Beech Tree News Network

You noticed?  We hardly hear the word “problem” any more.  Folks don’t have problems; they have “issues.”  The word “trouble” is also a big No-No.  “Trouble,” is along with “problems?”  Not politically correct.  That’s the trouble, pardon the pun. 

            Can’t you just hear?, “It’s two o’clock in the morning; both our front tires just went flat and I left my cell phone at home.  looks like we’ve got issues.”  The wife spoke-up. “I’d call it troubles.”

            “Issues” is a vague word.  It doesn’t specify anything.  But it’s soft, not harsh, and politically correct. 

            Job, of the old testament was like the hen who walked out into the middle of the highway.  She wanted to “lay it on the lines,” Job layed it on the line: “Man is of but a few days and full of trouble.”  Job called ‘em as he saw ‘em.  (Job 14:1)

            I saw a cartoon once.  It depicted America laying in ashes and ruins, the caption read:  “But it was politically correct.”

            Some years back ABC News— New York, came to Russellville, Kentucky to cover the celebration of the hundredth anniversary of one of the local churches.

            During the briefing before the broadcast taping, ABC News had several specifications.  The main one was,  at no time throughout the program the name, Jesus on the name Christ was not to be mentioned— “God” is OK, they were told, “but people who do not subscribe to the Christian faith might be offended,” — political correctness.

            Say what!? Personally I’d rather hance offending someone than having to stand before my Lord same day and hear HIm ask me the question: “Why didn’t you tell them about me?”

            Political correctness like a diamond can take on many facets, not the heart of which the thing of looking right… “Our customers only drive the best looking vehicles”: Once i had an old pickup  truck.  It had more than a few rust holes—  it was white; the holes stood out something awful.  But I loved it anyway.  It suited me fine.  Some of my friends got to calling it “The Cheese Truck”... The cheese with the holes… you know.

            After my teaching stint i worked at on of our local banks for a while. 

            One day in order to let first wife Bett have have the car I drove the cheese truck to work and parked in our bank’s parking lot.

            My boss was a nitpicking sort of a guy.  When he spotted my good old cheese truck he called me aside and requested: “From now on when you drive that old truck;  if you don’t mind park it across the street.  It makes our bank look bad,  In fact move it now if you will.”  I did.

            Money and politics are never far apart.  One day, bless their hearts,— (We southerners sometimes use this expression when we otherwise want to negate a possible slur or put-down.) — Two people came into our bank looking like 9 miles of bad road… poor-looking clothes; backward looking.  They carried a large paper sack;  an older woman and her son. 

            “We want to see the head person,” they requested. 

             They had parked their car at the bank’s back door; and old clunker: no bumper, slick tires, one rear window covered with pasteboard— capped off with both back doors wired shut— wires wrapped around the door poste.

            The boss walked out of his office and spotted the couple.  “Somebody get them out of here,” he whispered to one of our bank’s staff, “But they want to see you”, came the reply,

            The boss hustled them into his office and quickly closed the door.  After a bit he came out of his office, looking sheepish and sort of pale; he walked over to the head teller and said in a low, voice: “They have a hundred-thousand dollars in that sack they want to deposit with us.” 

            Kindest Regards…