A message left on the front window of a Dairy Queen restaurant in Kewaskum, Wisconsin, garnered attention and is currently making waves on the internet. The billboard prominently displays the restaurant’s political incorrectness and calls attention to the fact that it often employs holiday greetings like “Merry Christmas,” “Happy Easter,” and “God Bless America.” Additionally, it shows support for the
They receive complimentary sundaes, the US flag, and expressions of gratitude for their military service on Veterans Day.
In defense of the placard, restaurant owner Kevin Scheunemann stated that it was put up nearly four years ago to be transparent about his and the staff’s dedication to serving God and the nation. According to Scheunemann, he put up the sign in response to a customer’s grievance against Christian music being played in the restaurant. Since then, the sign hasn’t caused any further issues.
The sign has gained more attention recently when an Oregonian tourist posted a picture of it on Facebook and expressed concerns about the message’s alleged exclusivity. The original post attracted a lot of attention before it was taken down.
While some people support the message on the sign, others have taken offense at the person who shared the image and voiced their opinions. However, Scheunemann’s choice to put the sign is supported by local business owners, who say that customers are free to leave the restaurant if they disagree with its principles.
The people living in the little village of Kewaskum seem to read the sign as the owner’s statement of beliefs and take it at face value. According to Dairy Queen’s official statement, Scheunemann’s approach is not endorsed by the company, and the sign only conveys the proprietor’s beliefs. The company stated that all franchisees and staff members are required to treat customers with respect and decency, regardless of their religious beliefs.
My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased
The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
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