Friday, March 21, 2014
Back on December 7th, 2001 my first encounter with the Phelps family occurred. A young Omaha North High School student named Brad Fuglei had committed suicide a couple of weeks before. He was an activist at North who had organized gay rights rallies and fought for nondiscrimination policies in other school districts in the area. He had accomplished more in his 19 years than the Phelps clan had ever dreamed of accomplishing. But whatever Brad's demons were, they won when he took his own life.
That cold day in December of 2001, the Phelps family drove up from Topeka in their vans and cars to stand outside North High with hateful signs and be the pains in the asses they so try to be. And 100 of us, instead of ignoring the evil as so many want people to do, went to show the Phelps folk that we did care about Brad Fuglei and their hate would not stand.
There were only 20 of the inbreds up here that day and Fred Phelps didn't show up. Coward. But the saddest part of the whole day was seeing little children holding signs that they couldn't possibly understand with looks of fear on their faces seeing the 100 counter protesters standing across the street. Child abuse anyone?
I didn't say much that day. Others, obvious veterans of the Phelps War, taunted Shirley Phelps with personal insults and memories of past encounters. It was almost like a professional wrestling match where the combatants knew each other. It was almost scripted. It was just sad.
Shirley Phelps was putting her signs in the van to go back to the rock she lives under in Topeka. The crowd had dispersed and I found myself 10 feet away from her. I am not a person who likes confrontations. But something came over me at that moment and I found myself screeching "Shame on you, Shirley, go home you hateful bitch!" She looked back at me and said nothing. Who won? Probably her.
A few years later she and her band of miscreants showed up to picket a dead kid's funeral. He had been killed in Iraq. I went to that counter protest also, but to help block them from being seen by the family of the dead soldier. Some guy drove by that day and pepper sprayed what he thought were the Phelps. It wasn't them, it was us. Thanks, man.
Now that Fred Phelps is gone, I feel nothing. I'm not happy. I don't care. His hatred just gets passed on. His death stops nothing. So to his haters, go ahead and vent and act just like him. Trust me, it's not worth the effort.
Times have changed right in front of this hateful family. They may be the LGBT's community's best friend. Seeing those crazy people through the years may have sped up the acceptance of gay marriage, gay rights etc. Who knows?
All I know is Fred Phelps, wherever he is, is still the most unhappy prick who ever lived. Rest in Peace,asshole. I can say that because I know it's impossible.