Recently I visited my Alma Mater to discuss earning another degree. Riding along in 'Loretta'--my Dodge pickup with more horsepower than any sissy Chevrolet or fearful Ford--I listened contentedly as she ingested dinosaur-derived fuel and belched its aftertaste melodiously through dual exhausts.
When I arrived, the counselor condescended coldly, "We normally don't receive inquiries from a person seeking acceptance to graduate school when he or she has succeeded in advancing to your senior status," instead of saying, "from old geezers like you." I clarified her uncertainty about my gender by saying, "I'm a he."
Glaring balefully at me, she continued, "You were an undergraduate here a half century ago. Surely you must realize that the academic landscape has evolved dramatically since your day; we're much more progressive now."
"Oh, but my mental capabilities haven't declined," I retorted, "albeit the obvious decomposition of the surrounding flesh," countering her stony stare with a jackass-eating-briars smirk.
"That's not what I meant at all," she chided. "What I mean is, we are now ... well ... we're more progressive ... that's what I mean."
Being the unprejudiced, progressive professional she was, my counselor wouldn't dare intimate syllogistically what I inferred: "Old Southern males are conservative; you are an old Southern male; you are conservative."
I thanked her, asked directions to the He or She restrooms, and departed. I was undeterred, and even more determined to find alternative means to continue learning, despite my geriatric status.
"Progressive" is one of many doublespeak terms with no meaning--or opposite-than-intended meaning--that now permeate political jargon. They are especially useful to ultra-liberal leaders, the kind who believe the National Anthem is too violent and should be more pacifistic--something that would "teach the world to sing in perfect harmony," and to global village acolytes who don't wear American flag lapel pins because they believe Old Glory is a divisive symbol.
Progressive is just one of countless say-one-thing-mean-another terms New Age advocates resort to incessantly, while using others to substitute for such words as patriotism, freedom, justice, and equality, all of which they intend to redefine according to doublespeak and vocabulary compatible with the 'S' word: socialism.
If such leaders ever rule America, so many new terms will evolve that bootlicking bureaucrats bowing to Big Brother will have to publish a glossary so that citizens can learn to converse meaningfully (i.e., meaninglessly) when discussing always-in-the-media-spotlight issues such as as social democracy, Marxism, government dole, progressivism, diversity, multiculturalism, transgenderism, and secularism, as they dream of society's complete metamorphosis into government-dependent proletarians.
After all, future hoi polloi "deplorables" must understand what their self-proclaimed hoity-toity elite mentors mean (i.e., don't mean) after implementing Orwellian strategies that will usher in a borderless, brave-new-world totalitarian state in which mere mention of such relic notions as freedom and patriotism will be deemed hate crimes.
Then, as they peer down from their ivory towers on the oppressed common herd, they will chuckle when recalling what was once mentioned only in shushed whispers: the 'S' word.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
Recently I visited my Alma Mater to discuss earning another degree. Riding along in 'Loretta'--my Dodge pickup with more horsepower than any sissy Chevrolet or fearful Ford--I listened contentedly as she ingested dinosaur-derived fuel and belched its aftertaste melodiously through dual exhausts.
When I arrived, the counselor condescended coldly, "We normally don't receive inquiries from a person seeking acceptance to graduate school when he or she has succeeded in advancing to your senior status," instead of saying, "from old geezers like you." I clarified her uncertainty about my gender by saying, "I'm a he."
