We are winding down the first quarter of 2021 and I am holding my breath. After all, it was the first quarter of 2020 when the world as we know it became a world we didn’t know at all and one we are still trying to come to terms with.
So far in 2020, we have observed Black History Month and Women’s History Month. The emphasis given these two observances have tended to overshadow other noteworthy celebrations such as National Bird-feeding Month – but not in my backyard.
Move over Harriet Tubman and Bella Abzug. You have earned your place in history but don’t forget the robins and bluebirds and woodpeckers. Their lives matter, too.
It costs a king’s ransom but I purchase a birdseed so hot that squirrels won’t touch the stuff. It seems that birds don’t have taste buds and squirrels do. This has made the squirrels very angry with me. I think they would like to chew my nose off. Not only that but given all the flapdoodle over election results in Georgia, I completely overlooked National Squirrel Appreciation Day (Jan. 21st.) Maybe next year.
March is also Irish-American Heritage Month. The first two weeks of the month are dedicated to getting ready to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day and the last two weeks are devoted to getting over St. Patrick’s Day.
April is a biggie. First, there is Arab-American Month. For some reason, it is not observed by the U.S. government just a few states and some school districts. I had better leave this one alone. Arabs don’t strike me as having a funny bone. The last time I jerked their hijab, they didn’t take it very well.
National Poetry Month is also in April. The Academy of American Poets said it was inspired by the success of Black History Month, held each February, and Women’s History Month and wanted in on the action. (“Blacks and Women have had their due. Let’s now have a shoutout for poets, too. Burma Shave.”)
Confederate History Month is in April. That used to be a big deal in the South with cotillion balls and Stephen Foster songs but not anymore. The politically-correct police have pretty much put the kibosh on that stuff. Anyone caught whistling “Dixie” will be sent to reeducation camps in the People’s Republic of Portland. Truth squads will comb the region looking for statues of Jed Clampett and Boss Hogg. Instead of Southern hospitality, we will be required to talk loud, say “Fuhgeddaboudit” and refer to each other as “Meathead.” I am not looking forward to April.
May is Asian-Pacific-American Month as well as Haitian Heritage Month as well as Jewish American Month as well as South Asian Heritage Month. That about covers the gamut, except for Kazakhstan.
Kazakhstan might want to take a look at August. We’ve got LGBT Pride Month in June and National Ice Cream Month in July but nothing in August. They need to move before Uzbekistan finds out.
Gospel Music Heritage Month occurs in September. Can I get an amen? While the PC police and their posse are trying to stomp out everything Southern, they had best not mess with gospel music. I know for a fact that God likes Bill Gaither and Hovie Lister, Vestal and Happy Goodman and the Blackwood Brothers (Roy, Doyle, James and Roy’s, son R.W.) a whole lot more than He does a bunch of narrow-minded twits trying to rewrite history to suit themselves. Can I get another amen?
In October, we’ve got Italian-American Heritage Month, Polish-American Heritage Month and Filipino-American History Month, If it is too hot in August for Kazakhstanis, they should check out October. That’s a nice time of year but they had better hurry. We are running out of months.
November is Native American Indian/Alaska Native Heritage Month and, more importantly, the annual Birthday Bash, when great-grandson Cameron Charles Yarbrough and I are saluted for our significant contributions to personkind and snarf down a lot of ice cream and cake.
December is pretty much wide open. Maybe Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan could split the month between them. I doubt the rest of us would know the difference.
That pretty much covers the year 2021. Looking ahead to next year, I am hoping to find space on the calendar for Humor-Impaired Month, a time to recognize liberal weenies, Trump grumps, overpaid and irrelevant professional athletes, anybody who chooses to live in Malfunction Junction, aka, the City of Atlanta voluntarily and British royalty. It is long overdue.