I volunteer with at-risk students at one of the most socio-economic poor schools in Houston, Texas.  Within days after Hurricane Katrina our school became inundated with young evacuees living at shelters, with friends or family, or in run-down nearby apartments. For the rest of the year, the children would come, then disappear without a word as personal or FEMA funds ran dry while others showed up, transferring yet again to another new school for an indefinite period.

When reliving their experiences, these Katrina kids who lost everything -- their homes, all their possessions, friends, even family -- talked about what was most precious to them, their pets:

I jumped out of the boat. The water was this deep (pointing to her waist). I had to kiss my dog Lulu good-bye.

We were on the I-10 bridge. We had our pit bull named Rosy because her nose was red. They said we could not take Rosy with us. Do you think she’s okay?

My grandma didn’t come because she needed to stay with her cats.

Can dogs swim?

If the General Election were held today, how would you vote.

Please take the poll to see where Kossaks stand.

I couldn't sleep last night after I returned late from the Democratic primary and follow-up caucus at my Houston precinct.

Something haunted me like a nightmare...or maybe a terrorist hiding in the closet....

I fell in love with JFK. He was the leader of the leader of the free world and I was in second grade. He awakened some pre-prepubescent womanhood in me. I’d watch network news in hopes of catching a glimpse of my King Arthur and when I did, looked away, blushing.

My babysitter manipulated my crush as pretense for daily chores. I rushed to clean house before a promised visit by the Chief Executive after which I found an “autographed” note from “him” thanking me for the outstanding job of cleaning up for my country, which I hid under my mattress fearful of Secret Service recriminations.

On November 22, 1963, we just finished our school lunch when a red-eyed teacher announced the assassination. I remember belting a classmate because she expressed pleasure in the murder as her dad had voted for Nixon. I never cared much for politics during my childhood years after that.

Shustered is my very own “truthiness” word.  To get shustered means “to lose a career for an inappropriate, relatively minor utterance about a powerful person or group.”  Shustered is not to be confused with Imused defined as “firing a nitwit broadcaster with a history of purposefully pissing off people due to race, religion, gender, sexual preference or political persuasion.”

Suspended ace reporter David Shuster is no talk-jock Don Imus. Shuster’s uncouth comment about “pimping out” Chelsea Clinton pales in comparison to Imus’s “nappy haired ‘hos” diatribe.  Frustrated by the inability to get a Chelsea “get” despite her solicitation of Super Delegates, Shuster attempted a lame pun. Imus spewed a clearly racist invective against African-American female athletes who did nothing more public than play one helluva of basketball game.

The term shustered is no joke and should never be used lightly. If David Shuster’s job with MSNBC is at risk for his poor choice of words, who in the news media might be next to be shustered?

Dedicated to David Shuster:

The Buddha said,
In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.

I experienced my first religious epiphany in a Des Moines movie theater. Not The Passion of the Christ -- its gore and violence conflict with my family values. Rather, I became a “born again” believer when I accepted George Burns as my Lord.