When You’re Wrong

When you are wrong, you are wrong.

Mr. President, you are wrong.

Yes, hate is hate and violence is violence.

No, you cannot equate the hatred of Neo-Nazis, White Supremacists and the Ku Klux Klan with the hate of those on extreme left.

A complete renunciation of these bigots and racists elements who seek to corrupt history and to divide us must be done without any equivalency.

Your failure, Mr. President, to offer condolences and to reach out to the family of the woman, Heather Heyer, who was brutally murdered by a deranged man, advocating the destruction of those not like him, is a monumental fail on your part.

Heather Heyer died a martyr to the cause of freedom on which this nation was built.

Mr. President, you are President of ALL the people, not just your base or those who spew hatred and advocate violence among the races and those of differing religious adherents.

If you expect to be a strong, successful President, it is time, Mr. President to take a look in the mirror.

It is time, Mr. President, to reflect on what it truly means to be an American.

It is time, Mr. President, to rise to the office to which you have been elected. It is time, Mr. President, to offer a sincere apology to the American people for failing to be the man you should be in occupying the Oval Office.

If, Mr. President, your interest is purely self-serving, it is time, Mr. President, to hand the reins to someone else.

From the Cornfield, when you’re wrong, you’re wrong.

There is time to rectify the situation, but that time is running out.

Soon the sands will have run out.

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Mark

I am Mark Ivy, a born and bred Hoosier.
I am father to two wonderful sons, Dave and Kev, of whom I am very proud;
two terrific daughters-in-law, Anna and Hailey; three beautiful granddaughters, Dylan, Alaina and Amelia.

On May 9, 2017, my lung specialist hit me with the news I had maybe six months to live if the chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), the damage caused by the histoplasmosis described below, ran its normal course. I am now on hospice at home. Content and ready to cross over the river to the other side.

On September 2, 2014, I was diagnosed with disseminated histoplasmosis, a fungal infection, discovered by a biopsy of my larynx.
The infection is fatal if left untreated. For 2 1/2 years I lived under a death sentence being misdiagnosed
with a non-specific bacterial infection which left my right lung a “dried up sponge” and non-functioning.
I was aggressively treated for the infection with antifungals.
The treatment ended October of 2015 and fortunately did not take two years.

I suffer from chronic Horton’s Syndrome. The effects vary widely causing various problems.
Statistically, Horton’s affects only 0.1% of the population. Major depression also attacks me regularly.

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