Imagine

Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler

Facebook Friends Like Fielder

Josh Fielder with his beloved Izzy
(I'm told this is an actual snapshot.)

Anita’s told me more than once that I spend too much time on social media and she doesn’t think my Facebook friends are real friends anyway.

Most of the time she’s right, of course, but not this time.

Take my friend Josh Fielder from Virginia. Although we have yet to meet in person, we’ve “known” each other for years. We met in Facebook and became instant pals. We know each other’s backgrounds, likes and dislikes. We’re both struggling writers who don’t have pots to….well, you know the expression. We both prefer dogs to cats and progressives to conservatives. (We’re both Sanders supporters.) We’ve both had bad bosses and bad breakups. He used to drive a taxi and I almost drove for Uber. He served in the military and I loved “Saving Private Ryan.” He worked at Bonnaroo, the annual four-day music festival in south central Tennessee, and I wanted to.

We chat in Facebook about a myriad of subjects and our conversations are always interesting, challenging and enjoyable. We share memes and like each other’s posts. And most importantly, we care about each other. We’re more than pals now. We’re brothers.

When Josh is depressed, I do my best to cheer him up and let him know he’s not alone. And when I withdraw from Facebook periodically – sometimes I become overwhelmed by all the information, drama and negative news jumping at me from my newsfeed – Josh is always there, concerned, waiting patiently for me to return. Like all friends and brothers, we even disagree on occasion, sometimes adamantly – we find ourselves on different sides of the fence when it comes to gun control and pointing out Hillary Clinton’s negatives, for example – but we’re able to do so with mutual respect and a shared commitment not to being right but to learning from each other. We find common ground. We keep things in perspective. We recognize that at the end of the day, discord can be healthy and bygones can be bygones.

I used to have lots of real friends. We’d eat and drink together and play darts and golf and help each other move. We’d talk politics and make memories and watch each other buy homes, get promotions, get married and have babies. I don’t have that same network anymore. The passage of time and changing circumstances, financial and otherwise, have led us all down different paths. I now spend less time in bars and more time with my family and my laptop. My virtual relationships have taken on greater importance to me than I once expected. And although I have hundreds of Facebook friends, several of whom are quite important to me, I don’t anticipate meeting them “in real life” but I will meet Josh. Smart, sensitive, generous, tolerant, witty, charming, loyal, compelling pals are hard to come by. I really want to keep this one.

Anita and I are not of one mind on this. She prefers to interact with people in person, to engage directly with colleagues and store clerks, fellow parents and neighbors, anyone whose smile she can see and eyes she can look into. I like the convenience of engaging online, typing on my keyboard, using the written word to connect with fascinating folks regardless of locale, dialect or wardrobe. Or bedhead. Josh has never made fun of my hair – to my face.


Photos courtesy of Josh's Facebook page, of course.

The System

Condolence - Benjamin Clementine

Gynnya Could Have Been Mine

My 16-year-old daughter likes the music they play on our local college radio station. She likes holing up in her room after school, eating whenever and whatever she wants, using the cell phone her mom provides to chat with her boyfriend late at night, and pressuring us to let her drink coffee and wine. She never says “please” or “thank you,” fights with her mother sometimes, and generally acts like she believes she is the best thing since sliced bread.

From what I’m told, she’s a typical 16-year-old.

Gynnya McMillen was a typical 16-year-old too. She was a quiet, healthy, beautiful person with no criminal history. On January 11, one day after she arrived at the Lincoln Village Regional Juvenile Detention Center in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, for the terrible crime of fighting with her mom, she was found dead in her cell.

Once she arrived at the center, she refused to take off her sweatshirt and the staff immobilized her using a martial arts hold known as “Aikido restraint.” She spent just one night at the center (without a roommate), but didn’t respond to two offers of food and a phone call from her mom.

You’d think the staff would have checked on her at some point but they didn’t. Even when they finally discovered Gynnya unresponsive in her room, the center nurse didn’t immediately try to resuscitate her, waiting 11 minutes and talking with police before finally performing CPR.

Kentucky Department of Juvenile Justice Commissioner Bob Hayter was just fired after it was discovered that Reginald Windham, the staffer who was supposed to oversee Gynnya but didn’t, had a history of negligence and use of excessive force toward kids in the center. Windham, who falsified reports and lied about checking on Gynnya every 15 minutes as required, was placed on “special administrative leave.”

Of course, nothing can reunite Gynnya with her family. Since we can’t give her back to those who love her, we can at least give them answers. Demand that the Kentucky Juvenile Justice Commission or GOP Governor Matt Bevin release surveillance video and provide answers for Gynnya’s death. (She had no bruise marks and no history of heart issues.)

Kentucky Department of Juvenile Justice

1025 Capital Center Drive

Frankfort, Kentucky 40601

502-573-2738

Governor Matt Bevin

Office of the Governor

700 Capitol Avenue, Suite 100

Frankfort, Kentucky 40601

502-564-2611

As with adults, black kids who haven’t been convicted of any crimes are placed in detention centers at higher rates for similar crimes as their counterparts. And Lincoln Village, like many prisons and detention centers, receives government funding per day for each child they have in custody. Nothing like providing incentive to incarcerate, huh?

This tragedy didn’t have to happen. Gynnya could have been my daughter – or yours.



The “Justice for Gynnya McMillen” Facebook page is here.


UPDATE:  A source informed me that Gynnya's detention was the result of domestic violence rather than the minor family squabble that I implied above. Everyone agrees, however, that she should not have paid with her life.


Sources: ColorofChange.org, countercurrentnews.com, CBSnews.com.

Too Beautiful for Words

Art by Irakli Nadar