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Category: Life

My View of Modern Medicine, Doctors, and Alternative Treatments

Bruce Gerencser 18 Comments
homeopathy

I have a lot of health problems: fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI) — all of which are incurable. I am also diabetic and have high blood pressure, both of which are controlled by drugs. Further, I have degenerative spine disease:

  • Disc herniation (T7,T8)
  • Disc herniation (T6,T7)
  • Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
  • Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
  • Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
  • Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
  • Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10

I have widespread osteoarthritis and a torn labrum in my right shoulder. There’s never a moment when I am not in pain. Sometimes, my pain is unbearable. Every day is a challenge. Do some people have it worse than me? Of course, they do. But all pain and suffering are personal, so it doesn’t matter if some people have it worse than I do. My body, my pain, my suffering, and so it is for all of us. I wish I could adequately convey to readers how it really is for me, but words seem to not suffice. Even my partner and family sometimes miss how bad things are. Sadly, those who love us the most often get used to us being sick or in pain. They no longer see us as we are. I can’t tell you the last time a family member said to me, “How are you doing?” or “How are you feeling?” I often feel as if I have become part of the furniture. People “see” me but they don’t really “see” me. I am little more than the rocking chair that has always sat in the corner of the living room — ever present, but rarely, if ever, noticed unless someone wants to sit in it. Chronic pain sufferers and people with debilitating illnesses can reach a point where they give up and kill themselves. They feel as if they no longer have a reason for living. I have come to that place numerous times over the years, more so in recent months. I see a counselor every week, hoping to lessen my depression. Sometimes this is helpful, other times, not so much.

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I have always been open about my health. This, of course, leads to all sorts of unsolicited medical advice, even when I ask people to NOT send me such advice. My openness turns some readers into medical experts, even though they have no expertise in medicine. Evidently, reading a few books and listening to a few podcasts is the equivalent of 10-14 years of post-high school education, and anecdotal stories are the same as double-blind studies. Typically, I ignore such people, knowing that medical ignorance abounds. On occasion, a few readers have pushed the issue, and that’s when I tell them to fuck off.

The scientific method is the best tool available for us to understand the natural world. Science isn’t perfect and can and does make mistakes, but I know of no other way to explain and understand our bodies. So, when readers tell me to do this or that and I will be healed, the first thing I want to see is the empirical evidence for the claim. When someone tells me that a particular supplement, food, diet, or alternative treatment will cure me, I want to see the evidence for this claim. When someone says veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and a host of other alternative treatments will cure me, I want proof that these things work. Someone saying they do isn’t good enough for me (and shouldn’t be for you either).

I value expertise. Sadly, we live in a day when many people don’t. Valuing expertise is not the same as accepting what experts say without reservation. When one of my doctors suggests a new treatment or drug, I value their expertise. I have had the same primary care doctor for twenty-seven years. I trust him. But, he also knows that the first thing I am going to do after he suggests a new treatment or drug is do a Google search for relevant information. I am going to read the studies. I am going to visit patient forums. I am going to check out what online medical professionals say on the matter. Then, and only then, will I decide what to do. I have an appointment with a specialist at the University of Michigan later this month. I will likely have a relatively new surgical procedure that hopefully will lessen my suffering from gastroparesis and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. I am hoping this procedure will reduce my nausea and vomiting. I have done my homework on this procedure, so all that remains for me to do is determine whether the benefits outweigh the risks (and there are serious risks). Statistics, probabilities, and outcomes play a big part in my deciding whether to have a procedure done or take a new drug. I never do anything blindly or by faith.

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Let me be clear, I trust my doctors, and when I don’t, I look for a new one. They are the experts, so I must, to a large degree, have faith in them. It is unlikely that I will ever know as much as they do on any given issue, so I am dependent on them getting it right. I don’t know what more any of us can do. The system isn’t perfect, but it is the best we have.

To those who are defenders of veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and other alternative treatments, please don’t. Don’t what, Bruce? Turn this post into a pulpit for you to preach your religion. Much like my view of religion in general, I am not interested in your personal opinion. Ouch, Bruce. Sorry, but I don’t ask the counter worker at McDonald’s about the best treatment for EPI, and I am sure as Hell am not going to ask non-experts either. If you are a medical doctor with a relevant specialty or an expert in a relevant medical field, by all means, share with me what you know — not feel or think, but what you know. Opinions are what we share on Friday nights at the pub amongst friends. When I want are facts and evidence, I seek out experts, not my drinking buddies. Just because you can do a web search doesn’t make you an expert. You do know this, right?

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Short Stories: The Old Man and the Window

Bruce Gerencser 15 Comments

bruce-gerencser-santa-claus

The old man restlessly flops, twists, and turns in his sleep, repeatedly awakened by nightly calls to empty his bladder and lessen the pain in his legs and spine.

In the distance, he hears the noise tires make as first-shift factory workers and other laborers make their way to their places of employment.

As the old man nears the door of the bedroom, he stops, turns, and pulls back the curtain on the window.

The old man and the window know each other well. He has stood at this window thousands of times, perusing the village street — a main two-lane highway running north to southeast through Defiance County.

The old man surveys the early morning landscape. He glances up at the yellow streetlight giving off its glow. The light reflects off a light snow that is falling.

The old man glances at the car sitting in his driveway — a 2020 Ford Edge — covered with a skiff of snow.

To the south and west, the old man notices the lights are on at what he calls the “party house.” Young adults live there, though they are rarely seen except for when they throw a party. Then, the house is pulsating with music so loud that even the deaf old man hears the noise. Voices, laughter, and drunken revelry join the music, singing a chorus of freedom. But on this morning, the house is quiet.

The house on the corner shows signs of life. The old man notices his young neighbor’s minivan is running, the heater warming its cabin before the neighbor leaves for work. The right flasher is flashing, likely having been accidentally activated when the neighbor started the van.

Farther to the west, the old man sees the lighted sign for the local bar and restaurant. Cars are parked along the road, likely farmers meeting at the restaurant to eat breakfast and catch up on the latest gossip

Far in the distance, the old man sees the sign for the local gas station and convenience store. Nearby hangs the town’s one unnecessary traffic light.

The old man sees all of these things in seconds.

He wonders, “How many more times will I look out this window before I die?”

He knows the answer, “not many.” There will come a day when life will continue coursing through the streets of Ney, but without the old man in the window.

All he knows is that today is not that day.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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It’s Time to Tell the Truth: I Had an Affair

Bruce Gerencser 3 Comments
silhouette of woman

Originally written in 2015. Edited and expanded.

It’s time for me to come clean.

I can no longer hide from my past.

The ugly, awful truth must come out.

I had an affair.

I had a mistress.

I was intimate with my lover for many, many years.

My wife and children know about the affair. I am so sorry for all the hurt and damage my illicit relationship caused. That my wife and children stood by me all these years is a wonderful testimony to their love for me. I don’t deserve it.

My mistress and I carried on for a long, long time. She would follow me wherever I moved: Ohio, Texas, Michigan. She was always right there for me.

My mistress is a lot older than I am. She is what is commonly called a cougar.

The sex was great. The only problem was I could never satisfy her. The more sex we had, the more she wanted. She was quite the nymphomaniac. I had a suspicion she was having sex with other people (she was bisexual) but it didn’t matter. What WE had was special. She treated me as if I was the ONLY one.

Over the years, we made a lot of promises to each other. We are going to do this or that, go here or go there.  But neither I nor my mistress delivered on our promises.

I gave my mistress a lot of money.  She deserved it, or so I thought. Yet, no matter how much money I gave her, she always wanted more. She would often tell me “Prove that you love me, Bruce.” So I would give her more money. I began to wonder if she was a prostitute and I was a john. My wife and children suffered because I gave so much money to her. I justified their destitution by telling myself that my affair was what gave me purpose and meaning in life. Without it, I might as well be dead.

I deceived myself for a long time, convinced that what my mistress and I had was real. After all, she made me feel alive. She gave me self-worth. When we were together it seemed as if time stopped and we were transported into the heavens.

One day, I began to have doubts about my affair. The sex was great, but there is more to life than sex. I certainly enjoyed the company of my mistress, and boy, she sure could cook, but I still felt quite empty when I was away from her.

I began to think about all the sacrifices I made for my mistress: all the money I gave her; the loss of a close, intimate relationship with my wife and children. Was it worth it?  Since my mistress got the best of me, all my family got was leftovers. By the time I came home to them, I was too tired, too busy, and too broke to give them what they needed and deserved.

A decade or so ago, after much self-judgment and reflection, I ended the affair. I sold all of the mementos of our torrid relationship. I told my mistress that I could no longer be in a relationship with her. She didn’t even get angry, or for that matter, even care. She told me “There are plenty of other people who would love to have me in their lives. Your loss, Bruce.”

So we parted ways,

My wife and I, along with our children, are trying to rebuild our family. The damage done by this affair is incalculable. I can only hope that, with time, the wounds will be healed.

I should warn all of you about my mistress. She is always on the prowl looking for someone new to entice and bed.

Her name?

The Church.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Bruce, You Ruined Your Children When You Walked Away From Jesus

Bruce Gerencser 8 Comments
oldest-gerencser-children
Oldest Three Boys with Oldest Daughter, Front pew Somerset Baptist Church, Circa 1990

My wife and I have six adult children and sixteen grandchildren. Our children are gainfully employed and we have good, close relationships with all of them. Our children were raised as PK’s — preacher’s kids. Growing up as the children of the pastor wasn’t easy. Both congregants and their father held them to a higher standard than that of other children. My children knew that their behavior would directly reflect on me — warranted or not. As a result, my children were generally respectful, polite, and well-behaved. I have often wondered if they liked this life that was chosen for them. None of them has said one way or the other, but I do wonder if they would have preferred a “normal” childhood (however “normal” is defined).  Perhaps, one of these days my daughter or one of my sons will write a guest post for this site, sharing their thoughts about what it was like growing up as the children of Rev. Bruce Gerencser, a devout Evangelical pastor. Or maybe, just maybe, my children prefer to let their childhoods lie buried in the past, never to be resurrected again. Their stories are theirs alone to tell. The same goes for Polly.

After my wife and I divorced Jesus, I heard from former colleagues in the ministry and parishioners who had a message for me from Jesus: YOU ARE RUINING YOUR FAMILY, BRUCE! Polly was never blamed for anything. Always Miss Perfect! 🙂 I was the head of the home, I was told, so I was responsible for how their lives turned out. It’s been eleven years since we attended church for the last time. Our children, at the time, were aged 15, 17, 19, 24, 27, and 29.  All of them were old enough to decide for themselves when it when came to God, Christianity, the Bible, attending church, etc. Yet, according to my critics, it’s my fault for their loss of faith. Granted, Mom and Dad not going to church, Dad not preaching, and Jesus/Bible/church not being the focus of discussion 24/7 certainly confused them. I have been accused of turning my children over to the wolves by just cutting them loose after I deconverted; that I owed it to them to steer them in the “right” direction, even if I didn’t want to head that way myself. Here’s the thing: my children were old enough to think for themselves. Steering them in the right direction meant giving them the freedom to be whomever and whatever they wanted to be — no strings attached. Some of my children were already at the back door of the church, ready to push it open and walk away. All my deconversion did was give them freedom — you’re free, cheezy bread, you’re free!

Video Link

Fundamentalist family members believe that if I had just kept serving Jesus and preaching the Word, all of my children would still be attending Evangelical churches, would still be worshiping Jesus, and would still be part of the machinations of church life. I couldn’t help but feel my late Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) mother-in-law’s disappointment when she quietly shook her head over our “worldliness” and that of our children. How worldly are we? Why, we drink alcohol and cuss. That’s about it. Well that, and watch MAX. Yes, two of my sons have gone through divorces, but am I to blame for their failed marriages? I think not. Sure, our family is more boisterous now that Jesus isn’t the center of attention, but we are not degenerates. On December 16, our family will gather at our home for Christmas — twenty-seven, in all.  We will all cram into our 12’x18′ living room to watch the opening of gifts. Someone will suggest, as they always do, that the windows need to be opened and we need to build on an addition to our home. Jokes will follow, and Dad will abused by his sons. One thing is for certain, crammed as the room shall indeed be, it will be filled with love. The focus will be on family, not religion. “But, Bruce, JESUS is the reason for the Season!” Really? No, he’s not, not even in Evangelical homes. Oh sure, there will be prayers and Jesus talk, but once those things are dispensed with, it’s on to fun, food, and fellowship. The Gerencser family just so happens to enjoy the fun, food, and fellowship, sans Jesus. Several of our children will attend mass over the Christmas season, but for the most part they will focus their time and energy on their families. You see, whatever they think of me leaving the ministry and my subsequent loss of faith, they understand that what really matters is family. And if I can be faulted for teaching my children (and grandchildren) anything it is this: family matters.

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Youngest Children, Defiance, Ohio, Circa Late 1990s, Early 2000s.

When the substance of this life is boiled away and you are on your deathbed, what will matter the most to you? Your money? Your car? Your home? Your looks? Your material possessions? I doubt it. I know, for me at least, that what matters is Polly and our family. These people make up the sum of my life. I labor under no illusions. I will never be remembered for being a Pulitzer Prize-winning author. I know when I die that I will, over time, be forgotten by most of the people with whom I have crossed paths. I will become little more than a historical footnote. Perhaps this blog will live on after I die. It, like everything in life, will eventually fade away. Everything in life is transitory, but a vapor, the Bible says, that appears for a moment and vanishes away. I remember sitting in school classrooms on cold winter days, aimlessly watching the steam from boiler radiators rise and dissipate. That’s life. When Polly, our children, and our grandchildren share their favorite Bruce/Dad/Grandpa stories at my lakeside memorial, I hope they will have good things to say about me, and a few ribald, silly things too. In that moment, they will learn that all we have is our memories. Treasure them, for they too, over time, will fade away.

As for former colleagues in the ministry, former church members, and Evangelical family members who continue to paint me as Billy Bob Thornton in Bad Santa — a man who ruined his family — all I can say is “talk to the hand.” Well, I “could” say a lot more than that — I love the F word these days — but why bother? It’s too late in the game for me to worry about catcalls from the stands; to worry about arrogant, judgmental Christians who cannot or will not see how blessed the Gerencser family really is without Jesus.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Short Stories: Fifteen Things I Learned as a Young Married Man

Bruce Gerencser 7 Comments
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Bruce and Polly Gerencser, July 1978, with Bruce’s mom and dad

What follows are fifteen things I learned as a young married man. Polly and I married in July, 1978. We recently celebrated our forty-fifth wedding anniversary. What were some of the lessons you learned as a young married person? Please share your thoughts in the comment section.

  1. Love doesn’t pay the bills.
  2. If you put gas in your car, it won’t run out.
  3. The balder the tire, the more you will need to use your car jack.
  4. A spare tire is of no use if it’s flat.
  5. You will have to teach your wife to drive a stick shift, check the oil, start the car with a screwdriver, and change a flat tire.
  6. Children change everything.
  7. If you pay the light bill, you will always have electricity.
  8. Living across the street from your in-laws is not a good idea.
  9. It is not a good idea to quit your job before you have found a new one.
  10. Having sex in a car is not as much fun as the movies say it is.
  11. Driving too fast is a sure way to get speeding tickets — lots of them.
  12. If you write a check with no money in the bank, it’s going to cost you.
  13. Guinea pigs, hamsters, and gerbils die.
  14. It’s a miracle any couple stays married.
  15. Giving substantial sums of money to the church is not a good idea when you can’t pay your bills. Contrary to what preachers say, Jesus will not provide.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Connect with me on social media:

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: Dropping Out of High School

Bruce Gerencser 9 Comments

My family moved a lot during the first eighteen years of my life, and I attended nine different schools in three states. The summer before my eighth-grade year, my dad moved us from Deshler, Ohio to Findlay, from a small rural school to one of the largest public schools in the state. My parents divorced after fifteen years of marriage in the spring of my ninth-grade year. Less than a year later, Dad sold most of our worldly belongings and moved us to Tucson, Arizona. I would later learn that Dad was running and hiding from creditors. They eventually traced him to Arizona and repossessed both of our automobiles.

After completing my tenth-grade school year in Arizona, I returned to my mom’s home in Bryan, Ohio, planning to enroll in classes at Bryan High School. I really missed my friends and church in Findlay. I expressed this yearning to my youth pastor, Bruce Turner, (please see Dear Bruce Turner) and he floated the idea of me moving to Findlay and living with one of the families in the church. God, or so I thought at the time, put everything in motion, and in short order I found myself living with Bob and Bonnie Bolander — a young couple at Trinity Baptist Church. My stay was short-lived. Bruce Turner found another home for me to stay; that of Gladys Canterberry.

To provide insurance for me and a monthly check to Gladys for keeping me, I was made a ward of court. Every day I would ride my three-speed bike to Findlay High School, attending classes from 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. I would then hop on my bike and ride to Bill Knapp’s (a chain family restaurant) where I worked the first of two shifts bussing tables. I worked the lunch shift, took a two-hour break, and then worked the dinner shift. Afterward, I would ride back to Gladys’ house and call it a night. When the weather was bad, I would either walk or take a cab. Regardless, I worked three or four days while carrying a full load of classes. Throw in church, sports, and youth group events, and I was a busy boy. Yet, I never missed a day of school or work.

In May of 1974, I decided I wanted to move back to my mom’s home. I couldn’t legally do so because I was a ward of the state. I spent several weeks planning my escape, and finally, one week before the end of the school year, Mom drove the fifty-five miles from Bryan to Findlay, picked me up, and then we returned to her home. Gladys was livid. She threatened me (and my mother) with arrest if I didn’t immediately return to Findlay. I told her I wasn’t coming back; that I wanted to live with my mom. More threats were uttered, I hung up, and that was that. I wasn’t arrested, but I was very much on my own. By this time, my younger siblings had moved from Arizona to Ohio and were also living with Mom.

Mom had serious mental health problems. Six months after I returned to her home, she had a total breakdown and was involuntarily placed in the state psychiatric hospital in Toledo. My siblings and I were on our own. Dad got wind that we were without parental supervision and drove from Arizona to retrieve us. While I was powerless in the moment, being a minor, I have always felt bad about moving away while Mom was in the hospital. Dad did the right thing, but I can only imagine how Mom felt coming home only to find her children (and money and food stamps) were gone.

After moving back to Bryan, Mom and I went to Bryan High School so I could enroll for my senior year. Bryan requested my records from Findlay, finding out that the school had not given me any credits for my junior year. Why? Evidently, I missed some final exams. I couldn’t retake them, so no credits for eleventh grade. I would have to take the eleventh grade again.

Mom tried to straighten the matter out, even consulting a lawyer. He told her that what Findlay was doing was wrong, but it would take a lot of time and money to fix my record. We had plenty of time, but no money. Knowing this, he suggested I retake eleventh grade.

I was angry, to say the least. I mean really, really, really, red-hair-on-fire angry. During this time, my best friend Dave dropped out of high school. I thought, “That’s exactly what I am going to do.” I informed my mom that I was dropping out of high school. She, of course, exploded, telling me, “Oh no you’re not!” Having just turned seventeen, I knew Mom was all bark and no bite. Eventually, she relented and I dropped out of school.

Being a “dropout” — what an ugly word we use to disparage people who fail to meet societal norms — never materially affected me. I was always able to find employment. Once I had three years of college under my belt, prospective employers quit asking about me dropping out of high school.

In 2002, at the age of forty-five, I decided to get my GED. I was confident that I could pass the exam without taking classes. The GED exam, at the time, took place over several days. On my first day, I checked in for the exam only to have the teacher question whether I should take the test. He knew I hadn’t taken the GED class, so I suspect he thought I would spectacularly fail. I smiled and told him I would be fine.

I passed with flying colors. Higher math questions posed a bit of an issue, but the rest of the questions were no problem for me. Not only that, I was generally the first person to finish his test. (Either you know it or you don’t, right?) The teacher’s face expressed surprise. I so wanted to tell him that it is not wise to judge people you do not know; that I had been doing academic work for thirty years. I may have grown up in poverty, but my mind was rich with knowledge gleaned from books and school. I may have dropped out of high school, but that doesn’t mean I was academically deficient. I was a voracious reader thanks to Mom’s continued reminders to read! Of course, these reminders often came like this: “Butch, get out of my hair. Go read a book!” 🙂

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Bruce’s Ten Hot Takes for September 26, 2023

Bruce Gerencser 7 Comments
hot takes

Republicans want to cut food, heating, and housing subsidies for poor children and families. This tells me everything I need to know about the Republican Party.

Senator Bob Menendez should be forced to resign from office by his fellow Democratic senators.

It looks like Trump not only inflated his dick size, he also grossly inflated the value of his real estate and business assets.

Some Democrats are calling for candidates to run against Joe Biden. I support this call in the primary. However, come November 2024, the only thing that matters is keeping Trump out of the White House.

Upwards of twenty-three raccoons frequented our backyard this spring and summer. And now that fall has arrived, the raccoons have disappeared, making occasional raids on the food we put out for feral/stray cats.

Chronic illness and pain affects every aspect of my life. Telling me to “put mind over matter” is never the right thing to say. When you say this, I say to myself, “Go fuck yourself.” Continue in your insensitive behavior, I might say this to your face.

“Looks like you are feeling better today,” well-wishers often say. They wrongly judge the quality and level of my suffering by what I do, failing to understand that looks can be deceiving. Just because I’m smiling, doesn’t mean I don’t want to cry. I often smile for others, hiding my pain from them.

Hey, Joe Namath. You had a lifetime 50% pass completion rate, worse than embattled New York Jets quarterback Zach Wilson. STFU. Give the kid the break. Nobody wants to hear from ancient old ex-players. Different era, different game.

Travis Kelce, a Taylor Swift dating, Bud Light drinking promoter of COVID vaccines is upsetting right-wingers with his “woke” behavior. OMG, the meltdowns are fun to watch.

Kevin McCarthy says Biden is to blame for the threatened government shutdown. Sure, Kevin, sure. I bet the hemorrhoid in your arse you affectionately call Matt Gaetz is telling you to say this lest you lose your speakership.

Bonus: I’m increasingly disillusioned with what I see and hear in the larger atheist community. Maybe this is on me. I’ve moved on from the “angry atheist” phase of my life. I’m not that interested anymore in debates about the existence of God.

Funny Bone — Toledo: Another Example of Disabled People Being Treated as an Afterthought by an Entertainment Venue

Bruce Gerencser 11 Comments
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Trae Crowder, Bruce and Polly Gerencser

My partner, Polly, and I traveled to Toledo, Ohio, last night to listen to Trae Crowder at the Funny Bone Comedy Club and Restaurant in Levis Commons — a sprawling outdoor shopping center. Big fans of Crowder, we’ve been looking forward to hearing him for months. We listen to his weekly podcast, along with the short videos Crowder puts out several times a week. Crowder, an agnostic, calls himself the “Liberal Redneck.” While Crowder, age 37, currently lives in Los Angeles, he came of age in rural Tennessee. Crowder attributes his liberal/progressive political and social beliefs to his family’s abject poverty during his childhood years.

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Our hillbilly mansion. We lived in this 720-square-foot mobile home for five years, all eight of us.

Having grown up in similar circumstances in the 1960s-1980s, I find Crowder’s humor appeals to me in ways other comedians don’t. When Crowder talks about “white trash” or “trailer trash,” I understand. When uttered by people who have never experienced real poverty, I bristle and often give them a buffet-plate-loaded-up-on-seafood-night response. However, when someone from the poverty fraternity satirizes these experiences, I laugh — been there done that — but the trauma of those years still lurks in the depths of my being. I no longer live in abject poverty. I am more “fashionably dirt poor” these days. Roof over our heads, food on the table, bills paid (albeit a few days late here and there), and taxes up to date. Life is good, even if the Bengals are 0-2.

Crowder delivered as advertised. We got the opportunity to meet him afterward, shake his hand, and have a picture taken. We live in an area where seven out of ten voters voted for Trump in 2016 and 2020. God, Trump, Guns, and Evangelical Christianity rule the roost. For godless liberals such as Polly and I, we are foreigners in the land of my birth and the home of our six children and grandchildren. Hearing Crowder was a brief respite for us from incessant right-wing extremism.

Unfortunately, the “experience” itself was, to put it mildly, less than optimal, and, at times, downright frustrating and painful.

We arrived at Funny Bone at 6:00 p.m. Unable to find a parking space, we were forced to park three city blocks away from the venue. Neither the sidewalks nor the parking lot were ADA-compliant. We entered the doors for the club around 6:15 p.m. The doors were challenging to enter. Technically, ADA-compliant, it took Polly several attempts to get my wheelchair through the glass doors (there was no automatic door opener). Once in the lobby, we found no staff to assist us. The club itself is on the second floor. On the desk sat a sign that said there was an elevator in “back.” Back where, exactly? No directions, no arrows pointing to the elevator. Being first-time visitors, we were left with figuring out what “back” meant. Polly walked the stairs to the second level, hoping to find anyone to help us. After being unable to find someone to help us, Polly came back to the lobby and told me that she was going to walk around the back of the building to see if she could find the elevator.

With the elevator found, we thought we were home free. Little did we know, the worst was to come.

Out of the inadequate doors we went, around to the elevator, only to find more doors we had to contend with. Barely wide enough for a standard wheelchair, none of the doors had automatic door openers. Fortunately, we had the elevator to ourselves. Easy in, easy out, straight. . . to . . . the . . . venue . . . now, right? Nope, there was another door we had to enter to reach the club. Thanks to boxes stacked near the door, Polly could not push my wheelchair through the door. She had to move the boxes so we had enough room to barely navigate through the door. This door gave way to a hallway that led to the hostess station. The hallway was narrow, and ADA compliant only if there were not boxes or people taking up space. In other words, it was difficult to navigate.

Finally, we made it to the hostess station. I had called Funny Bone the night before to remind them that I was in a wheelchair and would need accommodation. “No problem,” I was told. A few feet in front of the hostess station was a transition between flooring types. Paying no need to ADA compliance, Funny Bone used a raised transition instead of a flat one. Of course, hitting this speed bump nearly tipped over my wheelchair (with me in it). Thoroughly embarrassed, Polly eventually righted my chariot, and onto the main floor we went. The Funny Bone is laid out like a supper club. They could have parked my wheelchair in any number of out-of-the-way places, but the staff decided to sit me at a table that was pushed up next to another table, near where there would be a lot of foot traffic. I spent the rest of the night being bumped into by patrons and employees alike. Telling the crippled guy “sorry” might make you feel good, but it does nothing for the person physically harmed. I suspect if Funny Bone received a spot fire inspection or ADA compliance inspection, they would have failed miserably.

Crowder was as advertised. Afterward, we waited for most of the venue to clear out before leaving. We do this to avoid having to deal with rude, thoughtless people. That and the fact that it is impossible to push a wheelchair anywhere in a crowd. So we waited to make our escape. After retracing our steps, we finally made it to the parking lot at the back of the Funny Bone. We started out on the sidewalk, only to find out it was a dead-end, running into a metal gate. This forced us to take the parking lot, complete with speed bumps to our automobile. Adapt and persevere, right?

Polly wheeled me about ten feet into the parking lot, when all of a sudden my chair stopped, Polly screamed “Oh no!” and I went flying head-first onto the pavement. As I lay prostrate on my right side in the parking lot, Polly steadied herself and came to my aid, Others were nearby, but ignored what was playing out in front of their eyes, Finally, a young man rushed up and asked if I was okay; if I needed any help. Filled with embarrassment and pride, I thanked him and said I would be fine. He waited while I climbed on my knees to the wheelchair, locked the wheels, and pulled myself up. Polly apologized repeatedly as we made it back to the car. I told her, “It’s not your fault.” While on my knees I found the culprit, a chunk of asphalt was missing, and one of the front wheels on my chair sunk into the hole, sending me flying into the crisp fall night.

For those of us who use wheelchairs, walkers, and canes, doing simple things can prove to be a challenge — sometimes, dangerously so. I am not a disabled person who expects the same treatment as able-bodied people. I do, however, expect reasonable accommodations. Levis Commons and Funny Bone failed on this account.

How do I feel today? Time for a shovel and a six-foot rectangular hole. Either that or lots of pain meds and muscle relaxers. Polly couldn’t find the shovel, so we are going the medication route. 🙂

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Bruce’s Top Ten Hot Takes for September 14, 2023

Bruce Gerencser 14 Comments
hot takes

I have never been an Aaron Rogers fan, but after watching him on Hard Knocks, I’m more sympathetic towards the man. Rogers blew out his Achilles tendon minutes into the Jets’ first game and is done for the year. I genuinely feel sorry for him.

Jets quarterback Zach Wilson will not lead the team to the Promised Land. The Jets need to sign a seasoned quarterback; someone who is a caretaker. Don’t throw the ball away and let the defense do the rest.

Last night’s low was 45 degrees. Where did summer go? I wanted to turn the furnace on. My bed partner didn’t want to crank up the heat. Who won? I froze.

I introduced my five-year-old grandson to newspapers — a sales insert from a farm supply business. Made his day. Sadly, children born over the past ten years know no little to nothing about newspapers.

Our six children grew up in a home that received a morning and evening newspaper every day. They especially remember Dad’s paper rule: keep the sections in the proper order. They also remember that on Sundays no one read the paper before Dad (though I think they sometimes ignored this rule, reading the comics and sports sections, and then putting them back in place — Dad none the wiser).

I no longer subscribe to any newspaper, getting my daily news from a plethora of online sites. I miss not physically reading a daily newspaper. Both local papers are dying. Outside of finding out who died or what Ney’s council did at their meeting, local newspapers offer little value to me.

I set a record yesterday: 12 vials of blood were drawn from my left hand — over $1,000 in tests. The pessimist in me wonders if any of this will matter. Every specialist interprets the numbers differently.

I’m anemic, with low potassium, B12, and testosterone numbers. Supplements keep these numbers hovering around low normal. I reminded the doctor that I was taking significant levels of supplements to keep these numbers out of the basement. Without the supplements, I would be dead. The question, then, is why I have these deficiencies. So far, no doctor has a clue.

Ohio State will not play in the national championship game this year. Neither will Alabama.

My youngest grandson found a cricket in the living room and freaked out. I stopped him from killing it. At Grandpa and Nana’s house, if necessary we capture and release. Spiders? More often than not, we ignore them. Polly swears a big wolf spider is stalking her. Maybe. 🙂

Bonus: Out of all the serious health problems I have, nausea is the worst. I’m nauseous every day, often without relief. You can’t escape nausea. Eating is one of the few pleasures I still enjoy, but nausea often ruins this pleasure. Hard to enjoy eating when you feel like throwing up. I take Zofran to limit the vomiting, but that dull, achy nauseous feeling remains.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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Bruce’s Ten Hot Takes for September 9, 2023

Bruce Gerencser 14 Comments
hot takes

Attended a folk concert at The Ark in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Small, intimate venue, with no seat farther than fifty feet away from the stage. Lots of restaurants nearby. Perfect place for a date with your significant other.

Several of our trees have started dropping their leaves, and others are starting to show brown, red, and yellow colors. My favorite season has arrived.

Spring brought us the croaks of frogs, late summer the sounds of cicadas. Tonight, I hear chirps of countless crickets. Nature’s language is spoken all around us if we dare to turn off our electronic devices and listen.

These days, I collect books more than I read them. Seventeen books sit on the table beside the recliner. Polly said to me, “Please stop.” I replied, “I can’t, Im an addict.”

I spent time today teaching several of my granddaughters about the symbiotic relationship humans have with other animals; that every species and animal is important to the survival of our biological world. That’s why we don’t unnecessarily kill other animals, even if they bother us.

I am currently in physical therapy, hoping to lessen the pain and debility in my hips, lower back, and legs. I continue to weekly see a psychologist. Over the next two weeks, I have appointments with a hematologist, oncologist, and neurosurgeon. The pessimist in me thinks this will be a waste of time, but if I can get some helps around the edges of my life, I’ll be happy.

I am happy to report that cannabis helps reduce my pain and nausea — edibles, in particular. YMMV.

The Cincinnati Reds are still in the hunt for a wild card playoff berth. The Reds has the easiest remaining schedule in baseball. If the Reds fail to reach the playoffs, 2023 will still have been a good year. All the Reds need in 2024 is better pitching.

As of today, the Reds sold 400,000 more tickets this year than last year. Winning is contagious. Polly and I attended five games this year — all wins. Recent game against the Cubs had a playoff feel. It’s been a long times since the Reds were relevant past the All Star break.

Polly is retiring in 60-90 days. A new chapter in our life together begins. As always, the two things that concern us the most are money and medical insurance. I suggested we become bank robbers.

Bonus: My nine year old granddaughter excitedly told me all about Coach Prime (Deion Sanders). I refrained from telling her what I really think of Sanders. Definitely not a fan of how Sanders handled the men who were already at Colorado when he arrived on the scene. No loyalty or commitment from Sanders — kicking the entire team to the curb.

Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

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You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Bruce Gerencser