We Just See Friends - A Heartwarming Poem About the Way Children See with Love, Not Color

We Just See Friends - A Heartwarming Poem About the Way Children See with Love, Not Color

Written by Bill Conley

In a sunny little neighborhood on Maple Tree Lane,
Lived a bunch of bouncy kids who loved to run and play again and again.
There were hopscotch games on the sidewalk, scooters zooming past,
And giggles ringing in the air that always seemed to last.

Every morning, like clockwork, the kids would gather ‘round,
With backpacks, snacks, and sidewalk chalk to color up the ground.
There was Ella with her curly hair, and Jamal with the best high-five,
Luca told the silliest jokes, and Mei helped bugs survive.
Zara loved to twirl and dance, and Noah built the tallest towers—
Together, they could play pretend for hours and hours and hours.

They didn’t talk about skin or shade, or the way their hair would curl.
To them, the only thing that mattered was if you could twirl and whirl.
They didn’t say, “You’re different,” or “Why do you look like that?”
They said, “You’re fast at tag!” or “Let’s build a castle that’s flat!”

One afternoon, as clouds floated slow,
The kids all decided to put on a show.
With costumes from closets and a cardboard stage,
They worked all day like little pros at every age.

Ella played a doctor, Zara played a knight,
Jamal was a dragon who refused to give a fright.
Mei played the mayor, ruling with glee,
While Luca and Noah sold popcorn for free!

Parents came out with smiles and cheers,
Clapping and laughing and holding back tears.
Because watching their children, side by side,
Made them realize something deep inside.

The children didn’t notice skin that was light, brown, or dark.
They noticed who was kind, who shared, who made the best park.
They didn’t ask, “Where are you from?” or say, “You’re not like me.”
They just played pretend, climbed trees, and let each other be free.

After the show, little Ella asked her mom,
“Why were some grown-ups crying? Was something wrong with my song?”
Her mom hugged her close and smiled really wide,
“No, sweetheart, they were happy and full of pride.”

“You see,” she said, “some grown-ups forget what kids know—
That it doesn’t matter if your skin is dark or pale like snow.
Sometimes they get caught up in things they were taught,
And forget that love is something we’re born with—not bought.”

Ella blinked. “But we all just play… I don’t get it at all.
Jamal's my best friend because he helps me up when I fall.”
Her mom kissed her head and whispered, “Exactly, my dear.
The world would be better if every heart stayed as clear.”

The next day at school, the teacher brought a mirror.
She passed it around so the children could see clearer.
“What do you see?” she asked, holding it high.
Some said “my freckles,” others said “my eye.”

“Do you see your skin?” she gently asked.
A few nodded slowly, their curiosity unmasked.
“Does it tell you if someone is nice or mean?”
The class all laughed. “No! That’s the silliest thing we’ve ever seen!”

“Do you think you’d know someone’s heart from their nose?”
“No way!” said Zara. “That’s not how kindness grows.”
“Then remember,” said the teacher, her voice full of grace,
“What matters the most is a loving heart, not a face.”

Back on Maple Tree Lane, the children kept playing,
Spinning and skipping, giggling and swaying.
Their little world stayed bright and true,
A perfect rainbow made not of colors, but of you being you.

They held hands, shared snacks, and built forts so grand,
They worked side by side, lending each other a hand.
And though they looked different in many small ways,
They only saw friends in the games that they played.

Because children don’t see color—they see laughs, and love,
They see friends who twirl, and grass and sky above.
And if the world could see like they do each day,
We might just all learn how to love in that way.

The Moral to the Poem: "We Just See Friends"

Children don’t judge one another by skin color—they see laughter, kindness, and fun. Their friendships are built on trust, not appearance. They remind us that love is natural and prejudice is learned. When we view others through the eyes of a child, we see only the heart.

United We Stand, Divided by Design: Exposing the Evil of the Wedge Drivers - How Race-Baiters, Power-Hungry Politicians, and Cultural Manipulators Are Tearing Us Apart

United We Stand, Divided by Design: Exposing the Evil of the Wedge Drivers

How Race-Baiters, Power-Hungry Politicians, and Cultural Manipulators Are Tearing Us Apart

Introduction

There was a time—maybe not long ago—when kids from all walks of life ran through neighborhoods, laughed on playgrounds, and sat shoulder to shoulder in classrooms without the slightest concern for skin color, religion, or background. Children don’t see race. They don’t judge religion. They don’t count differences. They simply see a friend.

But somewhere along the way, they grow up. And that innocence? It’s replaced by suspicion. By anger. By division. And who teaches them this? Adults. Politicians. Media. Activists. Race-baiters. Self-appointed champions of “truth” who manipulate the narrative and pit one group against another for personal gain.

These wedge-drivers have found new ways to tear communities apart—not just with race, but with religion, gender, wealth, politics, and even COVID status. It’s no longer about love, unity, and shared goals—it’s about picking sides, pointing fingers, and fueling outrage.

The people behind this division are not heroes. They are not brave. They are not champions of justice. They are opportunists—using pain to gain power, and stoking fear to stay relevant. They are sowing hatred under the disguise of activism. These people are dangerous. And it’s time we call them what they are:

Evil.

Let’s name the wedges they use:

1.     Race – Turning color into a weapon.

2.     Religion – Using faith to divide rather than unite.

3.     Gender Identity – Pushing division instead of understanding.

4.     Political Affiliation – Framing opponents as enemies, not fellow citizens.

5.     Economic Class – Fueling envy and resentment between rich and poor.

6.     Geography/Culture – Making people believe coastal and rural values can’t coexist.

And here’s what these wedge-drivers have in common—five distinct characteristics:

1.     They manipulate emotion – especially fear, anger, and guilt.

2.     They generalize and stereotype – reducing people to labels.

3.     They refuse to engage in real dialogue – preferring outrage to solutions.

4.     They profit from division – financially, politically, or socially.

5.     They never promote forgiveness or healing – because unity is their enemy.

This article isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the person who’s sick of being pitted against their neighbor. It’s for the parent who wants their child to live in a world of love, not hate. It’s for the citizen who believes unity is possible—if we wake up, speak up, and stop falling for the lies.

The Wedges That Divide Us

1. Race: The Oldest and Most Abused Wedge

Race is the original sin of wedge politics. It's the most manipulated, exploited, and weaponized issue in America today. While genuine racism still exists and should always be condemned, race-baiters use isolated incidents to paint entire populations as villains or victims. The message is never unity. It’s blame. It's grievance. It's guilt.

The worst offenders are those who claim to be “anti-racist,” but operate under a thin veil of superiority, shaming others, demanding apologies for things they never did, and constantly seeking offense. Their goal isn’t equality—it’s power. And they’ve infected politics, education, media, and corporate culture with a toxic ideology that teaches children they are either oppressors or oppressed, solely based on the color of their skin.

Meanwhile, children on playgrounds continue to hold hands, play tag, and share snacks without ever asking, “What color are you?”

2. Religion: From Sacred to Political Tool

America was founded on freedom of religion, but today, it’s often used as a weapon to divide people. Politicians and activists demonize entire faiths for political points. Christianity is labeled hateful. Islam is painted as dangerous. Judaism is attacked through growing anti-Semitic rhetoric.

These wedge-drivers don’t care about your soul—they care about control. They twist belief into bigotry and try to silence faithful people by shaming them for what they believe. Instead of celebrating religious diversity and encouraging respect, they push division to stoke their agendas. When faith becomes a tool for politics rather than a bridge of peace, we all lose.

3. Gender and Identity Politics: Weaponizing Words

What used to be a discussion about equality and understanding has now turned into an all-out war over language, labels, and ideological purity. Children are told they must declare a gender, pick a pronoun, and accept confusing ideology before they even understand who they are.

Adults who question the narrative are called bigots, while wedge-drivers shout down anyone who disagrees. Their goal is not inclusion—it’s domination. They silence dissent, cancel opposition, and demand conformity. Real conversation is impossible when disagreement is treated as violence.

Meanwhile, young children on playgrounds don’t care about pronouns—they care about who brings the bubbles and who shares their crayons.

4. Politics: The Ultimate Dividing Line

Nothing drives a deeper wedge today than politics. The media has trained us to see anyone who votes differently as evil. Entire families have been torn apart. Friendships have ended. People are afraid to speak up, afraid to disagree.

Wedge-drivers in politics use fear to keep their base loyal. “If they win, your life is over,” they warn. “They’ll destroy the country.” This fear keeps people voting blindly, never asking questions, never demanding better. And worst of all, it keeps us from talking to each other, neighbor to neighbor, friend to friend, human to human.

5. Economic Class: The Envy Machine

We’re told that rich people are greedy and poor people are lazy. That corporations are evil and capitalism is oppression. These lies are drilled into minds by activists and politicians who have never built anything—but know how to tear everything down.

Instead of encouraging upward mobility and gratitude, wedge-drivers foster envy. They pit the struggling against the successful. They tax, regulate, and punish ambition, all while pretending to be “for the people.” And yet, the loudest voices screaming about inequality often live in mansions, fly private, and sip champagne while lecturing the rest of us.

Children don’t care who has the newest shoes. They care who shares their toys.

6. Geography and Culture: Red vs. Blue, Country vs. City

Somehow, Americans have been convinced that if you’re from a different part of the country, you must be ignorant, crazy, or out of touch. Coastal elites sneer at rural values. Rural folks distrust city dwellers. Politicians widen the gap, playing both sides.

Instead of learning from each other, we’re told to mock, dismiss, or fear the “other side.” This isn’t natural—it’s taught. It’s scripted. It’s strategic. Divide and conquer.

But when kids from the city and kids from the country meet at camp or a family BBQ, none of that matters. They find the same joy in playing catch, telling stories, and sharing marshmallows around a fire.

The 5 Characteristics of a Wedge Driver

1. They Manipulate Emotion

Wedge-drivers are emotional arsonists. They don’t want you to think—they want you to feel. Outrage, fear, guilt, anger—they light the fire and walk away. They want reactions, not reflection. And the more emotional you become, the more control they have over your beliefs and actions.

2. They Generalize Entire Groups

These people love to say things like, “All white people…” or “Every conservative…” or “Most men…” They lump entire populations into one category to make it easier to divide and conquer. But no group is all good or all bad. Human beings are complex—and wedge-drivers hate complexity because it weakens their narrative.

3. They Refuse Honest Dialogue

You can’t debate a wedge-driver. They’ll call you names, shame you, or accuse you of hate. Their ideas can’t survive honest conversation, so they avoid it at all costs. The moment you question them, you become the enemy. Real solutions are never the goal—control is.

4. They Profit From Division

Whether it’s political power, social influence, or actual money, these people gain something by keeping us angry. Outrage fuels donations. Division fuels votes. Fear sells books, clicks, and campaign speeches. And while you argue with your neighbor, they laugh all the way to the bank.

5. They Never Promote Forgiveness

Forgiveness is the ultimate threat to a wedge-driver. It heals. It unites. It ends the cycle. That’s why they never promote grace, redemption, or moving forward. They want pain to last forever because your pain is their power.

Conclusion

In the end, it’s not hard to see the damage. We’ve been divided—not by accident, but by design. The wedge-drivers—those race-baiters, agenda-pushers, political extremists, and self-righteous ideologues—have succeeded in poisoning the well of trust. They’ve pitted brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, and even child against child. And they’ve done it while smiling in front of microphones, tweeting slogans of unity, and claiming to “fight for justice.” It’s a lie. All of it.

You want to know what real unity looks like? Go to a playground.

Go watch a group of children—white, Black, brown, tan, freckled, curly-haired, braided, barefoot—sharing sidewalk chalk, laughing under the sun, chasing each other with joy. They don’t care about gender ideology, tax brackets, or political affiliations. They don’t care what state you’re from, what God you worship, or how much money your parents make. They just see friends.

That’s how we were meant to live.

But the wedge-drivers couldn’t allow that. A united people is a powerful people. A forgiving people is a hopeful people. A people who see each other as brothers and sisters is a threat to those who need us divided. So they taught us to look with suspicion. They taught us to speak in labels. They taught us to sort and separate, not unite and celebrate.

And far too many of us believed them.

But here’s the truth—this country doesn’t have a race problem, a class problem, a religious problem, or a gender problem. It has a manipulation problem. A deception problem. A truth problem.

The manipulators—the wedge-drivers—aren’t solving anything. They’re profiting. They don’t want healing. They want headlines. They don’t want conversation. They want chaos. And every time we fall for it, every time we repost their outrage, every time we assume the worst in our neighbor based on some viral clip, we’re handing them more power.

So, what do we do?

We stop falling for it.

We stop assuming evil in those who think differently. We stop rewarding anger with applause. We stop letting the loudest voices on social media define what’s “right” or “wrong.” And we start looking to children—not as naïve, but as inspirations. They haven’t been corrupted yet. Their hearts are still pure. They still believe in kindness, inclusion, and fairness—not because someone told them to, but because it’s built into the human soul before society poisons it.

We must become like them again.

We must re-learn how to see people as individuals, not as representatives of some “group” we’re told to hate or fear. We must rediscover grace, the ability to forgive—not just for others, but for ourselves. We must turn off the voices that feed the division, whether it’s coming from the media, politics, academia, or pulpits.

If someone is constantly making you feel angry, guilty, scared, or ashamed—question their motive. If someone is labeling entire groups of people as “less than,” “oppressors,” or “enemies”—reject that poison. And if someone claims they’re fighting for love and justice, but all they spread is hate and judgment—turn away. Love is not loud. Truth doesn’t need a mob. And unity is never built on fear.

We need to raise children who aren’t told they are broken because of their skin. We need to teach them that disagreement isn’t hate. That mistakes don’t define you. That forgiveness is strength. That truth is not a weapon—but a light.

And we need to be the example.

Because unity isn’t a hashtag. It’s a way of life. It’s showing up. It’s listening. It’s laughing with someone who voted differently. It’s breaking bread with someone who worships differently. It’s raising our voices—not to shout each other down, but to lift each other up.

The wedge-drivers want us to believe we’re too far gone. That the fractures are too deep. That the bridges have burned. But they’re wrong.

Unity isn’t a dream. It’s a decision.

And if we’re brave enough—humble enough—to step away from the noise, silence the manipulators, and remember what it means to be human, we will take back what was stolen.

Our friendships.
Our communities.
Our country.
Our souls.

And when that day comes, the wedge-drivers will no longer have a place. Not in our hearts. Not in our schools. Not in our homes. And certainly not in our future.

Because we’ll finally remember what our children never forgot:

We are different. But we are not divided. 

Benny the Beaver Learns to Keep His Word - A Children's Story

Benny the Beaver Learns to Keep His Word

In the heart of a dense forest, beside a flowing river, lived Benny the Beaver. Benny was known for his big, strong teeth and his ability to build the best dams and bridges. His friends—Daisy the Deer, Ricky the Raccoon, and Piper the Porcupine—trusted him whenever they needed help crossing the river.

One day, a heavy storm had knocked down several trees, making it hard for the animals to reach the other side. “Benny, can you build us a bridge?” Daisy asked.

“Of course! I promise I’ll have it done in no time,” Benny said confidently.

Excited, his friends thanked him and left Benny to his work. But as soon as they walked away, Benny got distracted. He started chewing on a tasty tree branch, then played in the water for a while. Before he knew it, the sun had set, and the bridge hadn’t even been started.

The next day, Ricky the Raccoon asked, “Is the bridge ready?”

Benny looked at the half-finished logs. “Uh… not yet,” he admitted. “But I’ll finish it today. I promise!”

But that afternoon, Benny spotted some shiny pebbles by the riverbank and spent hours collecting them. By evening, he was too tired to work on the bridge.

The next morning, Piper the Porcupine arrived. “Benny, we need the bridge today! We’re counting on you.”

“I’ll have it done, I promise!” Benny said again.

But once more, he found other things to do—chasing butterflies, stacking sticks, and watching the clouds. Each time he made a promise, he truly meant to keep it, but he never followed through.

Then, one night, dark clouds rolled in. A heavy rainstorm arrived, and the river swelled, rushing faster than ever. The next morning, the animals gathered, realizing they had no way to cross.

“Oh no!” Daisy cried. “We needed that bridge to be finished!”

Ricky looked at Benny with disappointment. “Benny, you told us it would be done. We trusted you.”

Benny’s heart sank. He had let his friends down. He had promised, but he never did what he said he would. Now, they were in trouble because of him.

Determined to fix his mistake, Benny worked harder than ever. He gnawed logs, stacked them carefully, and tied them together with strong vines. His paws ached, and his tail was sore, but he kept going. By the time the sun set, a sturdy bridge stretched across the river.

The next morning, the animals saw Benny’s work. “It’s finally done!” Piper cheered.

Daisy stepped onto the bridge and smiled. “It’s strong and safe. Thank you, Benny.”

Benny lowered his head. “I should have done it when I first promised. I understand now—when you don’t keep your word, people stop trusting you.”

Ricky nodded. “Trust is built one brick at a time, but broken with just one lie.”

From that day on, Benny only made promises he could keep. When he said he would do something, he did it right away. Slowly, his friends learned to trust him again, and Benny felt proud to be someone they could rely on.

Moral of the Story: Trust is built one brick at a time, but broken with just one lie. If you make a promise, keep it—because trust, once lost, takes time and effort to rebuild.

  

Toby the Turtle Learns to Be on Time - A Children's Story

Toby the Turtle Learns to Be on Time

In a peaceful little pond surrounded by tall grasses and swaying willow trees, there lived a friendly turtle named Toby. Toby loved to play with his friends—Freddy the Frog, Bella the Bunny, and Oliver the Otter. But there was one little problem: Toby was always late.

No matter how many times he promised to meet his friends at a certain time, he never arrived when he said he would. “I’ll be there soon!” he’d say, but by the time he got there, his friends had been waiting for ages.

“Toby, you’re always late!” sighed Bella one day, tapping her foot.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Toby said with a sheepish grin. “I just got distracted watching the dragonflies.”

Freddy the Frog shook his head. “You always have an excuse! We waited and waited, but the game started without you.”

“I’ll be on time next time, I promise!” Toby said. But his friends weren’t sure they could believe him anymore.

One bright morning, Oliver the Otter had an idea. “Let’s throw a surprise party for Toby! Maybe if he sees how much we care, he’ll realize how important it is to be on time.”

Bella clapped her paws. “That’s a great idea! We’ll make his favorite treats—lily pad cupcakes and sweet berry punch.”

The friends set the party for noon and told Toby to meet them by the big rock at the edge of the pond. “You won’t want to be late for this, Toby!” Bella reminded him.

Toby nodded eagerly. “I’ll be there right on time!”

The next day, his friends gathered early. They decorated the pond with colorful leaves and floating flowers. Everything was perfect! The only thing missing was Toby.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

“Where is he?” Freddy croaked.

Oliver sighed. “He’s late again.”

By the time Toby finally arrived, the decorations had started to wilt, the food was almost gone, and his friends looked disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” Toby asked, looking around at the half-eaten cupcakes and empty punch bowl.

Bella crossed her arms. “Toby, this was supposed to be a surprise party for YOU! But you took so long to get here that you missed most of it.”

Toby’s heart sank. “You did all this for me?”

Freddy nodded. “Yes, but a promise is like a clock—it must always run on time. When you don’t show up when you say you will, it makes your friends feel unimportant.”

Toby frowned. He had never thought about it that way. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just lose track of time.”

Oliver patted his shell. “We know, but we can help! Let’s practice being on time together.”

From that day on, Toby worked hard to be more reliable. He asked Oliver to teach him how to read the shadows on the rocks to tell time. He asked Bella to hop by his log to remind him of their plans. Slowly but surely, Toby became better at keeping his word.

One afternoon, his friends planned another picnic. Toby promised to be there by lunchtime. This time, he arrived early, just as the sun hit the middle of the pond.

“You did it, Toby!” Bella cheered.

Freddy handed him a big slice of watermelon. “Now you’re truly part of the team.”

Toby beamed. He had finally learned that being on time showed his friends they mattered to him. From that day forward, he never missed an adventure.

Moral of the Story: A promise is like a clock—it must always run on time. Being reliable shows others that you care, and keeping your word is one of the best ways to be a good friend.

 

Finley the Frog Learns a Lesson - A Children's Story

 Finley the Frog Learns a Lesson

Moral of the Story: Understanding others starts with looking at our own hearts. We should never judge others based on their differences because we never know when we might face the same challenges. True wisdom comes from empathy, kindness, and realizing that everyone moves through life at their own pace.

In a peaceful pond surrounded by tall reeds and lily pads lived Finley the Frog. Finley was known for his quick hops, smooth swimming, and playful nature. He was always the first to leap across the pond and reach the best spots under the sun. Finley was proud of how fast and agile he was, and sometimes, he let that pride get the best of him.

One afternoon, while basking on a warm rock, Finley saw Timmy the Turtle slowly making his way to the water’s edge. Timmy’s little legs moved at their usual steady pace, taking one careful step at a time.

"Oh, Timmy!" Finley laughed, shaking his head. "Why do you move so slowly? At this rate, you’ll reach the water by next week!"

Timmy looked up with a gentle smile. "I may be slow, Finley, but I always get where I need to go."

Finley chuckled. "I’d go crazy if I moved that slow! I’d never get anything done."

Timmy didn’t respond, only nodding as he continued his slow, steady walk to the water.

Later that day, dark clouds rolled over the pond, and a strong wind began to blow. Finley had planned to hop over to his favorite lily pad before the storm arrived, but as he pushed off the rock, something unexpected happened—his leg cramped mid-air! Instead of landing gracefully, he tumbled awkwardly into the water with a big splash.

Finley tried to swim to the lily pad, but his leg ached, making it difficult to move. The wind picked up, and the water rippled fiercely. He tried to hop onto a nearby log but slipped back into the water. Fear crept into his heart—he had never struggled like this before.

Just as Finley started to panic, he heard a familiar voice. "Hold on, Finley!" Timmy called out as he slowly but surely paddled toward him.

"Timmy!" Finley gasped. "I can’t get to shore. My leg won’t work right!"

Timmy reached him and steadied himself. "Climb onto my back. I’ll get you to safety."

Finley hesitated. He had always been the fastest, the best swimmer. Now, he needed help from the slowest creature in the pond?

With no other choice, he climbed onto Timmy’s shell, holding on as Timmy carefully paddled toward shore. Despite the strong wind and waves, Timmy never rushed, never panicked—he just kept moving forward, one steady stroke at a time.

By the time they reached the shore, Finley was exhausted. He limped onto the grass and looked at Timmy with gratitude. "Thank you, Timmy. I never thought I’d need help like that."

Timmy smiled. "We all need help sometimes, Finley. It doesn’t matter if we’re fast or slow. What matters is that we keep going."

Finley nodded, feeling a wave of understanding wash over him. He had laughed at Timmy for being slow, but today, Timmy’s steady pace had saved him. He realized that judging others was unfair, especially when he had never been in their position before.

From that day on, Finley was different. He still loved to hop and race, but he no longer laughed at Timmy’s slow steps. Instead, he admired his patience and determination. Whenever he sees someone struggling, he remembers Timmy’s kindness and offers help instead of judgment.

Walter the Walrus and the Weight of Resentment - A Children's Story

Walter the Walrus and the Weight of Resentment

In the icy waters of the Arctic, where the wind howled and the sea glistened under the cold sun, lived Walter the Walrus. Walter was strong and proud, with long tusks and a deep, rumbling voice. He had always been known as a fair and kind walrus, but lately, something had changed. His heart felt heavy, and his usual playful nature had faded.

It all started when Walter’s best friend, Sammy the Seal, had accidentally taken his favorite sunbathing spot on the ice. Walter had been looking forward to that warm patch all day, and when he arrived to find Sammy sprawled out in the middle of it, he was furious.

“Sammy, that’s my spot!” Walter barked, his voice echoing across the ice.

Sammy sat up, blinking in surprise. “Oh, Walter, I didn’t know! I’m sorry—I was just trying to warm up.”

Walter huffed. “You should have asked. Friends don’t take each other’s places.”

Sammy frowned. “I didn’t mean any harm, Walter. It’s just a spot on the ice.”

But Walter didn’t listen. He turned away without another word and swam off into the frigid water, his anger bubbling inside him like a storm. For days, he ignored Sammy. He refused to play, refused to talk, and refused to let go of his resentment.

At first, Walter thought he was making a point. He expected Sammy to come begging for forgiveness, but instead, something unexpected happened. Walter started to feel… lonely.

Without Sammy, the ice seemed colder, the sea seemed darker, and even his favorite fish didn’t taste as good. But still, he held on to his anger.

One morning, Walter waddled to the water’s edge and found Grandma Walrus watching the sunrise. She was the oldest and wisest in the herd, and Walter respected her greatly.

“Why do you look so troubled, Walter?” she asked, tilting her head.

Walter sighed. “Sammy took my favorite spot on the ice, and I can’t forgive him.”

Grandma Walrus chuckled softly. “Walter, holding onto anger is like carrying a heavy stone. The longer you carry it, the more it weighs you down.”

Walter frowned. “But I was right! It was my spot.”

Grandma Walrus nodded. “Maybe so. But tell me, Walter, has your anger made you happier?”

Walter hesitated. He thought about how lonely he had been, how cold everything felt without his best friend. “No,” he admitted.

Grandma Walrus smiled. “Then let it go, my dear. Forgiveness is not about being right—it’s about being free.”

Walter sat quietly, thinking about her words. He realized that the only thing keeping him from being happy was himself. Sammy had apologized, but Walter had chosen to stay angry. And in doing so, he had lost something far more important than a spot on the ice—he had lost a friend.

That afternoon, Walter swam over to Sammy’s favorite fishing spot. Sammy was there, diving for fish, but when he saw Walter, he hesitated, unsure if his friend was still upset.

Walter took a deep breath. “Sammy, I was wrong to stay mad for so long. I miss my best friend. Can we forget about the ice spot?”

Sammy’s face lit up. “Of course, Walter! I never wanted to upset you. I just wanted to share the warmth.”

Walter laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. “Maybe next time, we can share it together.”

From that day on, Walter learned that holding onto anger only made his world smaller and colder. And as he lay next to Sammy on the warmest patch of ice, he knew that forgiveness had made his heart warmer than the sun ever could.

Moral of the Story: Holding onto anger is like carrying a heavy stone—it only weighs you down. Letting go of resentment and embracing forgiveness brings warmth and happiness, making life brighter for both you and those around you.

 

Ricky the Raccoon and the Power of Good Choices - A Children's Story

Ricky the Raccoon and the Power of Good Choices

Deep in the heart of the forest, where the towering oak trees stretched toward the sky and fireflies flickered in the night air, lived a young raccoon named Ricky. Ricky was full of energy, always exploring, climbing, and playing with his friends. But more than anything, Ricky wanted to be seen as brave and adventurous.

One evening, as Ricky wandered near the old hollow log, he heard laughter echoing through the trees. He crept closer and spotted a group of older raccoons gathered around a bush, munching on strange-looking berries. Their eyes were hazy, and they swayed as they tried to stand.

"Hey, Ricky!" called Max, one of the older raccoons. "Come try these berries! They make you feel funny and free."

Ricky hesitated. The older raccoons always seemed so cool, and he wanted to fit in. "Are they safe?" he asked.

Max chuckled. "Of course! Just a little fun! Don't be a scaredy-cat."

Ricky took a small step forward, but then he noticed something. One of the raccoons, Leo, was lying on the ground, groaning. His belly was bloated, and he looked miserable.

"What’s wrong with Leo?" Ricky asked, concern growing in his voice.

Max shrugged. "He just ate too many. He’ll be fine."

But Ricky wasn’t so sure. He turned and ran back toward his home, his heart pounding. He had a bad feeling about those berries.

When Ricky arrived home, his mother was waiting for him. "You look troubled, Ricky. What’s wrong?" she asked gently.

Ricky hesitated before telling her about the older raccoons and the strange berries. His mother listened carefully, then nodded. "I’m proud of you for walking away, Ricky. Not everything other animals do is good for you."

"But why do they eat them if they make them sick?" Ricky asked.

His mother sighed. "Sometimes, animals want to feel different or escape their worries. But real strength comes from making good choices, even when others don’t."

The next day, Ricky decided to check on Leo. When he found him, Leo looked miserable. "I don’t feel good," he admitted. "I thought the berries would be fun, but now I just feel awful."

Ricky sat down beside him. "Why did you eat them?"

Leo sighed. "I just wanted to be part of the group."

Ricky nodded. "I get that. But I don’t think making yourself sick is worth it."

Just then, the wise old owl, Oliver, flew down from a nearby branch. "Ricky, you made the right choice," he said. "Your mind and body are precious. What you put into them shapes the kind of raccoon you become."

Leo looked up. "So, if I keep eating bad things, I’ll keep feeling bad?"

Oliver nodded. "Exactly. And if you fill your life with good things—healthy food, strong friendships, and wise choices—you’ll be happier and stronger."

That night, Ricky sat outside his den, looking up at the stars. He realized that every choice he made shaped who he was becoming. He wanted to be strong, smart, and happy. And that meant making good decisions, even when they were hard.

A few days later, Ricky saw the older raccoons again. This time, he noticed how unsteady they were, how sluggish their movements had become. The excitement he once felt about joining them disappeared. Instead of being tempted, he felt grateful he had walked away.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a younger raccoon, Benny, watching the group with wide eyes. Ricky walked over and nudged him. "Come on, Benny, let’s go find some real fun."

Benny hesitated but then followed Ricky. Together, they climbed trees, raced through the bushes, and played by the riverbank. They didn’t need strange berries to have fun—they had each other and the beauty of the forest.

From that day on, Ricky made a promise to himself. He would always think before he followed others, and he would choose what was best for him. And as he grew older, he became known as one of the wisest and happiest raccoons in the forest.

Moral of the Story: What you put into your body and mind shapes the person you become. Good choices lead to strength and happiness, while bad choices can bring harm. Choose wisely, even when others don’t.

 

Beneath the Greens: Exposing the PGA Tour’s $1.8 Billion Charade

Beneath the Greens: Exposing the PGA Tour’s $1.8 Billion Charade

Introduction: The Illusion of Generosity

 Ask the average golf fan what makes the PGA Tour special, and you’ll hear some variation of this well-rehearsed narrative: it’s not just about the birdies and the back nine—it's about giving back. It's about charity. Google it, and you’ll find bold headlines declaring that golf, through the PGA Tour, raises more money for charity than any other professional sport. It sounds noble, heartwarming even. But dig beneath the carefully manicured surface, and a different story emerges—a story not of generosity, but of misdirection, exploitation, and obscene self-indulgence.

The PGA Tour has masterfully built a brand cloaked in benevolence. Their televised events feature emotional montages of sick children, smiling veterans, and oversized checks handed out by pro golfers posing with local volunteers. Their website boasts of billions raised “for charity.” Commentators praise the tour’s “philanthropic mission” as if it's gospel. But the truth is, this is a façade—a slick PR machine designed to distract the public from the real numbers and where the money actually goes.

In 2023, the PGA Tour generated over $1.83 billion in revenue. That’s more than the GDP of some small nations. Yet, despite this massive cash flow, the tour claimed a net operating loss of $62 million. Why? Those funds are being funneled into executive compensation packages that rival Fortune 500 salaries, bloated administrative budgets, aggressive lobbying, luxury perks, and now—thanks to pressure from the Saudi-backed LIV Golf league—a nearly billion-dollar equity payout scheme for select top-tier players. So much for selfless giving.

What’s worse, the tour still enjoys the protective cloak of a tax-exempt nonprofit. That’s right. The PGA Tour operates as a 501(c)(6) organization, which means it’s not obligated to pay federal income taxes on its revenues. In theory, this status is granted to business leagues that promote a common professional interest—say, the dairy industry or local chambers of commerce. In practice, the PGA Tour has exploited this classification to avoid paying hundreds of millions in taxes while behaving indistinguishably from a profit-maximizing entertainment company. The PGA Tour continues to heavily rely on the "we're doing it for charity" tagline as a means of silencing critics and evading scrutiny.

Let’s be clear: this article is not about demonizing golf or denying the positive contributions made by local tournament organizers and dedicated volunteers. Many of them work tirelessly to fundraise for their communities and deserve recognition. But the PGA Tour itself—the central organization—is not the engine of charity it claims to be. In fact, when you examine the numbers, only a minuscule fraction of the tour’s revenue ever ends up in the hands of those in need. Corporate greed and elite self-reward swallow up the rest.

It’s time to pull the curtain back on the PGA Tour’s charitable illusion. This issue is not about achieving a perfect score, but rather about discrepancies in the truth. The American taxpayer deserves to know whether this billion-dollar entertainment enterprise is truly serving the public good—or just serving itself.

 II. Skyrocketing Revenues, Shrinking Scruples

 The PGA Tour raked in over $1.83 billion in 2023—a staggering sum for an organization that operates under a nonprofit umbrella. That revenue rivals the earnings of major corporations and outpaces the entire GDP of some island nations. Yet, despite this jaw-dropping haul, the PGA Tour claimed a net loss of over $62 million. How does a “nonprofit” bringing in nearly $2 billion manage to lose money? The answer lies not in misfortune but in manipulation—intentional financial engineering designed to maintain tax-exempt status while enriching insiders.

The largest chunks of revenue come from lucrative media deals, corporate sponsorships, licensing, and international television rights. NBC, CBS, ESPN, and international broadcasters all pay handsomely for the right to televise the Tour. Global corporations like FedEx, Travelers, and Rolex sponsor events to bolster their brand visibility. And merchandise sales—from logoed polos to commemorative golf balls—generate millions more.

Yet, the Tour is quietly siphoning off this financial goldmine into executive salaries, inflated operational costs, and now equity payouts for elite players. Rather than using its windfall to enhance charitable giving or improve community programs, the tour is enriching the pockets of its top brass. This behavior isn’t incidental—it’s systemic.

Consider this: most nonprofits operate with lean overhead to maximize their mission. The PGA Tour, by contrast, spends freely on first-class travel, charter flights, high-end accommodations, exclusive events, and private perks for executives, players, and “insiders.” These are not expenses aligned with a charitable mission—they’re the hallmarks of a corporate lifestyle.

Even more troubling, the Tour’s leadership team—headed by Commissioner Jay Monahan—has seen massive compensation spikes. In 2023 alone, Monahan earned nearly $12.7 million. This amount surpasses the earnings of many Fortune 500 CEOs and even surpasses the commissioners of actual nonprofit organizations. And he’s not alone—several other top executives took home salaries north of $1 million, in addition to bonuses and perks.

To obscure these bloated payouts and maintain its nonprofit façade, the Tour engages in revenue camouflage. They inflate expenses to demonstrate a marginal or negative profit, which enables them to evade public scrutiny and avoid paying taxes. Under any other circumstances, the IRS would likely raise concerns. However, the PGA Tour has meticulously organized its reporting to adhere to the most basic nonprofit disclosure standards, with the assurance that most journalists and regulators won't delve into further details.

This is not a financial mismanagement; rather, it's a deliberate strategy that involves generating hundreds of millions of dollars, overpaying executives, indulging in luxury, and concealing the remaining funds behind a façade of charity. Meanwhile, the American taxpayer continues to subsidize this empire, unknowingly supporting a sports league that operates more like a private entertainment company than a charitable entity.

The game is rigged—profiting like a corporation, spending like royalty, and sheltering like a church. If the PGA Tour is going to operate like a business, it’s time they start paying taxes like one, too.

 III. The Great Charitable Mirage

 The PGA Tour wants you to believe it is a philanthropic powerhouse—an engine of goodwill and giving that uplifts communities across the nation. Their website proclaims proudly that, as of 2024, the Tour and its affiliated events have “generated more than $4 billion for charity.” Broadcasts, press releases, and corporate presentations routinely cite this impressive number. But here’s the catch: that number is grossly misleading.

First, the figure includes money raised not by the PGA Tour itself, but by local tournament organizers—independent nonprofits tasked with hosting Tour events. These local groups solicit sponsors, sell tickets, organize volunteers, and handle community outreach. The PGA Tour’s primary contribution? Lending its brand, players, and broadcast rights. That’s not direct charitable giving—it’s marketing leverage.

Take the Travelers Championship, for instance. In 2024, it proudly announced that it had raised over $3.2 million for 170 charities. While this achievement is commendable, it should be noted that the funds came from ticket sales, donations, and local sponsorships arranged by the Travelers organization, not from the PGA Tour headquarters in Ponte Vedra Beach. And yet, the Tour wraps that figure into its total and claims the credit as its own.

Could you please clarify what the PGA Tour contributes? According to its own 990 tax filings, the number is a fraction of what it claims. In 2018, for example, the Tour reported $42.7 million in direct charitable contributions—a mere 3% of its $1.47 billion revenue. Compare that with the nearly $100 million it spent on executive compensation, travel, and administrative costs, which raises questions about its priorities.

It gets worse. A 2013 investigation by ESPN revealed that the average percentage of revenue donated to charity by local tournament nonprofits was just 16%. The rest went to “event costs”—a murky category that includes player prize money, sponsor perks, and even payments back to the sponsor itself. One jaw-dropping example involved the Thunderbirds, the group that runs the Waste Management Phoenix Open, which paid over $650,000 to Waste Management—the tournament’s title sponsor—for garbage removal. In what world does charity involve paying a for-profit sponsor with donor dollars?

Furthermore, foundations and intermediaries route many of these "charitable" contributions, obscuring the ultimate recipients. While such an arrangement may be technically legal, it reeks of an operation more concerned with optics than outcomes. The PGA Tour has perfected the art of using charity as a shield—deflecting criticism, wooing sponsors, and avoiding taxes—all while giving just enough to maintain the illusion.

Let’s put it plainly: the PGA Tour is not a charitable organization. It is a billion-dollar business that uses the language of generosity to mask the machinery of greed. It does just enough to keep the IRS at bay and the public fooled, but its charitable reputation is built on a false foundation.

The next time you see a heartwarming story about a golfer delivering a check to a local hospital, ask yourself: is this charity or just another PR stunt funded by a system designed to serve itself?

 IV. Executive Excess and Player Payoffs

 If there is one area where the PGA Tour truly excels, it’s in rewarding its elite. While the Tour leans heavily on its charitable image to maintain nonprofit status, a more profound look at its executive and player payouts reveals a machine geared not toward community impact but toward concentrated enrichment of the already wealthy.

Start at the top: PGA Tour Commissioner Jay Monahan. In 2023, Monahan reportedly earned $12.7 million in total compensation—a mind-boggling sum for the head of a nonprofit. To put that in perspective, his salary exceeded that of the commissioners of both the NFL and the NBA on a per-revenue-dollar basis, despite those leagues being run as for-profit enterprises. And the trend wasn’t a one-time anomaly. Monahan’s compensation has been climbing steadily for years, all while the Tour continues to claim meager profits and post technical “losses.”

But Monahan isn’t the only one cashing in. In the last several years, multiple PGA Tour executives have received multi-million dollar pay packages, including base salaries, deferred compensation, bonuses, and various perks. In 2018, former COO Ed Moorhouse departed with a reported salary of $7.4 million. Retired Commissioner Tim Finchem received $817,000 two years after his retirement, despite no longer having any official role with the organization.

These numbers are not only outlandish—they’re inconsistent with nonprofit ethics. According to IRS regulations, compensation at tax-exempt organizations must be “reasonable” and “aligned with market norms.” Yet the PGA Tour’s compensation structure mirrors that of a hedge fund, not a charitable association. The PGA Tour operates on a pay-for-performance model, tying performance not to public benefit but to self-preservation.

And just when you think it couldn’t get more outrageous, 2024 brought a new wrinkle: player equity payouts. Under a newly created for-profit entity, PGA Tour Enterprises, the Tour announced that it would distribute approximately $930 million in equity grants to its top players. Tiger Woods was rumored to receive as much as $100 million, with Rory McIlroy, Scottie Scheffler, and others also securing eight-figure shares.

While this move was positioned as a counterattack to the Saudi-backed LIV Golf’s player poaching, it nonetheless underscores a troubling reality: the PGA Tour is willing to distribute hundreds of millions in financial rewards to multi-millionaire athletes while continuing to parade around as a nonprofit. This situation presents a stark contradiction as the PGA Tour exploits its tax-exempt status while simultaneously operating like a Wall Street corporation with investor dividends.

If the PGA Tour were truly committed to public benefit, wouldn't that $930 million have a more meaningful impact routed toward underserved communities, junior golf programs, or struggling local charities? Instead, it is lining the pockets of those who already own private jets and multi-million-dollar homes.

Such behavior is not just bad optics—it’s unethical. The top earners on the tour are heavily profiting from a system that is intended to serve the public good. It’s not charity. It’s not even sportsmanship. It’s an insiders’ club masquerading as a mission.

 V. Conflict of Interest and Luxury Spending

 The PGA Tour's polished branding and patriotic fundraising montages conceal a less glamorous reality of lavish perks, insider deals, and conflicts of interest that would embarrass even Wall Street executives. For an organization cloaked in nonprofit status, the tour’s spending habits look remarkably corporate—and alarmingly self-serving.

Let’s begin with travel and accommodations. According to the Tour’s own IRS Form 990 filings, multiple executives and staff regularly make use of first-class and chartered flights, private hotels, exclusive hospitality, and premium perks—all paid for under the Tour’s “business expense” line items. These aren’t one-offs. They are routine practices baked into the organization’s culture. The very executives who promote the Tour’s “mission-driven work” are living more like hedge fund partners than stewards of a charitable nonprofit.

Consider this: while many nonprofit leaders fly coach to save every possible dollar for their cause, PGA Tour executives enjoy the highest tier of comfort and convenience available. These luxuries are justified internally as necessary for managing a “global brand,” but the truth is they reflect a pattern of entitlement and unchecked privilege—funded by revenues shielded from federal taxation.

Even more concerning are the conflict-of-interest transactions buried deep in the organization’s public disclosures. The Tour has admitted in tax filings that it engages in business with “interested persons”—a nonprofit term for people in positions of power or their close family members. That includes deals with vendors, consultants, and service providers who have direct or familial connections to Tour executives. Although a board can legally disclose and approve these transactions, the sheer volume and vagueness of these entries raise concerns about governance, oversight, and ethical boundaries.

Who is responsible for overseeing all of this? The Tour’s board of directors—a group composed of industry insiders, sponsors, and former executives, many of whom have their own vested interests in maintaining the status quo. It's a textbook example of institutional self-protection, where oversight is more about rubber-stamping decisions than enforcing fiduciary responsibility.

Meanwhile, tens of millions of dollars flow each year into marketing, lobbying, and brand-building efforts under the guise of “advancing the sport.” In 2023, the Tour spent heavily lobbying Congress and the Department of Justice, in part to defend itself against antitrust scrutiny as it battled LIV Golf. That’s right—while masquerading as a nonprofit, the Tour is funneling money into Washington power plays to protect its commercial dominance.

Add to that the massive funds spent on “hospitality services” during tournament weeks—lavish corporate tents, VIP lounges, and elite afterparties designed to impress sponsors and pamper players. These extravagances are far removed from any charitable mission, yet they’re conveniently wrapped into the Tour’s annual operational expenses, masked by bureaucracy and jargon.

This isn’t charity. It’s a nonprofit in name only, operating like a luxury brand. The PGA Tour has become a symbol of what’s wrong with America’s nonprofit loopholes—an organization built for the few while pretending to serve the many. The question is no longer whether the Tour is corrupting its mission—it’s whether it ever had one to begin with.

 VI. The Unpaid Workforce: Exposing the PGA Tour's Exploitation of Volunteers

 The PGA Tour, a multi-billion-dollar enterprise, thrives on the dedication of thousands of volunteers who contribute their time and effort to ensure the seamless execution of its tournaments. While the tour boasts about its charitable contributions and community involvement, a closer examination reveals a troubling reliance on unpaid labor, raising questions about fairness, ethics, and the true cost savings reaped from this practice.​

The Backbone of PGA Events: Volunteer Roles and Responsibilities

Volunteers are integral to the success of PGA Tour events, undertaking a myriad of tasks that range from logistical support to direct interaction with players and spectators. Their responsibilities include:​

• Marshaling: Ensuring crowd control, maintaining order, and providing spectators with information.​
• Scoring: Recording and updating scores, a critical function for the accuracy of the tournament.​
• Transportation: Shuttling players, officials, and VIPs between venues.​
• Hospitality Services: Assisting in VIP areas, managing guest lists, and ensuring a pleasant experience for sponsors and special guests.​
• Course Maintenance: Tasks such as raking bunkers, repairing divots, and ensuring the course remains in pristine condition. GCM Online

For instance, at the 2025 PLAYERS Championship, sport management students and faculty from the University of North Florida volunteered over 3,000 hours, with more than 40 students committing to four or more shifts. ​UNF Home + 1 RBC Heritage + 1

The Financial Implications: What If Volunteers Were Compensated?

The PGA Tour's reliance on volunteers translates into substantial financial savings. To quantify this, let's consider the following:​

• Number of Volunteers: Major tournaments often enlist upwards of 2,000 volunteers. The Wells Fargo Championship at Quail Hollow, for example, utilizes approximately 2,100 volunteers across 40 committees. ​Charlotte Observer
• Hours Contributed: Assuming each volunteer works an average of 20 hours during the event week, this figure totals 42,000 volunteer hours per tournament.​
• • Fair Market Compensation: The direct labor cost per event would be $630,000 if these individuals received a modest wage of $15 per hour.

Extrapolating this amount to the PGA Tour's schedule of approximately 45 events annually, the organization saves an estimated $28 million (extremely conservative estimate) each year by utilizing unpaid volunteers. This figure does not account for additional expenses such as benefits, training, and uniforms that would accompany a paid workforce.​

The Irony of Volunteer Fees

Adding to the controversy is the practice of charging volunteers for the "privilege" of offering their unpaid services. Many tournaments require volunteers to purchase uniforms or pay registration fees, purportedly to cover costs and contribute to charitable endeavors. For example, the RBC Heritage tournament imposes a $125 volunteer registration fee, which includes official apparel and other amenities. ​RBC Heritage

This practice has sparked criticism and debate among volunteers and observers. Discussions on platforms like Reddit reveal frustration over the notion of paying to work for free at events that generate significant revenue. Similarly, forums such as GolfWRX feature volunteers questioning the fairness of these fees, especially given the substantial profits associated with PGA Tour events. ​RedditGolfWRX Forums

Volunteer Experiences: A Mixed Bag

While some volunteers express satisfaction, citing benefits like access to the event, networking opportunities, and a sense of contributing to the sport, others recount less favorable experiences. Reports highlight long hours, exposure to harsh weather conditions, and interactions with unappreciative players and officials. A 2020 article in Sports Illustrated described volunteering at PGA Tour events as "the biggest sucker deal in golf," emphasizing the challenges and lack of appreciation faced by volunteers. ​SI

Ethical Considerations and the Call for Change

The PGA Tour's dependence on unpaid labor, especially given its substantial revenue and the lucrative compensation packages of its executives, raises significant ethical questions. The organization benefits immensely from the goodwill and dedication of volunteers yet offers minimal reciprocation beyond token gifts and access.​

Critics argue that the Tour should reevaluate its labor practices, considering options such as:​

• Compensating Volunteers: Providing fair wages for the hours worked, aligning with the organization's financial capacity.​
• Eliminating Volunteer Fees: Abolishing charges that require individuals to pay for the opportunity to work without compensation.​
• Enhancing Benefits: Offering meaningful perks that reflect the value volunteers bring to the events.​

Implementing such changes would not only demonstrate genuine appreciation for volunteers but also align the PGA Tour's practices with ethical labor standards, ensuring that those who contribute to the organization's success are justly recognized and rewarded.

 Conclusion: Strip the Mask and Follow the Money

 We need to abandon the misconception that the PGA Tour is a positive influence in America. The numbers don’t lie, and neither does the pattern of behavior. The Tour is a billion-dollar business masquerading as a charity—an institution that exploits its tax-exempt status while funneling the vast majority of its wealth into the hands of executives, elite athletes, and insiders. And it does so while hiding behind a banner of false generosity, pointing to inflated charity figures that are mostly raised by third parties and local event organizers.

Indeed, golf has the potential to positively impact society. Local tournaments often do incredible work in their communities. Volunteers give time, sponsors give dollars, and real people in need benefit from those events. However, it's important to distinguish this goodwill from the PGA Tour's own role. The central organization—headquartered in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida—is not a driver of charity; it is a rebranding agency for its excess, leveraging the hard work of others to maintain a carefully curated image of righteousness and social responsibility.

Behind that image lies an operation that acts like a corporation in every meaningful way—lavish salaries, chartered flights, luxury perks, and now, multi-million-dollar equity payouts to players who already rank among the wealthiest athletes in the world. Meanwhile, the Tour’s charitable contributions account for only 2-3% of its annual revenue, and its reported “losses” appear to be mere accounting tricks.

The PGA Tour doesn’t need to behave like this. It could use its influence, reach, and wealth to become a true model of nonprofit leadership, redistributing its gains into youth programs, infrastructure in underfunded communities, medical outreach, or disaster relief. It has the potential to set the benchmark for sports philanthropy. But instead, it has chosen the path of self-enrichment—and what’s worse, it demands that the public subsidize it through tax exemptions.

Such behavior is not just unethical—it’s a betrayal of public trust. Nonprofit status is not a trophy. It's not a vulnerability to take advantage of or a PR tactic to avoid scrutiny. It is a legal and moral framework designed to serve the public good. Organizations that abuse this privilege should face accountability, not celebration.

Congress should launch a formal inquiry into the PGA Tour’s 501(c)(6) status. The IRS should review its filings with an eye toward revocation. And Americans—fans, donors, sponsors, and players—should demand a higher standard from a league that claims to give back but gives mostly to itself.

The Tour has had decades to reform on its own. It hasn’t. The curtain has been pulled back, and what we see isn’t charity—it’s corporate greed dressed in a golf shirt. The PGA Tour doesn’t need applause. It needs an audit.

At the end of the day, this isn't about golf. It’s about truth, fairness, and accountability. And it’s time we stop pretending otherwise.

 About the Author

This article was written by Bill Conley, a seasoned writer, business executive, and life coach who isn’t afraid to shine a light on hypocrisy, expose corruption, or challenge powerful institutions. Bill is the author of ten thought-provoking books, and he regularly publishes political, children’s stories, lifestyle, and Christian-themed articles on his blog, bcunleashed.blogspot.com.

If you’d like to connect, collaborate, or republish this article, you can reach Bill directly at:

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