Courage

I once lived in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood.  The men there placed much store on their nerve and courage.  Young men, far from home working week after week at arduous and often dangerous jobs; when a holiday cane around like the 4th of July or Cinco de Mayo, it's fiesta time.  These same young men, full of piss and vinegar, cerveza, tequila and music set out to impress the young. available girls in the area.  To this end, they play a game called "quien es mas macho" which involved holding a lit firecracker in their teeth the longest without spitting it out.  Luckily I lost a front tooth playing high school football.  When they tried to get me involved, I opened my mouth,showed the gap and said "I played last year."  They clapped me on my back and named me "macho man."  I got to go along with the boisterous group when we took this year's mas macho men to the local emergency ward.
   I couldn't help but remember that day as I watched the Republican presidential candidates vying to be mas macho in dealing with Syrian refugees, terrorist plots, their fearful and terrified voter base of support. And with Donald Trump.
   Reading the comments on right wing websites, I learned that Fox News is advising children to rush the shooter if ever confronted with an armed psychopath.  Half the commentators agreed while the rest bragged about what they would do in such a situation. Thank heaven their chance of an encounter with an armed terrorist is so infinitesimal that  they stand a far better chance of being hit by frozen waste from an airline toilet.
  I thought about what might change their misconceptions and realize that facts would only solidify their erroneous mindset.  It's part of an emotional belief system and any attempt at reason would be the same as my favorite aphorism; "never arm wrestle with a chiropractor."  All I can really do is Vamonos y votar por Bernie Sanders.  Let's go vote.