle to go into the northwest Georgia countryside to meet my latest sweetheart. As we were riding down the dirt road in the middle of nowhere, we both noticed a tire passing us by and going into a ditch. It didn’t dawn on either of us for a minute that the tire had come off my car. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop laughing as I restored the tire to its proper place on the auto, which had seen its better days long before I got it.

She and her husband, the late Willard E. (Bill) Dodd, were generous to a fault. They never failed to be sympathetic when I used them as sounding boards when I had problems at home. As a child, I played with their kids, Ronnie and Marnie, and was so proud of my cousins when they graduated high school and what they later achieved in life.

Although we hadn’t seen each other much during the decades that I lived in Florida, my fondness for Bette never changed. Even when she was in bad health, she was the same old Bette whenever we did talk. I miss her and wish I had visited her more often and that I had been the kind of friend in our older years that she had been when I was young.

My sympathies go out to my cousins and to her friends and relatives. May the beautiful Bette rest in peace. She truly deserves it.

**********************************
OBITUARY FROM THE CHATTANOOGA TIMES FREE PRESS:
DALTON, GA -- Bette Dodd, 79, passed away Thursday, June 14, 2012 at her residence.She was preceded in death by her husband, Willard "Bill" Dodd; parents; brother and sisters.She was a member of Grove Level Baptist Church.She is survived by a daughter, Marnie Dodd, of Dalton; son, Ronnie Dodd, of Sale Creek, Tenn.; granddaughter, Sandy Dodd Zigler; very special friend, Robin Harris; nieces, Susan Tankersley and Linda Johnson; nephews, Mark Dodd, Joe Dodd, Tony Atkins and Mike Bell.A funeral service to honor the life of Mrs. Dodd will be held today at 10 a.m. at the Pleasant Grove Chapel of Julian Peeples with Rev. Bill Walker officiating. Burial will be in United Memorial Gardens.The family received friends at the funeral home Friday from 5 until 8 p.m. Flowers will be accepted or donations may be made to Amedisys Hospice, 1510 N. Thornton Ave. Dalton, Ga. 30720Julian Peeples Funeral Home, Pleasant Grove Chapel, Dalton is in charge of funeral arrangements.

WARFARIN: THE DEATH OF ME?

By TONEY ATKINS

Warfarin, a blood-thinning clot-fighter, is designed to be a life-saver, but I’m concerned that it almost has been the death of me or, if nothing else, has wreaked havoc on my body and brain.

Little did I know that almost exactly two years ago, when I took quite a fall onto concrete and gravel after missing a shaded doorstep, the prescribed medicine (an ingredient of which the early use included rat poison) would be affecting me, physically and psychologically.


Regardless of what some people may believe, I am not a rat and I'm certain that warfarin was not given to me to thin my blood to the point of hemorrhaging to death. But I digress.


A week after the July 2010 tumble, a painfully swollen foot sent me hobbling to the emergency room, where a blood clot was discovered in my leg. After at least seven days of self-injections in the stomach area of shots valued at about $1,000, warfarin became my cross to bear for at least two years.


For those not familiar with warfarin (a generic of Coumadin), it is a pill that thins the blood to prevent clots from forming and helps to dissolve blood clots that have already formed. The purpose is to prevent clots from going to the lungs, heart and brain, avoiding heart attacks or strokes.

The patient has to be monitored by blood work at a doctor’s office or in a hospital because the warfarin levels in the blood have to be maintained at a specific level. This may mean a change in prescribed dosages from month to month, and the individual must observe eating guidelines and definitely avoid certain green vegetables and anything containing Vitamin K. Alcoholic beverages are frowned upon, and warfarin can interact with other medications.

All this became a very frightening reality to me about two weeks ago, when I could have bled out and died if I had suffered a serious cut or even if I suddenly developed internal bleeding from an ulcer or such.

Several months ago, my prescribed dosage had been increased to 5 mg. per day. After a recent blood test, it was increased to 5.5 mg. Another test indicated I should take the warfarin once a day for five days and not take it on weekends. Later, I received another phone call from my physician’s nurse saying I should return to the daily dose.

Those boring details take me to the blood check of nearly two weeks ago. I hadn’t felt truly well for some time, but I attributed that to the natural aging process since I had not changed any habits.

After the lab technician took my blood, we both noticed that where the needle had been inserted bled longer than usual but finally stopped. The blood sample was later sent to an outside lab for analysis. That was on a Tuesday afternoon.

I heard nothing from the doctor’s office on Wednesday and assumed all was okay, except for several bruises on my arm. Thursday morning, however, I received a call from the office of the complex in which I live, telling me that it was “very important” that I call my doctor immediately.

After finally being connected to the proper source, I was told that I “urgently” needed to go to the local hospital emergency room, because the test results showed that my blood was about five times thinner than it should be, or in the technician’s word, “critical.”

Needless to say, I nearly freaked out. I opened a can of turnip greens and a can of cabbage and nuked the Vitamin K-containing vegetables in the microwave. I devoured the food as I contemplated the possibilities before calling 911. After all, the test was done two days earlier. A few more minutes before calling an ambulance wouldn’t kill me – I hoped.

During my nearly six-hour visit to the ER, blood work was done, I received an injection of Vitamin K, and an ultrasound was performed to determine whether I had any blood clots. Fortunately, I was clot-free. Possibly because of my vegetable “breakfast,” my warfarin level was down, but far from being where it should be.

The doctor, who I consider to be very efficient, ordered me not to take any more warfarin until I came back to the hospital the following Monday for another blood test in the lab there. (My luck was staying true to form: My insurance would not cover the test and the cost was about $75.)

What I had thought was real drama was only beginning.

The following day, I called my physician’s office for the results of the blood work. The hospital staff had assured me those results would be sent Monday evening, but the report was nowhere to be found Tuesday afternoon at my doctor’s facility. At the nurse's request, I detailed the visit to the emergency room Thursday, what the doctor there had determined and what I was instructed to do.

The nurse apparently contacted the hospital, had a copy of the report resent and had consulted my doctor. She called me back and said my warfarin level was essentially normal and that I should resume taking the medication at double the amount of blood-thinner – 10.5 mg or 11 mg, I don’t recall exactly.

I literally shouted into the telephone: “What are you trying to do? Kill me?” Somehow, I refrained from using the expletives that were swirling in my mind.

I repeated to her that I had been taking 5.5 mg of the blood=thinner once a day for a couple of months. The prescription that she was about to call in to my pharmacist would be twice as strong, thereby making my blood twice as thin as it was when I was when ordered to go to the hospital. I was more than a little frustrated, upset and frightened about what the pills could have done to my body.

The nurse said she would talk to the doctor again and call me back. Minutes later, she called and revised the dosage down to 2.5 mg per day, which was far more reasonable to me.

Two days later, after I attempted to resume my routine, my hearing was more out of whack than usual and, even scarier, my eyesight was dim, blurry and adversely reacting to light to the extent that I could see a little inside my apartment and even less while wearing my eyeglasses and sunglasses outside. I am also having mild hallucinations in the corner of my left eye.

I have written this while wearing sunglasses because the computer screen is too bright and the print is virtually obscure, so please pardon any dramatic errors. The television screen is also hard to watch.

This major vision problem just started Thursday night. The eyesight is a little better this morning (early Monday), thank God, but I am definitely contacting a physician in case there have been serious developments that may possibly have been caused by the unintentional but prescribed overdose of warfarin. I still don’t feel normal, whatever normal is.

I share this experience because I know of other people who have to take warfarin to prevent blood clots. I urge anyone who, out of necessity, have to take this medication to be tested as per a doctor’s instructions and make sure the prescribed dosage is taken, because there can be numerous effects not outlined here.

Also, do not be afraid to question the amount of the dosage if you feel that it is unreasonable.
Several mistakes sent me to the hospital, and I do not want anyone to have to deal with the possible physical damage and the accompanying, sometimes underlying fear and concern about over dosage or even under-dosing.

My story’s ending remains uncertain. Make sure yours or a friend’s or loved one's is a happy one.

**********

BACKGROUND INFORMATION (from http://www.ehow.com/about_6524045_rat-poison-coumadin.html ):
Warfarin was developed from spoiled sweet clover hay. It was known that in some cases spoiled hay lead to livestock deaths due to hemorrhaging. Researchers at the University of Wisconsin attempted to breed a sweet clover plant that would not cause bleeding in livestock that consumed any spoiled feed made from the plant. This research isolated dicoumarol that was patented as an anti-coagulant in 1941. It was refined and synthesized as warfarin in 1948.

Warfarin was initially used as a rodenticide and rapidly became the most widely used rodent poison in the world. According to the Institute of Traditional Medicine, a 1951 attempted suicide incident where an individual consumed a large dose of warfarin but recovered lead to research concerning the use of warfarin in humans. The first human uses of warfarin, called Coumadin when used in humans, were in 1954 when President Dwight Eisenhower was treated with it after a 1955 heart attack.

Warfarin disrupts the action of vitamin K, a substance that promotes blood clotting, as it works in the body. It also disrupts a number of proteins produced by the liver that also play a part in blood clotting. In rodents this lack of blood clotting causes fatal internal hemorrhaging. In humans, with controlled doses and blood testing, the reduction in the blood clotting function reduces the possibility of some medical conditions.

Read more: Rat Poison & Coumadin | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/about_6524045_rat-poison-coumadin.html#ixzz1y7Sfz36F

THIS IS A TEST … A BOOK CHAPTER COMING, AND SOMETHING FOR GORDON LEE’s CLASS OF ‘61

This is a test posting, trying something different.

Meanwhile, watch for a chapter of my book to appear here within the next couple of weeks, with publication planned before Christmas.

Yes, soldier friend (you know who you are, LOL), I’ve been promising this for five or more years, but it’s finally coming. I’ll be publishing it and financing the project with my own money, of which I have little at present because of car, computer, health, an unexpected change of residence and other expenses and a set limited income. Donations are welcome … just kidding.

Also, in a few days, I’ll be posting an article and several items that, because of a major computer glitch, were left out of the booklet commemorating the 50-year Gordon Lee High School, Chickamauga, GA, Class of ‘61 Reunion about this time last year. Watch for that, too.

Wishing you all good health, much wealth, happiness, love and many blessings! – Toney Atkins, June 6, 2012 3:40 a.m.

PART OF MY BOOK IS COMING HERE

For those who have bugged me for days, months and years, I’m finally going to share part of my book on this blog. It’s a little steamy, so prepare your iced beverage to keep you cool. Watch for it in this spot soon. -- Toney

MOTHER'S DAY

Don't forget your mother on Mother's Day in May (May 13, 2012)!VISIONS Column

REMEMBERING MOTHER

By TONEY ATKINS

In past years, I have received a number of wonderful and inspiring phone calls and letters about what would become my annual tribute in the Daytona Times to my beautiful mother, who passed from this world on April 17, 1994.

There have been requests to repeat that tribute, at least in part, to share with those who know what it means to have lost a mother and with those who are fortunate enough to still be able to look their mothers in the eyes on Mother's Day and say, "I love you."

This year marks the 18th anniversary of my mother's death and the 18th year that I still get choked up when I pass a counter in a store stocked with Mother's Day cards - especially the giant ones, which would truly have impressed my mom.

I recently traveled back to the town in which I was born to be with my dad, who currently is going through several different health crises which threaten to take him from me, too.

During the last few months of her life, my mother pleaded with me to get closer to my earthly father and to take care of him. He and I, indeed, have bridged a terrible gap that always seemed to be between us for far too many years, so the prayers of a loving mother were answered - and I am grateful. My dad, who took tender care of Mother during her final months, and I both still miss the woman who had a tremendous impact on both our lives.

My mother is eternal now, but in a spiritual sphere where I can't pick up the telephone and call her and tell her how concerned I am about my father and to hear her words of comfort and advice. Oh, how I miss her! Oh, how I realize how much I took her for granted! Time has increased my appreciation and love for her, but she's not here for me to tell her so.

Somewhere in my belongings is the Mother's Day card I had bought ahead of time in 1994 - the first time I had gotten one in years to send early so she would get it on or before Mother's Day, not several days or a week afterwards. "Better late than never," I always said with a laugh as I excused myself and apologized when she inevitably received it late, and she always said she forgave and thanked me profusely.

I still vividly remember the night that I walked into a dimly lit room in a Georgia hospital and looked down at the shell of my mother on the bed. She appeared to be so at peace and looked so much younger than her 74 years.

An hour earlier, she had been struggling for breath as she lay in a coma on a bed in another room in the hospital, with tubes running into her nose and into her arms that seemed brutally bruised by too many intravenous needles. There were fewer of them than there had been before, because they were relatively useless now. The doctors and nurses had told my dad and me that her body was shutting down, its parts failing rapidly, and that soon the few breaths we heard rattling through the room would be silent.

They were right. Her battle with cancer, congestive heart failure and other ailments - especially the stroke that sent her to the hospital for the last time - would be over that Sunday night - three weeks to the day before Mother's Day that year.

The card she never got to see was still in Daytona Beach.

The blessing was that, at least by appearances, she died without apparent agony from the horrible pain she could have been feeling. She had suffered very much. After her last breath, even with the hospital paraphernalia still attached to her, her years of struggle melted away. As her spirit entered a realm free of suffering, her face expressed its relief.

My mother loved me - sometimes, I thought, too much. She never liked my living 550 miles away. I lived under the "curse" of being an only child and being "smothered with love."

She was an outspoken woman, even more so with age. You could always depend on her speaking her mind to anyone and everyone. If you didn't like it - tough! But most people, young and old, including the minister who preached at her funeral, loved her for her simplistic, down-to-earth qualities. They saw her goodness as well as her human frailties, and the minister made special note that she indeed was one of a kind.

My mother was proud of me. It wasn't that I could do no wrong, because she would always be the first to let me know that I often did. But whether she approved or disapproved, she tried to act as though she respected my feelings and decisions.

I was required to send her copies of the Daytona Times (and the Daytona Beach News-Journal, when I was a writer and editor there) so she could proudly show off my writings to her friends and neighbors.

Oh, the many things I miss about Mother! She was always there when I needed someone to talk to. In our long distance telephone conversations, she worried about me, concerned about whether I was eating right, whether I was staying out of trouble and always wanting to know when I was going to get married and give her a grandchild to dote over. Even though I had crossed the threshold of 50 at the time of her passing, I was always her "little boy."

Eleven years later, I still sometimes find it hard to accept that my mother and my best friend is gone and I can't tell her how I feel about her and let her know that she did a wonderful job in trying to raise a good son. (None of my character defects can be blamed on her.)

How I wish I could hug her tightly and talk to her now!

The purpose of this writing is simple. It's not just therapeutic. I hope it prompts each and every reader whose mother is still alive to stop and think about that special woman, to remember her and treasure her while she's here, especially on the upcoming Mother's Day.

Pay her a visit. Send a card. Send flowers. Give her a telephone call. Buy a gift. Make her feel special, because after all, she brought someone special into the world - you.

Most important, tell her you love her while she can still hear your voice. She'll feel good, and you will, too.

-- This tribute by former Daytona Times Assistant Editor Toney Atkins was written and published before Mother's Day, shortly after his mother's death in 1994. Slightly edited to reflect the passage of time, it is dedicated to all mothers everywhere and to the children who love and respect them.

(c) 2005, Toney Atkins / Daytona Times

COMMENTS? GO TO MY GUESTBOOK AT www.toneyatkins.com/ .

TONEY ATKINS: SOME OF WHO I AM

YOUR HOST AND EDITOR: Everyone else seemed to have a web site or blog, so I decided several years ago, why not me, too? As per my usual semi-psychotic self, I went crazy and started several sites, along with some blogs. It's like having my own newspapers or magazines. On this particular site, I share my interests, ideas, personal opinions and favorite links to news of importance and interest, along with my original writings. Some of the latter have been published solely by me and some have appeared in newspapers, including the Daytona Times in Daytona Beach, FL, and the Florida Courier, a newspaper based in Tampa. Your contributions and comments to and about this site are welcome in the guestbook at www.toneyatkins.com/   or at toneyatkins@toneyatkins.com)  . -- Toney Atkins   TONEY ATKINS:TRIVIAL STUFF   ---FAVORITE ENTERTAINERS: Too many to mention, but I remain a big fan of the late Elvis Presley, who came on the scene and impacted rock 'n roll and my love for music during my teen years. In 1972, Elvis staged one of the most dynamic and entertaining concerts in Macon, GA, that I have ever seen (and as a former entertainment writer and editor, I've seen many good entertainers). To coin an overused adjective, even without flashy lighting and special effects, he was "awesome," as those young and old who were present in the packed auditorium would testify. ---FAVORITE PASTIMES: Writing; karaoke; trying to keep up with the insane political goings-on in the U.S; watching many movies I missed when I was working as a newspaper writer/editor and part-time as a DJ-karaoke host at the same time from the early 1990s until a couple of years before retirement. ---FAVORITE TV SHOWS: "Sons of Anarchy" (FX); "Eureka" (Sci-Fi Channel); "Lost" (from start to finish on ABC);  reruns of most of the "Law and Order" and "CSI" franchises on numerous cable channels; "American Horror Story" (FX); "House" reruns on various channels; "Frasier" and "Cheers" reruns on Hallmark Channel; "The Walking Dead" (AMC); "Hell on Wheels" (AMC); and primetime news analysis shows on MSNBC. --MY RECOMMENDED "MUST-SEE" DOCUMENTARIES: Ken Burns' "The War" miniseries, PBS, DVD; "102 Minutes That Changed America" (9/11 revisited, History Channel, also on DVD); "WWII in HD" (documentary miniseries, History Channel, DVD; "The Perilous Fight: America's World War II in Color" (PBS documentary miniseries); "The Lost JFK Tapes: The Assassination" (National Geographic TV); "Woodstock Now and Then" (History Channel documentary) -- GUILTY PEASURES: Listening and dancing (usually by myself) to disco music, mentally reliving some good times in the '70s and early '80s; watching "Desperate Housewives" on TV. ---FAVORITE MOVIES AND TV MINI-SERIES (most on DVD or often on cable TV): "Avatar"; "It's a Wonderful Life"; "Forrest Gump"; "What's Up, Doc?"; "Hair"; "Independence Day"; "Star Wars"; "Rise of the Planet of the Apes"; "The Green Lantern"; "The Help"; Ken Burns' "The War" (excellent PBS documentary series about World War II, with archival footage and interviews with veterans; also available on DVD); "Band of Brothers" (HBO miniseries, reruns on the Spike channel, also on DVD); "Airplane!", "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," "As Good As It Gets," "Hairspray" (the John Travolta version); "Into The West" (TNT original series); "Mamma Mia"; "Happy Feet"; "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," "Crash" (2005, Academy Award best picture); "All the President's Men"; "Good Night, and Good Luck," "United 93," "The Polar Express," "11:14"; "Joshua"; "Armageddon"; and the 1976 chiller, the original "Carrie." ---FAVORITE SONGS (AMONG MANY): "I Will Survive" and "I Am What I Am," both by Gloria Gaynor; "Live Like You Were Dying," by Tim McGraw; "Angels Among Us" by Alabama; "You Raise Me Up" (artist unknown); "We Are Family" (Sister Sledge); "How Can I Kiss the Lips at Night (That Chew My Ass Out All Day Long) (artist unknown); "Where Am I Gonna Live (When I Get Home)" and "I'm So Miserable Without You, It's Almost Like You're Here" (Billy Ray Cyrus); "If My Nose Was Running Money (I'd Blow It All on You)" (unknown artist); "Down To Love Town," by the Originals; "Right Back To Where We Started From" (Maxine Nightingale); "Rumors" (Timex Social Club); ALSO: "Chasing Cars," "I Can Only Imagine," "I Want to Know What Love Is," "Shake Your Groove Thing" (Peaches and Herb). ---FAVORITE BOOKS: The New Testament of the Holy Bible; fiction by John Saul, Dean Koonz, early Stephen King, and, of course, my own upcoming eventual contribution to the world of literature.  ---FAVORITE SPORTS TEAMS: Atlanta Braves, the University of Georgia Bulldogs and the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga Mocs (my alma mater, where I achieved a B.S.degree in junior high education), Gordon Lee High School Trojans in Chickamauga, GA.  ---FAVORITE FOODS: Everything at Golden Corral's buffet (especially the one in Fort Oglethorpe, GA); Thickburgers and chili dogs at Hardees in Rossville, GA; burgers at Steak 'n Shake in Fort Oglethorpe; subs at the Subway north of Chickamauga-Chattanooga National Battlefield in Ft. Oglethorpe. --- FAVORITE SCREEN BEAUTIES: Meryl Streep, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Lopez, Cameron Diaz, Helen Hunt, Holly Hunt, Queen Latifah ---FAVORITE MUSIC GENRES: Dance music from the 1940s to the present; Carolina Shag, aka East Coast beach music; country; Southern gospel; classic rock; pop and rhythm and blues from the '50s, '60s and '70s (some songs of which fit into the beach music-"Shag" category).  --- POLITICS: A good dose of liberalism mixed in with some conservatism. I'm VERY Independent where politics is concerned. More attention needs to be paid to the woes of working people (stop sending jobs overseas); Social Security for retirees and the elderly; better health care for all; continuation and improvement of Medicare and Medicade. I dislike flip-floppers and politicians who claim that they are going to change things but don't tell us exactly how they're going to do it. I'm for transparency in government and don't like to be shocked by unexpected laws and regulations that are not discussed with the public until after a bill is passed.  --- RELIGION: Non-denominational churches that preach the love of God and not politics and war. I believe God is inside all of us, not "out there" somewhere, and that His spirit flows throughout the universe He created. We just have to seek that spiritual part of us instead of relegating it to the dark reaches of our brain. Every person has the ability to tune in to the Spirit through prayer and meditation, and a belief -- in Jesus as the Son of God, for example -- can work to enrich our lives and the lives of those with whom we come into contact. Ignoring the spirit within us can bring nothing short of darkness and anti-human deeds. Love can bring miracles. Christianity is New Testament, not the Old. My favorite church is Oakwood Baptist Church in Chickamauga, GA, whose programs include helping the needy, especially in crisis situations.   SOME HOBBIES: My love for reading and writing led me into a career in journalism. My love for singing and music led me into a separate volunteer career as a karaoke singer and show host-DJ. My experience as an editor and reporter gave me an ultimate incentive to create web sites to share my ideas, along with links to favorite interests and information that I believe to be worth the attention of many. After learning that I have glaucoma and will likely be blind within a few years, I'm slowly working toward completion of a book, and I enjoy catching up on all the movies I missed during my multiple careers, I'm making extensive use of a DVD player and films that stream on the Internet. Before suffering a back injury and a slowly deteriorating condition that followed, I loved soccer, tennis, bowling and dancing. MOST ADMIRED PEOPLE:  Members of the U.S. armed forces who served in Iraq, those who are still fighting in Afghanistan and those who are stationed around the world. ALSO: I admire and respect honest journalists (especially TV news anchors, reporters, commentators, and newspaper and magazine writers who emphasize facts and speak their minds).  Hats off to the team of reporters and editorial writers with whom I began my newspaper career and worked for 15 years at the News-Journal in Daytona Beach. OTHERS GREATLY ADMIRED: Genuinely good friends (of which I have too few, which is probably my own fault). Definitely admired are true Christians who truly practice what they preach and don't leave their religion at the church doors; and everyone who spreads love and peace instead of discrimination and hate.  MY HEROES: My main heroes are members of all branches of the U.S. military; firefighters; most police officers; and school teachers, of which I was one in the late '60s and early '70s. As far as a single individual is concerned, I got to know and realize the impact of the late Charles W. Cherry Sr., a black civil rights leader in Daytona Beach, FL, who achieved much for many people. He was also the publisher for whom I was privileged to work for nearly 15 years total before my retirement at the Daytona Times, the Daytona Beach minority community's newspaper.

REMEMBER 2011; SPREAD LOVE AND PEACE IN 2012

HAPPY NEW YEAR! GOODBYE, 2011; WELCOME, 2012 -- THE YEAR OF APOCOLYPSE? WHATEVER, DON'T WASTE A MOMENT! LIVE THE BEST YOU CAN, AND SPREAD LOVE AND PEACE!!

Updates to my web site, http://www.toneyatkins.com/ will be made starting after Jan. 3, 2012. Meanwhile, here are some of my current favorite links to stories and articles that you might find to be informative and interesting:


WILL THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT END IN DECEMBER 2012?


http://science.howstuffworks.com/major-planetary-alignment-2012.htm?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+DailyStuff+%28DailyStuff+from+HowStuffWorks%29&utm_content=Google+Feedfetcher#mkcpgn=rss1

BIZARRE PREDICTIONS FOR 2012:


http://science.howstuffworks.com/nature/natural-disasters/5-year-2012-predictions.htm?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+DailyStuff+%28DailyStuff+from+HowStuffWorks%29&utm_content=Google+Feedfetcher#mkcpgn=rss1


TOP NEWS OF 2011:


http://history.howstuffworks.com/american-history/how-2011-worked.htm


http://weatherbug.myway.com/StormCentral/Page/StormCentral.aspx?zcode=z5106&story_id=13009&lid=SCT4

http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/Y/YE_2011_CHRONOLOGY?SITE=AP&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/Y/YE_TOP_10_STORIES?SITE=AP&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/Y/YE_DEATHS?SITE=AP&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

OAKWOOD CHURCH PUTS CHRIST IN CHRISTIANITY

AUTHOR'S FOREWORD: When I originally wrote and posted this commentary in 2011, it was after a number of emotional, health and financial setbacks. That is why I focused on Oakwood Baptist Church in Chickamauga, GA. Some other churches emailed me, asking why I had not mentioned similar services that they offer the needy community. At the time, I felt led to Oakwood, and the spirit and help I received from the wonderful people there impressed me enough to share my experience to let others, and there are many, who are going through difficult times know that help is available from Christians who honor the teachings of Christ by providing food, clothing and other services to folks who, through no fault of their own, are unable to make it from paycheck to paycheck. I was not intentionally ignoring anyone. Large churches, and even smaller ones, especially in the South, offer help to those who legitimately need it. This commentary is designed to inform the hurting people out there that there is assistance, provided in a Christian way, and also to encourage readers to help support these programs with small or large financial gifts, specified to go to programs for the needy. By doing so, your gift may change for the better the life of someone or a family in your community whom you don't even know. What better way to celebrate the true meaning and spirit of Christmas? Thank you for your attention. -- Toney Atkins, Dec. 20, 2013



BY TONEY ATKINS

CHICKAMAUGA, GA -- Oakwood Baptist Church in Chickamauga puts the Christ in Christianity.

Exercising its stated purpose of “loving God, loving people (and) making a difference,” Oakwood Baptist goes far beyond beautiful Sunday singing and sermonizing to spread the true meaning of Christianity by putting Jesus’ words and works into action in northwest Georgia’s Walker County and beyond.

I knew I was in the presence of a loving, wonderful spirit the moment I stepped into the lobby of the church building to have a meeting with church deacons when the multiplying problems of a crisis-filled year led me to seek help that I could not seem to find anywhere else.

Feelings of abandonment, loneliness and destitution were becoming all too common again since I had waded into the swiftly flowing and deepening river of my so-called “golden years.” Retirement from working two jobs most of my life was turning out to be not as I had expected and hoped for my 60s while rapidly approaching the even more uncertain age of 70. (My brain often teasingly deceived me into believing I was still young, but my mischievous body loved to remind me of an otherwise reality -- and it still has that tendency.)

"Murphy's Law" seemed to kick into high gear in July of 2010 when my foot missed a doorstep and I took a tumble onto a concrete walkway, further messing up an already suffering back, breaking fingers and spraining an ankle. A week later, a blood clot was discovered, and I was put on a blood-thinning medication to add to my repertoire of pill bottles in my carrying case. Then came physical therapy and a continuing battle with cholesterol and triglycerides and an appetite for foods that were dangerously loaded with both.

Things got no better in December when my car went out of control on a rain-and-ice-slick road, plowing directly into a power pole, totaling the vehicle and damaging my ego and sense of security behind the wheel. The seat belt, which I had always hated, probably saved my life, keeping my body from taking the full brunt of the steering wheel and my head from smashing through the windshield. Months were to pass before most of the physical pains went away, and some aftereffects still persist. God was definitely with me.

He was also there when a potentially cancerous growth recently appeared on my face and when hospital technicians found that I have a kidney stone that may be too large to pass naturally without a lot of serious pain. At this writing, the latter issues still have not resolved themselves.

Add to all that a deepening financial crisis. I suddenly had to find a new place to live in mid-2011 when a friend, from whom I had been renting a room and  sharing expenses, decided to turn his mobile home back over to the bank and leave because he said he simply could not afford it any more. Being retired and on a fixed income, I chalked up that development. I had to seek affordable housing and to make what I prayed would be only a temporary move into accommodations that I really couldn't afford.

Despite knowing that God was there, taking care of me the best He could, I became more and more despondent, depressed, full of self-anger and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness that I was doing very little to help Him to help me.

In mid-summer of 2011, I was spiritually led to Oakwood Baptist Church to seek any kind of help I could get. For the first time in many years, I was in a position of having to seek charity, and that was painful to my pride.

The church had been much smaller when I lived in Chickamauga as a young man, but apparently it was high on God because it had grown in size, membership and service to the community in comparison to what I remembered.

I felt the Spirit within moments of entering the doors. As I sat in the lobby, awaiting my appointment, one of the choirs was practicing and I had to smile. Long ago, I had sung in a choir. Long ago, I had felt the peace and joy that was welling up inside me. Several people passed, on their way to various activities. All smiled and offered greetings -- not because they felt compelled to, but because they wanted to. For a while, my anxieties were gone, seemingly meaningless. My fears were calmed. I felt good, physically and spiritually.

The deacons with whom I spoke reinforced the down-to-earth, “real people” atmosphere. Like Jesus, they were genuinely concerned about my problems. They didn’t preach at me. Foremost, they listened to me, they prayed with me and they helped me. God was in that room and everyone, including myself, was tuned in to Him.

Any doubt that I might have had about the power of the Spirit of Jesus, the Christ, was gone when I drove home, relieved that people cared, people helped.

The auditorium was packed for the Sunday services that I later attended. The ministers’ words rang true and the music and songs lifted me higher. The crowds smiled.

The church seems to be active seven days a week. I remain amazed at the number of ministries available to members and to the public, including missions to lead and encourage each other as the Body of Christ to go outside the church and be intentional in the area of relationship evangelism. This is performed through such actions as serving the community, as well as organizing short-term mission teams from Oakwood’s congregation.

Oakwood’s Ministry of Hope assists individuals and families in need of furniture and household items.

A church booklet points out that “life change happens best in community. When people gather in groups with a shared mission to pursue God; to love one another; or to serve others, God tends to show up and do amazing things.”  Oakwood’s Life Group ministry offers a variety of groups.

Celebrate Recovery, which meets weekly at both the Chickamauga and Germantown (East Ridge, TN) campuses, is the “perfect place to go to heal from life’s hurts, habits and hang-ups,” a spokesperson said.

Among other events and activities, Oakwood Baptist offers a children’s ministry, student ministries, a worship ministry, the Financial Peace University, a men’s ministry, pastoral care, a singles ministry, a recreation ministry and the Oakwood Christian Academy.

Oakwood is part of the Northwest Georgia Baptist Association with many ministries that Oakwood, along with 70 or so other churches, help to minister in Walker County and around the world, reader Don Taylor pointed out.

Oakwood Baptist also has presented an annual Easter sunrise service in the area of Wilder Tower in the Chickamauga-Chattanooga Battlefield National Park between Chickamauga and Fort Oglethorpe.

Oakwood’s Chickamauga campus is at 115 Oakwood St., Chickamauga, GA 30707, with Bible study and worship services at 9:15 and 10:45 a.m. Celebrate Recovery meets every Friday at 7 p.m., with a meal at 6 p.m. The Gateway campus is at 247 Market Place Lane, inside the Gateway Mall, in Ringgold, GA (just west of Interstate 75). Sunday services are at 9:15 a.m. and 10:45 a.m. The Germantown campus is at 707 S. Germantown Road, East Ridge, TN, where Sunday worship is at 10:45 a.m. and Celebrate Recovery is Sunday at 7 p.m., with a meal at 6 p.m.

More information is available by calling (706) 375-5760 or going online to http://oakwoodbc.org .

 I have never been known to write unsolicited commentaries about a particular church, but I have to say it. The Lord is leading me to testify about Oakwood Baptist and part of what it does in Chickamauga and surrounding communities. It’s “old-time religion” for the 21st century, and may it continue to bless.

Yes, "Murphy's Law" (if it can go wrong, it will) still challenges me, but I  have rediscovered a very special and spiritual way to deal with it, thanks to the folks at Oakwood who practice loving God, loving people and making a difference.

I urge friends, relatives, enemies and other readers who would like to feel some Christmas spirit all year long to send charitable gifts to the Caring Missions fund to benefit the northwest Georgia area's needy at https://e-giving.org/GuestDonation_v5/DonatorPage.asp at Oakwood's web address or send checks or money orders to the Chickamauga church campus' street address listed above. Checks or money orders should be made to Oakwood Baptist Church, with the memo specifying Caring Missions.

You will be blessed as someone less fortunate than you is blessed. This is my personal recommendation, because I know it works.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Writer Toney Atkins was born and grew up in Chickamauga, GA. He accepted Christ as his Savior in the mid-60s. He taught fifth, sixth and seventh grade subjects at Chickamauga Elementary School between 1967 and 1971. He taught at North Rossville (GA) Elementary in 1971-1972, after which he moved to Florida to become a newspaper writer and assistant editor. After retirement, he currently lives in northwest Georgia and can be contacted at toneyatkins@gmail.com or toneyatkins@live.com .

POSTSCRIPT: This commentary, written and posted nearly two years ago, has remained as the overall most read posting on this blog, of which I am very pleased. I stand by my writing and support all churches and organizations that provide physical help and comfort to the poor and the needy in these desperate times for many. -- Toney Atkins, Oct. 19, 2013.

SPREAD PEACE AND LOVE! Don't forget the less fortunate, plus we must continue to remember the troops and their families who are still dealing with the Afghanistan War and veterans of the Iraq War. God bless them all!

SEPT. 11, 2001: TERROR BECAME REALITY

BY TONEY ATKINS



The approach of the tenth anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001, finds me fighting a disturbing depression and unpleasant feelings of dread that the United States could be facing yet another devastating attack by our enemies.



Equally disturbing is the fact that some ultra-fanatic right-wingers in this country, including a few people who currently hold political power, have publicly asserted that another terrorist attack on America is needed to "prove" that the nation's first Black president, Barrack Obama, and the Democratic Party are not capable of protecting the country.



That, of course, outrageously pushes to an extreme limit the desire of many to see the Obama administration fail. Can anyone who remembers that day so vividly be so cold as to want, for political reasons, to experience the horrors of the potential destruction and deaths of possibly thousands of American citizens?



In their wildest imaginings, few ordinary citizens awoke that bright Tuesday morning in 2001 expecting the day to evolve into horror and bloody death on their own soil. Terrorist attacks occurred in other countries, but who would dare bring such villainous acts to the invincible powerhouse of the U.S.? It was unthinkable.



I had tuned the television to ABC's "Good Morning America" before sleepily approaching the shower to prepare for what I expected to be an ordinary day at the Daytona Times newspaper in Daytona Beach, FL. Running a little bit late, as usual, I was toweling myself dry when I noticed the bewildered expressions on the faces of the host and hostess of the news program. They were talking about the possibility that a small plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. A camera showed the smoke pouring from the upper section of the huge building. It initially appeared to be a horrible accident. As a graphic indicating "Breaking News" appeared on the screen, Peter Jennings began his report about what was known at that point.



As I drove down Orange Avenue, listening to a morning talk show broadcasting from New York, the host and one of his co-hosts were excited and not speaking in normal tones. Someone shouted that another plane had crashed into the second tower. It was becoming clear that these were passenger jetliners and that these occurrences were not accidental. A chill went up and down my journalistic spine and I broke the speed limit in getting to the newspaper.



At that time, the Internet was available only to the editor in charge, and I was only a reporter. When the editor went upstairs to consult with Managing Editor Charles W. Cherry Sr., I rushed to his computer, where his assistant was working, and reached over his shoulder to sign on to America Online's news page. What I saw stunned me and brought forth epithets that shocked the assistant, who was not completely aware of the tragedy-in-progress, into gales of laughter which literally had him rolling on the floor. The Pentagon had just been struck by a third plane. The publishable text of my comment to the young man was, "We're at war!"



WPUL-AM radio, the city's Black station, would ordinarily be broadcasting gospel music delivered by satellite, but the music had been replaced by the continually breaking news, including that of the crash of a fourth passenger jet into a Pennsylvania field. It was now known that the planes had been hijacked in some devious plan to wreak havoc, and that plan was succeeding. The whereabouts of President George W. Bush, who had assumed office earlier that year and who was visiting an elementary school in Florida at the time, was not known until later in the morning when he addressed a terrified nation. Adding to the ongoing living nightmare, the World Trade Center buildings dramatically collapsed into rubble as residents raced away.



I was extremely frustrated because our office had no TV and I had no consistent access to the Internet. Telephone systems were overwhelmed, so I could not contact my father, a World War II veteran who lived in northwest Georgia. He suffered from health problems, and I was concerned as to how he might be reacting to the event.



The assistant editor, who was in charge of laying out the pages of the paper, particularly the all-important front page, approached me and asked how I thought we should handle the developing crisis, pointing out that we were a Black-oriented newspaper that primarily covered issues affecting only the Black community. My reply might have sounded inconsiderate, but I practically shouted that Black people most likely were among the dead and dying and that what was happening was historic, impacting everyone. I urged a front page, lead story but, respecting his position, left it up to him. (He soon organized an excellent front page for our weekly newspaper that rivaled those of area dailies.)



Getting out of the office, I found that traffic was lighter than usual, but I was determined to get local reaction in person instead of in phone calls. A young Black female employee in the photo department of what was then Eckerd Drugs on Ridgewood Avenue was fighting back tears. She told me that she was concerned about her future mother-in-law who worked in the vicinity of what was to become known as Ground Zero of the New York attacks. Her fiancee had not been able to reach his mother, and they feared the worst. The young woman said her mind could not comprehend what was going on. (Several days later, she gave me the good news that her mother-in-law-to-be was safe.)



Outside, a man who was listening to a news broadcast on his car radio was equally concerned, his face lined with stunned disbelief. He was concerned about his father, who didn't live in New York City but who live in New York state and occasionally went into the metropolis. He couldn't get through to his dad, and he was worried.



Reactions were similar at several other locations as I made my way back to the newspaper. At an ATM, an elderly Black man said his bank had closed and he wanted to withdraw his money, because he was afraid of what might happen next.



All commercial air travel was grounded, not to be resumed for several days. Eerie feelings that I was experiencing were compounded by the occasional sounds of military jets which seemed to scream very low over our building throughout the day. The unknown, the unexpected had come to our land, and many of us knew that our lives were changed forever.



During my lunch break, I got my first look at televised live pictures of the smoke and debris billowing from a surrealistic view of the skyline of New York City. My phone call to Georgia finally went through, and my dad was okay. He had gone to the home of a friend to watch the scenes of devastation unfold on CNN.



Officials determined that the hijackings were instigated by Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan. In October, we were officially at war in that country -- a war that continues in 2011. Despite the eventual discovery and killing of bin Laden in Pakistan on May 1, 2011, under the command of President Obama, no end is in sight for the allies' war against al Quaeda and the stabilization of Afghanistan. (Not long after 9/11, then-President Bush would later erroneously tie Iraq to the attacks on America and initiated a war in that country. That ill-advised war resulted in the deaths of or injuries to thousands of brave military personnel.))



Amid the smouldering ruins of the World Trade Center and the damaged sections of the Pentagon were the casualties -- heroic firemen and police officers, ordinary citizens who had not known they were going to work in the buildings for the last time, the bodies of those people who had jumped from many floors up rather than die in flames or from suffocation before the structures collapsed. Final death statistics, including the passengers who had overcome other hijackers over Pennsylvania, approached 3,000.



The nation mourned. There were memorial services around the U.S., including one in Daytona Beach. Many days would follow before a degree of normalcy would return to our country. For some, feelings of real security ended on that terrible September day.



Although pushed by many into the deeper recesses of their minds so as not to let fear overcome their lives, most Americans still remember what is generally referred to as 9/11. Some have told me that they don't like to bring those horrible memories back to the surface, although that's difficult to avoid as the anniversary nears and fleeting, even fearful thoughts rush through: Will it happen again?



Those politicians and regular citizens who have remarked that another 9/11 is needed to "bring back our country" (bring it back to what?) need to see the images captured by the cameras and included in documentaries on the History and National Geographic television channels and on DVD to remind them of the horrors of that single day. They need to be shamed and chastised by the Americans who respect life and care about the future of our country. These radical unpatriotic and destructive citizens who seem to prefer hate and war over peace should be questioned, along with their questionable sanity.



We must never forget the uncertainty of tomorrow and the fragility of life. All could end as early as today.



Meanwhile, each of us can work to restore peace within our own country's borders in order to be stronger against any evil that might threaten us, working toward a better world that could be free or hatred, fear and war.