“What Makes Us Exceptional”: Our Willingness To Confront Squarely Our Imperfections And To Learn From Our Mistakes

Originally posted on mykeystrokes.com:

This week President Obama did something unprecedented…he took responsibility for a terrible mistake that took the lives of two good men.

Here’s a part of what he said:

But one of the things that sets America apart from many other nations, one of the things that makes us exceptional is our willingness to confront squarely our imperfections and to learn from our mistakes.

In some ways, that echoes what he said at the 50th Anniversary Celebration in Selma.

What greater expression of faith in the American experiment than this, what greater form of patriotism is there than the belief that America is not yet finished, that we are strong enough to be self-critical, that each successive generation can look upon our imperfections and decide that it is in our power to remake this nation to more closely align with our highest ideals?

Of course, the events he was…

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Games

There is a word game where sentences are composed from lists of random nouns, adjectives and verbs. The purpose of the game is to compose hilarious sentences. This morning on FOX, some of the comments sounded as though they were composed using random lists of words, such as Russia, uranium, donors, reset button, Hillary Clinton, donations, etc. The purpose of FOX News is to advance Republicans and tear down Democrats. Must be working because a FOX poll shows Clinton at 47% and Rubio at 45%. I never believe their polls, but I guess some people do.

Wildflowers, Blue Skies, Boot Prints On The Trail

Originally posted on Becoming is Superior to Being:

Wildflowers (1 of 1)-7 blogWildflowers Along the Trail — Image by kenne

Believe, Believe

Believe in this. Young apple seeds,
In blue skies, radiating young breast,
Not in blue-suited insects,
Infesting society’s garments. 

Believe in the swinging sounds of jazz,
Tearing the night into intricate shreds,
Putting it back together again,
In cool logical patterns,
Not in the sick controllers,
Who created only the Bomb. 

Let the voices of dead poets
Ring louder in your ears
Than the screechings mouthed
In mildewed editorials.
Listen to the music of centuries,
Rising above the mushroom time.

Bob Kaufman

Listen, Listen

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