The Second Great Depression hit the Dallas/Fort Worth/Arlington Metroplex harder than nearly any other city or group of cities in Texas and the rest of America. Demonstrations became protests and riots, and the civilian leadership actually encouraged them, ordering the police to stand down so the protestors could air their grievances in peace. Gangs and drug cartels fought in the streets. Business districts burned and common men and women on simple walks were shot and killed. It was beyond anything the region had seen in decades, eclipsing even the 2020 riots with their sheer lethality and property damage. The various rioters, gangs, and drug cartels even sought to burn down the Fort Worth Joint Reserve Base on numerous occasions. That proved to be a step too far for them. The mayors and town councils may have supported the looters, but the military base did not answer to them. And it did not cooperate when the riots and fighting came for them.
TLDR version:
School is the great equalizer. The great opportunity. The great path to freedom and success in America that anyone can navigate if they have the drive and ambition. It’s as American as apple pie. It’s our greatest gift as adults to the children of the next generation. A chance for them to reach as high as we have.
We have to give it to them.
Full version:
Going to school is a basic part of American life. Much of the rest of the world as well. I will grant that there are some parts of the world where parents would kill to get their kids in school. And others will kill to keep them out of it. Check out what happens in various African countries on a regular basis for that. But for now I speak of American culture.
Going to school is part of growing up. Meeting new people. Learning how to socialize. Becoming your own person in the end. Whether you left school at the end of 5th grade to care for your family fifty or a hundred years ago, or maybe after 8th grade to work the farm, school in America is a universal thing. Graduating the 12th grade is a coming of age ceremony in modern America, the point where a child becomes an adult. Fully 90% of Americans have reached this plateau and entered their new lives as working adults.
We hugged the friends we’d grown up with. We threw our hats in the air. We cheered the coming of our new lives. Some of us went to work. Some of us went to college. Some of us did both. The vast majority of us have that fundamental shared American experience. We went to school together. We made friends and enemies for life. Maybe we kissed someone outside the family for the first time. Some of us played a rousing game of coed baseball. Far more said we did.
Many of us had our best meals of the day at school. Others of us received much needed medical care at school. We exercised at school. Learned to shoot at school. We learned to cook or make furniture. We sang or played an instrument at school. School councilors helped us with our mental health. They found out if our life at home was good or bad. Some of us escaped the worst ghettos in America because we went to school every day and studied hard.
School is the great equalizer. The great opportunity. The great path to freedom and success in America that anyone can navigate if they have the drive and ambition. It’s as American as apple pie. It’s our greatest gift as adults to the children of the next generation. A chance for them to reach as high as we have.
We have to give it to them. We have the open school this fall. Now I don’t know what it will look like. Other countries have done it already. Maybe we look at what they did. Maybe we look at other options. Maybe we distribute it out into smaller schools like we used to. Smaller class sizes, fewer kids in the halls at the same time. I don’t know what our answer will be to the exact bits and pieces of how to make it work.
But we have to make it work. For the children who are becoming adults before our eyes. Who are growing faster than any of us want right now. Who will judge us in the future for what we will do in the coming months.
Don’t listen to those who say we can’t do it. Listen to those who give options and ideas for how we CAN do it. If we do that, we can make our schools great again, and provide the best gift our generations can give to the next generation.
The gift of school.
Marine Corps Air Station Yuma flew in support of Texas during the Drug Wars. Their F-35Bs could loiter over the battlefields slower than nearly any other aircraft, allowing them to support Texan and American troops in unique and valuable ways. They escorted A-10s, C-130s, and numerous other craft during that conflict and the ones that followed. Throughout it all, Yuma flew the American flag. And when the Convention of States reformed the Federal government, they remained part of the United States Marine Corps. When Arizona joined the Republic of Texas, Yuma remained an American base. Yuma is still an American federal Marine Corps base centuries later, and the bars surrounding the base host “gentlemanly competitions of physical prowess” between American and Texan Marines when they disagree over the matter of who is better. Which is most of the time.
Marine Corps Air Station Yuma weathered the drug cartel attacks far better than those who aimed the cartels at them expected. Yuma did not know who could have managed it, but they smelled a rat. Yuma was far away from most things important, so they suspected someone had targeted them for destruction. The question was “why?” The first question, that is. There were many other questions, and it galvanized them to look for other ways to survive. The new President was not going to help them, so they began sounding out the Arizona State government. Arizona was already talking to Texas on matters of regional self-defense, and they roped Yuma into the discussion. Yuma’s commander was clear on the point that they were United States Marines, and were not interested in joining whatever Texas was cooking up. But if Texas was getting ready to shoot up the drug cartels, Yuma would deploy everything they could fly in support of that operation.
Every Marine on Marine Corps Air Station Yuma learned to hate their base commander as the Second Great Depression ran them into the ground. Literally. With the budget cuts slashing his ability to keep the F-35Bs in the air, he ordered his Marines on double physical training duty. He led them into hell every morning, denying them even the chance to hate him for not putting himself through it as well, including the morning of the surprise drug cartel attack. They came from the sun at daybreak, expecting to find an airbase filled with pilots, mechanics, clerks, and other Rear Echelon Marginal Fighters that would be ripe for the pickings. They found a base of angry Marines looking for someone to vent their hate on. Most could not claim marksman status, but months of physical training had at least driven the basics back into their hindbrains. The drug cartels did not enjoy the success they expected.

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