[Vision2020] Joan: not at all dangerous

[Joan Opyr]

On May 13, 2006, at 6:53 AM, keely emerinemix wrote:

> Perhaps you noticed, Tony, that Joan's threat was conditioned on 
> Heirdoug's ever referring to her children in any way in any public 
> forum, a privilege he most certainly does not have and yet one he has 
> a tendency to assume.   Your concern is for protecting Doug's 
> genitals; hers is for protecting her children.  Let's hope they're 
> both safe so you can get back to obsessing about whatever it is that 
> gets you going today.
>
> By the way, Joan is not "man-hating."  She's quite fond of my husband, 
> and I applaud any friendship between my man and anyone who can discuss 
> with him the peculiar joys of the Honda 70 series trail bike, which 
> relieves me from ever having to repeat the embarrassment of assuming 
> that the "70" refers to the year in which it was built.
>
> Thank you, Joan.  And Tony, it's time to go wipe the foam from your 
> mouth . . .
>
> keely

Thank you, Keely and Chasuk, for your eloquent defenses.  As you can 
imagine, I don't give rat's fanny what Tony Simpson thinks; I care very 
much what you do.  I only want to add a couple of observations to what 
you've already said.  First and most important, you will note that I 
never make derogatory statements about the wives or children of Doug 
Farris, Dale Courtney, or Ed Cooper Swan.  They are not part of our 
"conversations."  I find such references to my own minor children 
deeply offensive.  DF, DC, and ECS know this, of course, but they have 
no shame -- a consequence, I think, of their collective lack of 
maturity.

Doug Wilson has written a book called 'Future Men.'  Perhaps some of 
you are familiar with it?  I've come to believe that there's an 
unintended double entendre in that title.  In my lengthy experience 
with the male members of the Kirk, all of the men are future men.  
There's a sad lack of men, real adult men, in the here and now.  In the 
rarified atmosphere Wilson's Neverland, men play-act at being Oxford 
dons, or seminary students, or professors, poets, philosophers, 
theologians, great writers and great thinkers and, worst of all, jolly 
Victorian patriarchs.  They lay claim to authority and status, respect 
and power that they have not earned and do not deserve.  They lay claim 
to omniscience.  There is nothing that they do not pretend to know and 
know well, and they speak with all the blustering inerrancy of the 
precocious 14-year old.  Back when Doug Wilson started Logos School, he 
advertised a full classical curriculum.  At the time, he was taking 
Latin 101 at the University of Idaho.  This qualified him to teach 
Latin?  Of course!  Because Doug wanted to teach Latin, by God, he was 
qualified to teach Latin.  We should consider ourselves lucky he didn't 
settle on brain surgery.  Or amateur gynecology.

I like men qua men; I always have.  But when I say that, I mean that I 
like grown-up men.  I like men who are secure in themselves; men who 
are secure in the knowledge that recognizing women as equals is not a 
threat to their own masculinity.  Being a feminist is not about hating 
men; it's about respecting women.  Being a lesbian is not about hating 
men; it's about preferring women as sexual and life partners.  I count 
among my closest friends equal numbers of men and women.  I love my 
father-in-law, Don Huskey.  He has taught me more about what it means 
to be a strong man and a good parent than I could fit into a ten-volume 
encyclopedia.  He's a former Marine Corps captain and the first male 
feminist I ever had the privilege of meeting.  (I've met many more 
since.)  My brothers-in-law Johnny, Micah, and Lew are fine men, 
terrific fathers, and close friends.  I enjoy their company.  We share 
the same interests and hobbies.  (And, yes, we all laugh at fart 
jokes).

Keely's husband, Jeff, is a kind and gentle man with tremendous inner 
strength.  It emanates from him in waves.  I wouldn't hesitate to call 
on him in times of trouble.  I have remained very close to my high 
school "boyfriends," Brian and Dave and Boris.  Brother Carl Westberg 
is the brother I never had.  I don't hesitate to say that I adore him, 
or that he is one of the finest men I have ever known.  It is my honor 
to call him friend.  (Because he's Scandinavian, he'll be embarrassed 
to death when he reads this.  Sorry, Carl, but it's the truth.  You are 
a stellar man.)

The epigram at the beginning of my book is an old saying of my 
grandfather's:  Everything turns from sugar to shit.  I can't express 
what my grandfather mean to me.  He and I spent thirty-six years locked 
together in a mutual admiration society.  I thought he was the end-all, 
be-all, and he thought I was the bee's knees.  It was Ranny Watkins who 
taught me to stand up to bullies; to protect my children; and to fight 
like hell for them.  I make no apologies for that.  When I say to Doug 
Farris, "You may go this far but no farther," I mean it.  His 
dismemberment may only be figurative; it will be verbal, not literal.  
But it will be a dismemberment.  I have a tongue like a machete and the 
will to use it.  Do not tempt me.

A few days ago, I emailed Doug Farris privately.  In light of Tony's 
juvenile frothing, I will now share that email with the list.  You'll 
find it below my signature.  Make of it what you will.  It sums up my 
sentiments exactly.

Joan Opyr/Auntie Establishment
www.joanopyr.com

From: Joan Opyr
To: Doug Farris
Subject: The root of your bitterness

What kids, Doug?  The kids I love.  The kids I care for.  The kids for 
whom I've been saving for college since the day they were born.  The 
kids who know me as a devoted stay-at-home mom.  The children of my 
heart and my soul.  There's more to family than biology, Doug.  Much, 
much more.  I'm sorry that you seem incapable of understanding that.  
I'm sorry that you find it appropriate or even funny to be cruel to 
minor children who have never and would never do you or your children 
any harm.  I'm sorry you have so little in common with the Christ you 
say you worship.

I'm going to leave you alone now, Doug.  In truth, I feel sorry for 
you.  Your world is so sadly small and circumscribed.  You seem to know 
nothing of charity, of generosity, or of kindness.  You seem to know 
nothing of love.  You must feel so insecure, so alone, and so 
fundamentally empty.  Kicking you is like kicking the air.  You're a 
high wind with nothing to blow.

I'm doing you a mitzvah, Doug.  I'm forgiving you.  And now, I'll 
forget you.

Shalom,
Joan
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