Why are YOU a constitutional Conservative? Here is MY story!

Hi everyone,

My intention for this first posting is to give you a better understanding of why I am a Constitutional Conservative. I think many people have the impression that people that think like us are all "rich white guys" that were "handed" their wealth and didn't "earn" it, or we are all so niave, ignorant, and foolish enough to actually believe a document written by "no one but evil slaveowners" could be relevant to anyone in 21st century America--well, I hope this blog will make people see that the Constitution is more relevant to day than in any other time in our nations history.

Please read my story and then share your story as to why YOU are a CONSTITUTIONAL CONSERVATIVE

My story:

I am a Regan baby! I was born on April 13, 1985 in Detroit, Michigan. My mother is white and my father is black. I've never met my father--his name isn't even on my birth certificate--but he did send my mother a check when I was about a year old because I had a diaper rash--when I found him 20 years later for medical purposes he asked for a thank you!

Although I didn't know my father I had something MUCH greater: My grandfather, or "Papa" to me. My papa isn't a typical grandfather. My papa was a United States Marine. He fought at Guadal Canal and Iwa Jima. He was a Gunnery Sergent and commanded some of the first black troops in the war. I always thought he was some very proud, patriotic American fighting for freedom--in all actuallity as patriotic as he was he enlisted in the Marines to impress a young woman named Betty (gramma) because she thought the Marines looked "the most hansome" in their uniforms. My grandfather was 24 years old when he entered the War--he was called the "old man" because the men he lead into war were just boys--17-21 years old.


My grandfather never talked much about his experience in the war, he rarely wore it on his sleeve (unless he wanted a discount "I'm a WWII vet, damnit!), and he never discussed how it changed him. I can remember a few stories from my mom or Aunts and Uncles about my grandfather having a nightmare or a flashback while rushing his oldest daughter to the airport. I can remember one Christmas where he randonmly started crying and scared the living daylights out of all us grandkids.

My grandfather, John "Papa" Emmett and me, July 1990

We didn't freak out because he cried--we freaked out because he wasn't Papa. To me, my grandfather wasn't the marine, the husband, the engineer...definitely not the "responsible adult." Papa was fun. Papa was the tickler. Papa showed you he loved you by making you laugh, making you sandwiches with toasted bread, fudgicles for breakfast, and stealing your poker chips-- he didn't cry. He never let you beat him in a game (even if you were just 4 years old).


My grandfather told me two stories about his experiences in WWII. One of the stories lasted about five seconds. We were in the backyard picking raspberries (my mothers side of the family is English--I would say gardens are in our blood--but most of the kids and grandkids couldn't keep a plant a live to save our souls!) and papa randomly said, "you know, when I was in Japan we had to run up this hill to fight the Japanese, I saw my friends head get shot off but his body kept running up that hill." He just kept picking raspberries.

The second story he told me was about his experience with black troops during the war. He was first responsible for teaching troops how to march, but Papa said, "the black troops just knew how to march, I loved it! The white guys had to spend weeks on marching!" Then he was in command. One night it was raining, lightening--not safe for any American soldier! My grandfathers commander told him to come inside--he automatically went over to his troops to order them to come inside--the commander said, "no, were segregated you can come in but they have to sleep out here." My grandfather replied "sir, if they sleep outside they don't get any sleep--which means I don't have anyone to watch my back and I could die." My papa was pretty pragmatic like that. He never said what happened to him for speaking against his commanding officer--but he did sleep outside that night. And he held his head high.

When I was six years old my mother finally wised up and went to school. I can remember the first day she registered--she looked confused and absolutly terrified. I remember she couldn't find the financial aid/student affairs office. A young black woman walked up to her and helped her find all the paperwork she needed. I learned then that it doesn't matter how many government programs there are--if there isn't someone there to help you not feel alone--well, you are pretty much alone.

My mother going back to school was the best thing she could have done for herself and for her child. Although my grandparents were there, we still lived on the east side of Detroit.  I saw more people on government programs in Detroit than any liberal politician has dreamed of in their whole careers. I saw women having babies without fathers around, hair and nails done but no books for their children; people not looking for jobs so they wouldn't lose their benefits, and the most unfortunate--many people didn't even realize they had the talent and capabilities to do anything they set their minds to. They knew they NEEDED the government programs and thought their only true "way out" was to resort to selling drugs.

I saw grown men--great at selling drugs--but would have made Donald Trump look like a flea market salesman if they just applied those skills to obtaining their MBA and opening a business. And the saddest mentality that began to develop in my young brain after seeing the adults around me was what I thought of men--and fatherhood specifically.  I remember my friends and I in 1st grade teasing the girl that new her father and called him "daddy" because we just thought that was too weird--a man--your REAL DADDY actually living in your home?? NO WAY! Everywhere I turned I saw the bigotry of low-expectations: teachers didn't think a black girl from Detroit could ever graduate high school--let alone have a successful life that didn't include a few fatherless babies and some government assistance; there were no after school programs; my school books were old (I didn't realize the Soviet Union no longer existed and didn't know Reagan wasn't President in 1992); and between learning math and science--I was also encouraged to embrace my "culture" and take an Ebonics class.

My mother going back to school changed my perception of the world--and myself instantly. I saw my mom study, take care of me, study again, and then study again. In fact, she was so focused and studied so hard my nick name became "just a minute, Shelby" because she had to concentrate on drawing a pear for her art class and also re-learn how to do fractions for her algebra class. I know she must have felt guilty--it was always just "me and my mom" but what I don't think she understood then--and may not fully understand now--is not just how proud I was of her, but how that one action of deciding to go back to school--changed my entire future. And not because her income would increase or because we could leave Detroit--but because I saw that hard work and determination will get you a lot further than complaining.

In order for my mom to spend time with me she had to put me to work! So, instead of watching cartoons or drawing with chalk, my mom would write her papers and I would type them (she couldn't type and wanted me to practice my skills). When she had a test and I had a test we would do "late-night study sessions." As my mom was learning how to become a teacher she began to teach her child: She would post vocabulary words all over the house--I can still remember sitting on her bed learning how to spell "suspicious" "SUS--PIC--IOU[THE LETTER]S"

My favorite memory of my mother going back to school was learning about Shakespeare and history--which lead to my fascination with American history and our Constituion. My mom had to read Hamlet and to help her remember the story and to study for her English Literature exam, we would take long walks and she would tell the story. She made it sound like a soap oprah--where "everyone dies pretty much" but the "women are the story are cool and kinda crazy"--I fell for Shakespeare instantly! To show how much I really enjoyed it, one day (I think to cheat) my mom rented the Mel Gibson version--she fell asleep I watched the entire thing.

About a year or so after my mother went back to school (this had to be around 1992 before welfare reform which was headed by Republicans) she received a letter in the mail from the federal government. Although my mother was on food stamps she was working "under the table" as a waitress (to save more money and so she could keep her benefits), had a scholarship and going to school full-time. The government told her that she had to "quit school and get a job" or she would lose all her aid (including her scholarship).

I can remember my mother--for the first time--showing weakness. She went into her bedroom and called Papa..or "daddy" to her and just cried and cried. Although I was only 6, I remember thinking, "how are we ever suppose to get out of here if they don't let her educate herself and create her own independence?" It made perfect sense to me. I realized that day that of course they don't want her "moving off of welfare" they NEED her dependent and scared and trapped--they need her vote. I realized that they teased my mom the same way you tease a dog with a treat--and anyone that loves animals knows teasing dogs is inhumane--well it is even worse to tease a person who is trying to take responsibility for their lives and make a better future for their child. Luckily my grandparents were able to help my mother--but my mom knew a lot of young woman who weren't so fortunate and had to chose their food stamps over their educations.

When I was 13 my mother moved us from Detroit to a suburb called Novi. This was the first time I was out of my "element" of the inner-city. I was shocked! I saw computers (two for each student), updated books, foreign language classes, advanced English/math classes, and hallways without metal detectors. I was excited about my future--until the principal and the counselor met me. They told my mom that she should consider testing me to make sure "I was ready to compete with the other kids in my grade" and tried to convince my mom that I wasn't ready for the advanced english class (although I was already two grades ahead in reading at my last school)...this was the first time I realized that people were judging me based on the color of my skin and how harmful the bigotry of low-expectations really is.

I finished high school at the top of my class, with no absences, and one of the first students to receive her acceptance letter to Michigan State University. I was recruited by Purdue, University of Michigan (ewwww), Ohio State University and Notre Dame but chose MSU because of its incredible public affairs program at James Madison College. I finished college in three years with two bachelors degrees--thanks mom!



James Madison College teaches students about political philosophy, how it helped shaped our Constitution, and why our Constitution is the most special written document after the Holy Bible. I learned not just to read and think, but I learned how to analyze and how to apply political philosophy to everyday life. The first JMC class is on the Founding. You read the Federalist Papers and you take an exam on why the system was setup the way it was. I always knew we had a federalist system but now I learned the meaning behind it, what each branch is suppose to represent, and how the system was setup to check mans greatest flaw--his need for power.

For instance, I learned why the Senate was originally selected by the State Legislator--not to "deny democracy" as the Progressive Era argued as it added the 17th amendment, but that the intent of the Senate was to check the passions of the people--to ensure minority protection against majority rule.

Then, JMC did something I'd never seen before--they actually incorporated black people into the American story without teaching it as a sidebar or from a purely black slavery agenda. I learned about blacks' role in the Revolution, the Founding, what they thought of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence--and then I read Douglas' own words about the Constitution he wrote in 1849

"...the Constitution of the United States, standing alone, and construed only in the light of its letter, without reference to the opinions of the men who framed and adopted it, or to the uniform, universal and undeviating practice of the nation under it, from the time of its adoption until now, is not a pro-slavery instrument."

In my second year of college I also took a black political thought class (didn't that come in handy with O). My professor name was Curtis Stokes--proud black Marxist! But Stokes was an amazing professor! He didn't agree with me on anything, but he was very proud of my ability to think, analyze, and make arguments in defense of my position. When most students just followed him (more out of fear I assume) I challenged him--and he challenged me back. Professor Stokes taught me that not all black people have to think one way and he introduced me to other black people throughout history that I could relate to. One of these people was Carter G. Woodson, authror of "Mis-Education of the Negro." The booked was exactly what I needed. I was looking for something to tell me that it wasn't irrelvant for a minority to love the Constitution--that the document was just as much for me as it was for white people--and that there was more to our story than slavery and the founding fathers status as slaveowners.

There is a chapter in Woodson's book on politics. He is the first author to call-out liberalism for what it is and how it is used to control blacks:

"If the Negroes were granted the opportunity to pursue the Constitution, they might learn to contend for their rights therin guaranteed...and no Negro who gives attention to such matters of the government is tolerated...the [learning] of government, or the lack of such instruction, then, must be made to conform to the policy of 'keeping the Negro forever in his place'.

My theory I had come across at six years old, sadly wasn't new. I learned in whatever form: democrats/progressives/liberals they are about one thing only: keeping their bases ignorant and controlled.


My grandfather passed away 10 days before I graduated high school--exactly 7 months after he found out I was accepted to Michigan State. He died on May 21, 2003. The day before he passed away I had to learn a horrible lesson: a lesson that I couldn't be selfish; a lesson that I had to do the right thing even when it is extremely hard; I had to put my "hope" and "faith" in God; and I had to learn how to let go....not to a handout but to my hero, my mentor, and my best friend--I had to tell my papa it was okay to let go.
 

My grandfather taught me to love my country, to fight for it, and to defend it. My grandfather fought the Japanese to ensure that his children and grand children can live free--and so far he has won that battle. But now, I am fearful--terrified that my children and grandchildren will NOT live free; and that is something I refuse to let happen--not just for me, but for my grandfather and for my black ancestors that fought everyday to ensure I was free--free from personal slavery and state-sponsored tyranny!

I do not want to be known as the generation that did nothing to secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and our future decedents. It is time to defend, uphold, and protect the Constitution of the United States of America.

That is my story, now please share yours! I think personal examples are the best way to demonstrate conservatism!