What's Stopping Us From Preventing Mass Shootings? Money in Politics

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Following a cataclysmic mass shooting such as Orlando’s, politicians, the media, and the public are quick to jump into the debate of whether more guns or fewer guns are the solution to this epidemic.

This hypothetical debate regarding gun control is futile — both sides circumvent the root issue at hand.

It does not matter whether we ever collectively agree on a solution to mass shootings: We can never get gun control unless we get money out of politics.

The two issues may seem wholly unrelated, but the corruption in Washington is precisely why we continue to see absurd laws regarding firearms go unchallenged.

Why do we hear dozens of politicians offer “thoughts and prayers” after a mass shooting but no meaningful legislation for common sense measures such as stopping individuals on the terrorist watch list from purchasing weapons? It’s because our representatives are puppets of their campaign donors, including the NRA.

Journalists such as Igor Volsky have been set on exposing this corruption. After a major mass shooting, Volsky calls out specific senators and House representatives, revealing the exact amounts of money the NRA has donated to them and how this has affected their votes.

Linking to Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s tweet following the San Bernardino shooting, Volsky wrote, “NRA dumped $922K into McConnell’s re-elect bid, so when it comes to preventing gun violence all u [sic.] get is this tweet.”

For Speaker of the House Paul Ryan’s response to Orlando, Volsky pointed out, “[Speaker Ryan] – who took $35K from @NRA – has issued a statement on #OrlandoShooting that doesn’t even mention guns.”

Volsky also made sure to inform the public of the 50 GOP senators who “voted AGAINST blocking people on terror watch list from buying firearms.”

In 2014, the NRA, in partnership with its own Super PAC, spent over $27 million on midterm congressional campaigns.

NBC News detailed the power this money has: “In the ten races [in 2014] the NRA spent nearly a million dollars or more — eight Senate races and two House races – the candidate the NRA backed won in every race except one.”

This level of influence is grotesque, particularly for an industry whose sole goal is profiting over the sales of weapons intended to kill.

Thus, when you have Republican congressmen arguing that a ban on assault weapons violates the 2nd amendment, or that federal background checks are unnecessary, they aren’t arguing from some pure, principled point of view — they are arguing on behalf of a multi-billion dollar industry that puts money in their pocket.

It’s long been established that the views of the public have little to no effect on the votes of politicians. In a study done by Princeton University and Northwestern University, they discovered, “Public opinion has ‘near-zero’ impact on U.S. law.”

“While the opinions of the bottom 90% of income earners in America have a ‘statistically non-significant impact,’ economic elites, business interests, and people who can afford lobbyists still carry major influence,” the study found, ultimately calling it a “vicious cycle of legalized corruption.”

It’s difficult to believe that 90 percent of Americans actually favor mandatory federal background checks with the way politicians currently represent their constituents — yet numerous Pew Research, Quinnipiac, and Gallup polls have all come to this conclusion.

The majority of the public is screaming for something to be done, but it has fallen on deaf, corrupt ears.

The ongoing debate on the efficacy of gun control is pragmatically useless; legislation will never pass considering the unshakeable control the NRA holds over Congress.

The only possible way to achieve significant change is to address the root of this systemic issue: end the legalized bribery and get money out of politics.

Read more: Trump Isn’t Stopping Terrorism, He’s Fueling It

Photo credit: Reuters

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On Father's Day: 10 Lessons I Learned From My (Grand) Father

This weekend, we are honoring the great men in our lives. Check in through Sunday to read about some of the wonderful lessons they have taught us.

There’s an incredible photo of my grandfather laying on the bed just days after I was born. He’s feeding me as though it is the most normal thing in the world that a 65 year old man would be taking care of a newborn on his own. That’s how I was raised, and in spite of all of the adversity we faced, adversity this man weathered and watered down to protect me, I would not change exchange a single moment with him for a calmer time elsewhere.

My grandfather was, is and will forever remain at the center of my heart and center of my life. He is the man above all men to me and the human I most want to be like. He was my only parent growing up and has taken care of me since his passing in ways that would prove unbelievable if there weren’t tangible proof of their existence. Everything decent and good in me stems from his deep love and commitment to giving me the best possible internal foundation he could before his departure, and I am honored to call him my grandfather, father, mother and best friend.

On this Father’s Day, I am honored to share a few of the many lessons he has taught (and continues to teach) me in my life.

1 | Your word is your bond.

My grandfather was known for being a man of great integrity. He was where he said he would be and did what he said he would do, and if you were not that kind of person, you didn’t have his respect. Without his respect, you had no bond with him. He would simply “put up with you” (but only if he had to). His adherence to this rule was so strong that he once insisted on calling me from ICU after he told me he would call me at 11:30 on a Saturday morning before being admitted into the hospital. In a world where adults constantly lied to me and left me alone, I appreciated the fact that I never once had to question whether or not I could count on my grandpa. I could and I did every moment of my life- and he never failed me. The last time I saw him, I was 13 years old. He was at the dining table, upset with himself. I asked him what was the matter and he explained that he had promised to send my degenerate father a check. I was so angry to see him upset after all he had been through and I responded, “Grandpa, don’t be upset. Who cares? He doesn’t deserve it and will only use it to drink anyway.” He looked at me very seriously and said something I have remembered all of my life: “Brenda Lynn, your word is your bond. It’s the only thing you have, and when you give it, you honor it. It doesn’t matter what someone else does, it matters that you do and what you commit to doing. It’s the backbone of your reputation and once you lose that, you have nothing.”

2 | You only have so much time and then it’s gone… forever.

I learned this lesson the hard way the day my grandfather died. That day, I woke up and it was all over, and by “it,” I mean my life as I knew it. I was suddenly alone in this world, quite literally. But what hurt more than that was that I would never again be in a live moment and see the face of the person I loved more than anyone in the world. I would never again hear the wonderful voice of the only person who cared about me at that time, and I could never again run into his loving arms because he was never again going to be there to protect me. I would never sit on his lap, share a candy bar, take a walk with him in the woods, go fishing with him, or be surprised with a pretty Sunday dress. I would never say I love you to his handsome face and kiss his cheek, and he would never respond with “I do you too” which is the phrase I have ached to hear since the last time I heard it. It was a devastating and abrupt loss that left me with a very strong understanding of mortality. It finally made sense what he meant when he told me me, “time waits for no man.” It also didn’t wait for a little girl who had more questions to ask and so much more love to give. I learned to appreciate people and love with all of my heart every single day. I gush to my friends and maybe go overboard, but no one will ever wonder how much I loved them when I am gone and I will never wish that I had said how I felt should someone leave here before me. There is a peace in that.

3 | Human interaction and nature are life’s greatest luxuries.

Through my grandfather, I learned to “sit and visit” with people I care about. This is what he would refer to socializing as. My grandfather was very social and really enjoyed being with people and having good conversations. He loved to cook and eat with large groups and he would often tell me how much more meaningful that was than going out somewhere. Our life changed dramatically when we lost our home when my father skipped bail. I was 5 and grandpa was 70 and we had to move into the small trailer that he purchased for us to take fishing trips with. As my grandfather had only a small pension and social security, we did not have money to go out and do things that some of the families we knew did. Still, we were very rich. My grandfather taught me to appreciate the beauty in a long walk with someone you love, a .50 cent mint and chip ice cream cone from Thrify’s, the gorgeous element of surprise in receiving a freshly cut rose and smelling it after it was baked in the sun, going for a hamburger after church and the big reveal of an Easter dress after a special trip to Sears.


4 | Manners and education will open doors that nothing else can.

Every person who ever spoke to me about Mancie Herring said similar things: he was an exceptionally great man who carried himself with dignity, he treated everyone with respect and he was very wise. Oh, and the ladies always mentioned how tall he was, with a “thick head of hair.”I relayed this to him once as though he ought to know they were talking smack, but he just smiled gently and told me not to worry about what anyone was saying and to eat my dinner. He was a man who shook hands with men and tipped hats to ladies and he insisted that I refer to my elders “Mr., Ms. and Mrs.” from a young age (this caused me quite a funny and frustrating exchange with my boss, Barton Biggs in my 20’s). I was never to ask for something without a “please” or receive something without a “thank you.” My grandfather would always tell me, “I am raising a young lady. You will be educated and you will have good manners and that will carry you where you need to go.”

5 | No one is better than anyone else.

Though raised by a humble and somewhat stoic man, I have always had my sights on bright lights and the more glamorous life. I watched classic movies and fell in love with Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth and Bette Davis. I would talk about them as though they were Goddesses and he would tug on my dress as I was floating up into the clouds and bring me back down to earth. “Girl, stop with that nonsense. We all put our pants on one leg at a time. Stop idolizing human beings.” In the same vein, he never looked down on anyone and was very serious about equality. He once stopped taking me to a church because “it’s not diverse enough.”

6 | You’ve got to let some people go or they will destroy your life.

I have been very open about the fact that my father was the most violent and abusive person I have ever known. My grandfather, grandmother and other family members (all elderly by the time I was born) had their lives torn apart by his antics. Either robbed, beat up or verbally abused extensively, they lived at the mercy of his behavior and their well-meaning but misdirected hope that he would change. When my grandfather was dying, my father walked into his hospital room and asked for $300.00 and then didn’t show up for his funeral but told me that they would not let him in and cried on the phone as though it was true. Thinking about this over the years, I know that my grandfather stayed around for me, but I also learned that drinking poison every day will destroy your life, no matter what delicious drink it is mixed with or how much you love the person serving you.

7| Love is never ending, but grief cannot be.

When I was a little girl, we brought flowers to my grandmother’s grave every Sunday. My grandfather spoke so highly of her that I felt jealous of her and even cried that she died and got mad at the doctors for not saving this beloved woman that I could not remember but loved deeply as an extension of how much he loved her. I understood this when he went to join her. He’s been gone over two decades and there has not been a single day when I have not thought of him multiple times. I had to learn to separate mourning and love. I worked hard to celebrate him and continue our new way of communicating and sharing instead of sobbing about the transition. Today, I speak to him freely and there is not a day I don’t tell him that I love him or feel his love around me. I don’t know if there is a heaven, but I know there is love and it creates a ripple effect in this universe so powerful that the winds blow a little harder and the sun shines a little brighter when I walk and whisper “I love you, Papa.”

8 | You’ve got to be your own person and make your own way in this world.

My grandpa grew up one of 11 on a farm and didn’t get along with his father. He shocked the family and left home at 16 years old. He went to work on another farm where, in addition to serving as a field hand, he worked around the house. One of his duties was to help watch over two little daughters, something men did not do back then. He told me the experience showed him that family was not just people you were related to and it made him “certain he wanted a little girl when he was older and married.” After this experience, he finally got the attention of my grandmother who was four years older and eventually got her to take him seriously. He moved to California from Arkansas to follow her and apparently, though both from conservative families, even lived together before they were married. To do these things in the 20s, 30s and 40s tells me that grandpa was his own man from the very beginning.

9 | A strong work ethic is the expectation.

By the time I was born, grandpa was retired, but he was always volunteering and working on some house or helping to clean and work on the church. He was a foreman in a fiberglass company for most of his life and, from what I read, a very successful and beloved boss and employee. My grandfather instilled an appreciation for doing my part and the joys that come from putting in a good day’s work and having my name on it. He was a very generous man and we benefited from the generosity of others, but he was not a fan of people who just stood their with their hand out. He taught me to work hard for everything I wanted and needed.

10 | In the end, it’s the human being you are that matters.

The people who knew my grandpa spoke and speak of him as though he was one of the greatest men to ever live, and of course, I believe he was. He died so poor he could not pay for his own burial, and yet, the people keeping me got $100.00 each month to pay for my food and clothing while he struggled. While on this earth, he created a legacy of dignity, respect and love that not only impressed all of those around him, but left an impression on me that, I hope, will make me half as wonderful as he was.

Brenda Della Casa is a Digital Media Strategist, writer and author. She is also the Founder of BDC Digital Media and Badass + Living Magazine on which this article first appeared.

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Why Donald Trump Should Not Be Elected President

It is difficult to find the words that would build my argument for voting against Donald Trump for President of the United States. It is much easier, however, to use Mr. Trump’s own words instead, for they provide a framework and pattern that I find disturbing and counter to those things for which I believe my country stands. I proceed in no particular order of importance:

Mr. Trump’s style: Arrogance, braggadocio, self-aggrandizement, insulting – does not lend itself to the ability to govern, to accept compromise, or to understanding the viewpoints and objectives of others. As a representative of the US, he engenders more an image of distrust, win at any cost, and selfishness.

Mr. Trump’s substance is also questionable:
His vacillation on issues, disregard for basic Constitution-given rights and consideration of unintended consequences, and his motto-driven pandering demonstrate a simplistic understanding of the culture of this country.

Mr. Trump’s personal criticism of one American-born citizen and its extension to an entire population is the epitome of class racism. Furthermore, it reveals a basic flaw in Mr. Trump’s childish bullying practices and paranoia: the rulings that are deemed as “unfair” because he didn’t get what he wanted.

The proposal to build a wall separating Mexico “and have Mexico pay for it” promotes a first step toward isolationism, a tactic that will cause harm to the US economy, citizenry and image throughout the world.

Mr. Trump’s continuous criticism of Muslims and his suggested ban on immigration are counter to long-established values and practices that are inherent in the Constitution and in the American experience. His blanket statements reveal the wrong things about American character.

His suggestions regarding arming of Japan and South Korea with atomic weaponry are in direct opposition to the stance that the US has taken for decades, viz., the prevention of proliferation.

No doubt – maybe – that he is a shrewd businessman, but it is self-serving for personal profit. A much different situation arises when it comes to the unintended consequences that involve complex relationships between and among different people with different value systems.

It is almost amusing to see Mr. Trump’s position on global warming.
He has spoken of this as a hoax, but seeks permits to build a(nother) wall to protect his golf course in Scotland (citing coastal erosion and a rising sea level). Is hypocrisy an essential tool in “making the country great again”?

Mr. Trump has wrongly criticized Common Core as a Washington-driven initiative imposed on the states. By inferring executive action to stop Common Core, he endorses the concept that children in one state should not be prepared to compete with students in others.

Trump changed his position on gun control, especially as regards assault-type weapons.
While once supporting an assault weapons ban and longer waiting periods, his recent switch is an effort to gain NRA support and paint Mrs. Clinton as one who would “abolish the Second Amendment”.

Mr. Trump’s unpredictability – the “how” and “what” of his proposals – is self-promoted as being an asset: Don’t let adversaries know what you are thinking. However, it is anathema in the business world and a killer to the stock market and overall economy.

Mr. Trump has a history of manufacturing stories which might have an element of truth but which are embellished with misstatements. His claims regarding the US position and spending on education are shown to be exaggerations at best, and wrong at worst.

Mr. Trump’s preliminary discussion on foreign policy is filled with accusations and criticism, with a vague reference to how things will be better under his guidance. However, he gives no indication of what actions and approaches he would pursue: only accusations of the present Administration.

For a good summary of Mr. Trump’s grasp of foreign policy, read this recent piece in the L.A. Times.

It is for these reasons and the future of this Country that none us can support Mr. Trump’s candidacy for the Office of President of the United States.

Michael Duga has served in numerous political and strategic roles beginning in the Clinton Administration. This includes serving as Chief of Staff to Former Senator Max Cleland and as a Senior Policy Advisor to the Department of Defense. Mr. Duga is currently the Chairman of the Say No To Trump political action committee.

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Sport and Society for Arete – Father's Day

This was first written in 1992 for Father’s Day shortly after my father’s death which is now 24 years ago. It was originally a radio commentary for WUCF-FM in Orlando. I send it out each year as a tribute to my father and as a tribute to all fathers on Father’s Day.

This week for Father’s Day I want to talk about the man who taught me a love of sport, and especially a love of baseball, and who taught me much about life.

Charles Crepeau was approaching his eighty-first birthday, when he died of a heart attack on the 27th of May, 1992 during a Twins-Yankee game at the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, the city of his birth and most of his life. He was at his familiar stand in the press box where he supervised the radio and television section. He had performed similar duties in the press box at Tinker Field during spring training until the Minnesota Twins moved on to a more lucrative location. These were the center of his activities after his retirement from Wilson Sporting Goods.

My earliest recollections of him are associated with sport. From before my birth he umpired baseball and softball, played softball on his company team, and refereed basketball. I remember going with him when he umpired baseball games on Sunday afternoons at North Commons Park in Minneapolis in the late 40s. Large crowds gathered there from the surrounding neighborhoods. Even then “Chuck” was a local fixture, as well known as most of the players, if not always admired for his decisions behind the plate. But whatever the controversies of the game, the anger did not last, because those who knew him knew that he was an honest man, knew that he was there out of a love of the game and for the young men who played.

He umpired grade school baseball and refereed grade school basketball in the CYO leagues throughout Minneapolis, and was known and loved around the city. Especially in basketball he was a wonder to many, as he carried 180 to 200 pounds on his 5 foot, 5-inch frame. He could get up and down the court quickly, was amazingly light on his feet, and was never caught out of position.

Whether it was baseball or basketball he was always in control of the game, and worked by the rule that a good official at any sport should not be noticed. Other than his size and shape he seldom violated that maxim, and always did his best to keep the game centered on the players.

During the late 1950s, with the emergence of Little League baseball, he was pulled in that direction. He started umpiring games, then started supplying umpires for first one league and then several others in suburban Minneapolis. In the late 70s and early 80s he became district commissioner of Little League baseball in the Twin City area.

His approach to Little League was like his approach to all baseball. It was there for the young boys who played it, not for the coaches, not for the parents. He believed it should be fun and a learning experience for those who played. He demanded that league officials control parents, and remove those who did not understand the purpose of the game.

When he umpired he was always the teacher. He would give advice to the catcher, might tell a hitter to move his back foot closer to the plate, or correct a hitch in the pitcher’s motion. He wanted everyone to play well, play hard, and above all enjoy the game.

In the five years that I umpired with him I learned a lot about the game and even more about him. We had a great time umpiring together, always enjoying the games, and always knowing we had given our best. When I worked a game with him, I always left knowing that I had worked with the best umpire there could be at any level. Most of the crowd thought the same thing. The players loved him, and when the players and crowd saw him approaching the field they were delighted to see that Chuck would be doing their game that night.

After his retirement he spent his winters here in Florida, and took up the game of golf. I took up the game with him. On the course he and I played poorly, but we enjoyed the competition, the exercise, and the chance to spend a few hours together. And always we talked baseball.

In 1991 he was at his third World Series, and saw our beloved Twins win their second championship, in what had to be the greatest Series of all time. The morning after the final game he called. I picked up the phone and heard his familiar voice say, “Did you see it? What a game, what a Series.” We chattered on for several minutes and then he closed the conversation saying, “I just had to call you, it was such a great Series.”

In the last few years of his life as his friends were dying off he said to me on more than one occasion, “I want to go quickly, and if I have my choice of where, I want it to be at the ballpark.” He did, and he was. It could not have been better.

He often introduced me as his son the college professor, and then would say that he taught me everything I know. I don’t know, if he knew, how right he was.

On Sport and Society this is Dick Crepeau reminding you that you don’t have to be a good sport to be a bad loser.

Copyright 2015 by Richard C. Crepeau

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Here Are the Finalists for the 2016 John W. Campbell Memorial Award

Each year, the Gunn Center for the Study of Science Fiction awards one worthy science fiction novel the John W. Campbell Memorial Award, one of the genre’s major awards for novels.

Read more…

America's Most Walkable Cities Are Yet to Come 

Cities are constantly evolving, and as many urban areas have begun to put more money into updating infrastructure and creating more real estate after a disastrous recession, the most pedestrian places will begin to change.

Read more…

Happy Father's Day, Dad: I'm A Computer Scientist Because Of You

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By Emily Reid, Director of Education at Girls Who Code.

The first time I visited New York City, I didn’t see the Empire State building or the Statue of Liberty. On my first visit to Manhattan I went to the Ancient Egypt Exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When I was seven years old, I developed a deeply intense interest in Ancient Egyptian history. It was one of those voracious passions that a geeky kid just can’t seem to help themselves from. I eventually amassed a collection of historical books, imitation amulets, and fake papyrus scrolls filled with “secret” messages written in hieroglyphs. I would dress up like Cleopatra to go to school, and while some kids played “house”, I would play “Pharaoh’s Court” (even if it was with my imaginary friends). My intense interest was not shared by my friends, but by one person made sure to buy the books, book the train ticket to the Met, and help me to cultivate my interests independently: my father.

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While my early foray into Ancient Egyptian history may seem far afield from future life as a computer scientist, I see many common threads. Sure, my obsession with writing secret messages in hieroglyphs may have been an early indicator of my interest in cryptography, and I did hack my GeoSafari (what’s up, 90’s kids) to create my own quizzes on the Ptolemic dynasty, but this story also made two things very clear to me: my father has always been supportive of my intellectual curiosity and my independence.

He was not a software engineer or a mathematician, but he exemplified and cultivated in me the qualities that would help me become one

. That deep interest in 2nd grade was not one that was shared by my friends or one with information and resources easily accessible to me, but my father made sure that interests were validated and supported, regardless of the world’s expectations.

Intellectual curiosity and education were an essential part of my eventual decision to become a mathematician and computer scientist. While I experienced impostor syndrome in many of my math and computer science classes, I would eventually get to a core concept I was obsessed with learning more about, and my father would reflect that excitement back to me. In my freshman year, I was still undecided and stressed about deciding on my major. There were so many options at that time: math, philosophy, political science, religious studies. But when my father came to visit and took me out to lunch, I couldn’t stop talking about Euler’s identity. I had just learned about the beautiful mathematical equation, which so elegantly captured so many fundamental concepts. My mind was blown. My dad just looked back at me and said, “Em, I think you know what you want to major in.”

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Throughout my life, my father has always encouraged my intellectual pursuits, and education was the first priority. Homework and studying were taken very seriously in my household growing up. My father cares deeply about economic opportunity and fairness, and it was clear to me through his word and example that education was one of the keys to solving those problems. He would stay up late studying with me, bring me snacks when I was working all weekend on a project, and hug me when I stressed. While our areas of focus were different, I realized as I got older how similar my father and I were in how we approached our work. We both felt a deep responsibility to do good work and to do it right, and we both put a fair amount of pressure on ourselves and are always wanting to learn more. That kind of attitude and approach to education proved to be crucial in my studies in computer science. The subject is amazing, but was oftentimes challenging. That kind of grit and voracity for learning was something that I know was crucial to my success in CS.

My father grew up on a farm in Western Massachusetts. His parents didn’t have the opportunity to go to college. But they knew they had a smart son, and knew that college would be in his future. They likely expected him to become a doctor or a lawyer, but when he expressed an interest in pursuing a PhD in anthropology, they supported him. My father worked several jobs — as a janitor, EMT, and others — to financially support his chosen career. He didn’t do what was expected of him on many levels. He was driven internally.

Having this kind of role model was crucial for me in terms of combating the gender gap in computer science.

No, my father had never had the experience of being the only woman in CS 101. He has never been a woman, and he has never programmed before. But he did have the experience of finding a path that hadn’t been laid down for him beforehand.

Not only was I able to see that as a model, he was supportive of me and encouraged me when I had those moments where I almost dropped out. At those times, he would remind me of the trailblazing women I did admire: Susan B. Anthony, Gloria Steinem, Grace Hopper. I remember once feeling feeling down that I was so busy with CS classes that I didn’t have time to attend the feminist and women’s studies group meetings at my university. He made me feel better by reminding me that I didn’t have time for everything, and that I was already living many of the feminist issues we would discuss in those meetings.

To all the fathers out there, thank you for encouraging your girls to pursue what they are passionate about, arming them with education, and giving them the confidence to continue on that path.

You don’t need to be a software engineer to encourage your daughter to study computer science; you just have to remind her that she’s capable, and encourage her intellectual curiosity.

For the daughters who don’t have a father like this, seek out the role model who will remind you that your desire to learn is valid and that you are capable of doing so. It all comes from the inside, we just often need someone who can remind us how strong we are. Thank you, Dad, for always reminding me how strong I am, and showing me through your example. I am who I am today because of you.

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Ron Lester Of Billy Bob 'Varsity Blues' Fame Dies At Age 45

Ron Lester, an actor best known for his role as Billy Bob in the 1999 sports drama “Varsity Blues,” died Friday of liver and kidney failure at a Dallas hospital, Lester’s agent, Dave Bradley, confirmed to Entertainment Weekly. Lester was 45 years old. 

According to Bradley, the actor, who has been hospitalized since February, was moved from the intensive care unit and into hospice care early Friday. Surrounded by family, friends and his fiancée, Jennifer Worland, Lester was taken off life support and died at 8:57 p.m., NBC News reported.

“He was not in any pain and passed away peacefully,” Bradley wrote in a Facebook post

In November, the actor opened up about his health issues with a Twitter photo of himself and Worland sharing a kiss. 

“Liver & kidneys are starting to heal, Came close to dying! With out my fiancé Jennifer Worland, I wouldn’t be alive!” he wrote. 

Lester rose to fame in the late ’90s and early aughts with roles primarily in teen comedy film and television. After winning over audiences (and the District Championship Game) in “Varsity Blues” alongside James Van Der Beek and Paul Walker, Lester went on to star in two seasons of Ryan Murphy’s WB series “Popular” and the raunchy teen flick “Not Another Teen Movie.”

In 2000, a 500-plus pound Lester underwent a significant body transformation. He opted for gastric bypass surgery and lost 348 pounds. But, as Lester told Grantland, the surgery, despite saving his life, effectively ended his career in Hollywood.

“Am I alive? Yes. Am I happy? No. Did I throw away my career to be skinny? Yes,” he told the blog in 2014. “I wouldn’t do [the surgery] again. I would much rather have died happy, rich, and kept my status and gone out on top.”

However, in his final years, Lester seemed to be more focused than ever on acting, working on “Racing Legacy,” a coming-of-age story set in the world of Nascar. He also appeared in the drama “Bomb City.”

We have reached out to Lester’s representatives and will update the post accordingly. 

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A Father's Day Toast To All Latino Country Dads Who Raised Strong Daughters

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Wide-grinned, Dad held the lid of the sealed heavy metal trash can and coaxed Mom over to see what he’d found. Dad had been working on the land all day, and sometimes brought home cute, fluffy bunnies or baby skunks to show her.

As she approached smiling, he lifted the lid to hear her screams and feel a swift slap to his arm as he laughed. Inside was a mess of slithering snakes, rattlers, corn snakes, and every other kind that he’d captured as they wriggled out of the brush he’d been burning to clear land.

Dad had a wicked, Texas boy sense of humor.

My three children know “Papa” through stories, because they never met Dad. He “bought the farm,” as they say in the country, or “died,” as they say in the city, many years before my three babies were born.

Arturo Quintana Herrera was born in Casa Piedra, Texas, a town that no longer exists. He was the son of a cotton farmer who was literally pulled from the field to take a bus, as he enlisted in the Air Force.

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Dad’s been gone more than 20 years, but is well-remembered through stories. He owned Art’s Barbershop in Tye, Texas after he retired from the military, raised five children with my mom, and continues to live in our memories.

That’s how people live on, through the stories you tell of them. Father’s Day isn’t about a day. It is about a life.

When I decided to take some artsy fartsy photos in my wedding dress after ending my 19-year marriage, I remembered Dad in a mosaic of thought: Catholic, Hispanic, Heritage, Honor, Closure.

Hauling my old wedding dress in the back of my Ford truck in a scented trash bag, I took photos of myself in the dress in places that were meaningful in my life as I moved forward after I divorced my husband. I dubbed it the Acid Neutral Art Project.

The photo at Dad’s gravesite was my daughter, Rachael’s, idea. “He never saw you in the dress when you got married. He may as well see you in it in the divorce,” she said.

At first, I thought it was macabre. Then, I thought about being Catholic and Hispanic.

The Catholic part was the pain of ending a marriage. I think sometimes, as women, our faith instills in us to keep marriage and family together at all costs, even our own. But sometimes, honoring the family, means letting go to be a stronger woman in faith and family. Faith guided me to divorce and spiritually, I knew my father would understand.

The Hispanic part was connecting the past with the present, celebrating where my family came from and where we were going in the next stage of life.

My dad has always been connected to that, even in death.

I have a picture of my daughter playing violin for my father at his grave.

Over the years, we have often visited and eaten fried chicken with him, leaving him a juicy piece. We tell Dad stories about our lives, talking out loud, so he can hear us. My kids climb all over Dad’s tombstone, and it is not disrespectful to us at all. If he were alive, they would scale all over him, like any child who loves their grandfather.

Mom, the best woman I’ve ever met, retells “Papa” stories to my children there, as we eat at the gravesite.

There was the time Dad tried to cover up the gray on his mustache once with mom’s mascara. That didn’t go over so well once his mustache itched and the side of his face was covered in black.

There was also the time when two baby skunks climbed into the dog food can outside. He took them to the land, in Texas heat, and did something akin to mouth-to-mouth by blowing on their faces to revive them as they looked whiskey drunk and meandered to the woods.

Or the many times, Dad would sit still on a stump, listening to wind through the mesquite trees as birds landed on his hat while he watered his garden.

And, oh, there was also the time the trailer he bought to haul Curly, a big black bull, got so many flat tires he was sure that 666 in the Texas license plate was some sign, so he got a new one. He threw the devil-cursed one over the barbed wire fence into some other rancher’s yard.

So for me, posing in a wedding dress at his grave wouldn’t be much different. It would create new stories of my Hispanic heritage for my three children.

I toasted him as I entered this new, glorious phase of my life with fake champagne since, Merkel, the town he’s buried in, was still debating selling alcohol at the time. I poured him a glass on his side and then poured it on his grave.

“Well Dad, I tried my best. Now, it’s time to move on,” I toasted, as my daughter Rachael took the photo. “Thank you for making me who I am. I love you.”

It was closure. It was honor. It is faith.

Anyone can be a father on Father’s Day, but it takes a special man to be Dad. My father, as he was in the beginning, is now, and forever shall be, Dad.

(Enriching music: Love Without End, Amen by George Strait; Tu Guardian, Juanes)

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When Your Child Steps Into Your Shoes

Three years after I married my wonderful wife, our beloved son was born. He had me at the sonogram. He was merely a centimeter when we first saw him, but he was the most precious centimeter I’d ever laid eyes on. When he was born I became certain of two things: first, I never wanted to be away from him and; second, after watching my wife give birth, the idea that men and women are equal is an absurdity. These feelings were repeated when my daughter was born a few years later.

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Parenting, as I’ve come to realize, is a tremendous balancing act in which you, the parent, attempt to reconcile how your child can be so much like you and yet completely his or her own person. It’s being reintroduced to yourself, but you are not exactly a complete stranger.

I absolutely love being a father. It has its challenges, but it wouldn’t be love if it didn’t. It’s a privilege to love someone simply because they are, just as it’s a privilege for me to receive love simply because I am. My daughter is of the age where my very presence is a cause for celebration.

Perhaps that’s been the most surprising wonder for me in this adventure called fatherhood: presence. To know how much being here, present in their lives, means to them and, in many respects, how much it means to me. It has been a revelation of sorts. We are mistaken if we believe our children require much. The act of showing up and paying attention to who they are and informing who they become is the fundamental building blocks of the parent-child relationship.

I wasn’t as fortunate as my children. My father played a cameo role in my life. He and I bonded, somewhat, over debates about our favorite prize-fighters during drives to Brooklyn from Manhattan for visits with my grandmother. Muhammad Ali seemed to be our only point of agreement. That’s about as intimate as it got between us.

Nevertheless, I was always blessed with some wonderful surrogates — be they uncles, godfathers, teachers or even my older brother. I gained confidence in being a performing member of a world-class boy choir. I had a talent that was opening remarkable doors for me. I actually came to the point where I convinced myself that my father wasn’t necessary — so I thought. However, the emotional life of men and boys is far more complex than our society has yet to realize and it would do us well to recognize and rectify this. No one goes unaffected by the absence or failures of a parent. It took my father’s sudden death for me to realize this. Despite all those amazing surrogates, all the success, even the wonder that is my mother, I was missing something.

The day before he passed away, we had the most engaging conversation. I wouldn’t grasp it until 24 hours later, but he seemed to be condensing everything a father would say to his son over a lifetime into one conversation. He spoke to me about everything from money to relationships, but what has stayed with me until this day is what he told me about his own journey of reconciliation with his father. He recounted all the heartbreak and disappointment he carried into his adult years, which created enmity within him against his father and may very well have informed his own life’s choices, but he would ultimately come to understand and even forgive his father. This was his apology to me. He didn’t say it, but it was clear, as it was confirmed in his last words to me that day: “You have to do better.” He gave me permission to not walk in his shoes.

This year, my son is joining me in the highly anticipated Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey® Presents Out Of This World™. It’s been utterly surreal watching him stand in center ring, looking like a young incarnation of me, and belt out those famous lines, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Children Of All Ages…” Not a hint of hesitancy or trepidation is to be found in him. He’s been the absolute paragon of confidence during this long and arduous rehearsal process for the show. It’s his first job and he’s only 11 years old. I was 11 years old when I stepped foot into the rehearsal halls of the world-renowned Boys Choir of Harlem to begin my journey in entertainment. It was work for sure, but it was certainly not employment.

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Happiness cannot begin to describe how my son felt upon being asked to join the cast of The Greatest Show On Earth®. As close as we are, I seriously had no idea this might be something he would even consider. He’s far more cerebral than I was when I was his age. He’s always reveled in the process that goes into the building of a Ringling Bros.® show, how it’s made and how it all comes together. He’s fantastically creative. Place him in a playground or park, and with just a few sticks, rocks and some dirt he’ll construct an entire habitat. He’s always been the kid with the blocks, Legos and such, although lately he’s been veering toward coding. I never would have taken him to be someone who wanted to be a performer.

Yet, as I’ve had the pleasure to watch him work in these rehearsals, it is obvious he’s been watching his dad for quite some time. I can tell from his intonation to his posture that he has. He is quite good; in fact he is very good. What’s most impressive is that he has grasped the responsibility of such an opportunity and what he must do to keep it and succeed in it. It’s been a growing experience for me as well. I’ve purposely stepped back and allowed him to learn, fail, and succeed on his own – not the easiest thing to do for a father, especially watching my son attempt my trade. However, he’s made it so much easier with his ability to take direction and respect the environment he is in.

Following in the footsteps of parents is a culture in and of itself in the world of the circus, whether in families of animal trainers, daredevils or producers. In fact, my son is cast alongside the daughter of our star clown Davis Vassallo. When your child steps into your shoes (or in my case, my boots) or has the desire to do so, it is by far one of the greatest testaments to the bond between parent and child. You realize as a parent that much of what your children will learn from you is often left unsaid. Make no mistake, your children are terrifically aware, no matter the age. They’re truth machines. They may not always be capable of articulating it, but they see us for exactly who and what we are. Now my son gets to peek behind the curtain and fully engage in the process, as well as learn who I am, en route to the spotlight. And I get to be present while he does it. I think I might manage “…to do better” after all.

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