A quick scan on social media could raise concerns about the future of the human race.

I scroll through Facebook newsfeeds and see plenty of concern for celebrities. (Was rapper Nicki Minaj's attack on Miley Cyrus during the VMA Awards staged, or was it real? "Rest in peace, Judy Carne, Laugh-In's 'Sock it to Me' Girl." "Martin Milner, star of 'Adam-12,' 'Route 66,' Dies at 83.")

Mixed with Hollywood news are other Facebook fixtures: memes to prove how intelligent, sexy or spiritual you are; cute cat, dog and kid videos; and the expected photos of Labor Day celebrations and time with loved ones.

All those things have their place — OK, everything except for the Cyrus and Minaj item; both are poor role models for girls and do precious little to enrich our culture; both just need to go away. There's today's soapbox! — but it's troubling when there's less national and world news shared among Facebook fans and Twitter users.

MORE CLICKS FOR A LION

I'm grateful that people will tweet me at 10 p.m. Sunday to ask why so many police cars' sirens light up the Super 8 Motel in Crestview; there's an appetite and hunger for news in this city that I hadn't seen in past areas I've worked in. It's awesome that people care so much about their community.

But big things are happening outside of Northwest Florida, too.

For instance, 4 million Syrians are trying to escape certain death by leaving their homes and placing their hopes in reaching Europe.

The social media chatter is nowhere near the levels it was a month ago, when seemingly everybody condemned Cecil the lion's death. He was a major attraction at Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe before a recreational big-game hunter fatally wounded him with an arrow.

That was one lion; these are 4 million human beings, many of whom have died in their pursuit for a peaceful existence.

FEARS OF TERRORISTS

Images of suffering refugees, including a drowned toddler in Turkey, have surfaced, but these apparently haven't reached the larger public's consciousness.

Pope Francis is asking that all European parishes, "every religious community, every monastery, every sanctuary of Europe, take in one family," according to Vatican Radio.

That would certainly help.

Meanwhile, in the United States, a Newsweek headline states, "Why Is the U.S. Not Doing More to Help Syrian Refugees?"

The answer is probably obvious: Some people, including the White House, reportedly fear that helping these people would open a pipeline to the Islamic State (ISIS) or al Qaeda.

There has been some assistance, but a thorough vetting process allows only so many refugees into the land of the free.

"Since the start of the Syrian war in 2011, Washington has accepted 1,500 Syrian refugees, most of them this year, and the State Department expects 300 more by October," the magazine reports.

THE PETTINESS OF IT ALL

I think of those photos of refugees — desperate; dirty; clinging to their families; swimming because their lives truly depend on it; and those who drowned hoping for a better life, but instead meeting the end of theirs.

And then I think of uproar over that lion.

The outrage over Kim Davis, the Kentucky clerk who refused to issue same-sex marriage licenses, the one whom people relentlessly mocked on social media, superimposing Dick Cheney's face on her image; criticizing her fashion sense; or her multiple marriages, just because she dared to stand up for her faith. Something a number of gay people, including singer Madonna's brother, Christopher Ciccone, defended. 

I think of comparisons between how the media reacted to Tim Tebow, for so publicly expressing his faith, and how they cheered Caitlyn Jenner for transitioning from a man to a woman.

And I think of all that celebrity news I mentioned earlier.

Not to mention my own pettiness, just Monday, as I discussed possible plans with loved ones. I grumbled — far too much — about the dated light fixtures and appliances, and the lack of a privacy fence, plants or trees near a house I may purchase.

Perhaps I learned too much from home buyers on HGTV programs. If you watch any of those shows, you know people always talk about what they "need," when what they really mean is "want."

And if you're really paying attention to the news, all of it seems so ridiculous.

None of that other stuff matters. (Think about it; it really doesn't.)

But black lives matter, all lives matter, and 4 million Syrians fleeing from death — who, but for the grace of God, could have been you or me — matter. 

I hope you will think about that when you read this.

HOW YOU CAN HELP

If you want to do more than send a prayer or hopeful thoughts for the refugees, here are three ways:

●Support the International Rescue Committee's efforts. A $35, $50, $100, $250, $500, $1,000 or higher donation will help the IRC assist refugees in Europe and those arriving in Greece. Learn more at http://engage.rescue.org

●Donate to Doctors without Borders. Gifts of $50, $100, $500, $1,000 or higher will help fund emergency medical aid. See http://donate.doctorswithoutborders.org to make a one-time or monthly gift.

●Send a gift to UNICEF. Your donation of $50, $75, $150, $500, $1,000 or higher will help supply food, water, education, clothing and immunizations for Syrian children. See http://www.unicefusa.org for more information.

You all know I try to write about local issues, but sometimes, no local issue is more important than what's happening in neighboring countries.

Please think of these refugees.

What's your view? Write a letter to the editor or tweet News Bulletin Editor Thomas Boni.

This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: BONI: But for the grace of God — Syrian refugees could have been you or me

As an old Gulf Breeze Dolphin it’s understandable that I would have a history with many of Baker School or Crestview High School’s opponents.

Milton, Pace, Jay, Niceville, Walton all get checked off as teams my Gulf Breeze teams played while I was in high school. You could also put a check next to Crestview and Baker as teams I was a member competed against both schools in track and Crestview in football as well.

I might even take half credit for having competed against Northview as the school merged the old Century High School and Ernest Ward High School. My senior year we beat Ernest Ward 48-0 for our home coming game.

I’m also familiar with one other team on the Crestview football team’s schedule that might surprise some people. That team is St. Martin from Miss., the opponent of the Bulldogs this week.

My memories of St. Martin go back to the eighth week of the 1974 Gulf Breeze football season when the Dolphins had the first winning football team in the school’s then five-year history.

As a third-teamer I didn’t see much action. In fact the only varsity action I saw that year was against the St. Martin Yellow Jackets.

It was late in the fourth quarter and the coaches felt we had a big enough lead where I really couldn’t screw things up too badly. Checking an old year book we only won 32-21, but it was my first opportunity to get in a real game.

I was sent into the game to play right defensive tackle, a position I practiced at every day. But practice and one’s first game are nothing alike.

When I got to the huddle the defensive captain called our basic “52” defense. In layman’s terms that means were going with five defensive linemen and two linebackers.

That first play I was so excited to be in the game I forgot where I was supposed to line up. Chuck Taylor, one of our linebackers, reminded me and a second or two later the ball was snapped and the play went off without a hitch.

Things seemed to be going well the second play. I knew where I was supposed to be and I was ready for the snap.

St. Martin ran a screen pass on the play and as I rushed the passer and the tackle released me to go downfield, he stepped on the heal of my shoe. I kept running towards the quarterback with my shoe half on and half off until the unthinkable happened.

Evidently I was pressuring the quarterback a little too much because the Yellow Jacket fullback came up to block me. In the process of making the block he steppe don the toe of my shoe that was coming off and completed the task.

The quarterback dumped the screen pass into the flat and for a second I picked up the shoe and started to follow the play downfield before deciding to drop it where I was. I pursued the play, which went 30 or 40 yards, in one shoe.

At the end of the play there was my size 12 sitting in the middle of the field with everyone in the stands wondering who belonged to the shoe. Believe me, going downfield to get your lost shoe is one of the most embarrassing thing that can happen to a player in his first game.

For several years after that some people would call me “No Shoes Dickson.” Forty-one years later I can laugh about my first varsity football game against the Yellow Jackets.

This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: DICKSON: A Friday I won't forget

I love football. I especially love high school and college football.

I’m in football heaven this weekend, with the high school football season now in full swing, and college football getting started.

I awoke this morning with stanzas of “Rocky Top” dancing in my head as I prepared to watch my Tennessee Volunteers take on Bowling Green at 3 p.m. Saturday.

I’m proud to be a University of Tennessee alumnus. Yes, I’m a Tennessee Volunteer with roots that run deep in the Volunteer State.

The origins of Tennessee’s state nickname run deep in our country’s military history. Thousands of brave Tennesseans answered the call to serve the country during the War of 1812 and the Mexican War during 1840s, earning Tennessee the nickname of the Volunteer State.

Too often, we forget who the real volunteers are. We try not to think about sending our young men and women into parts of the world that see us as the enemy.

Instead, we prefer to talk about Crestview doing battle with Mosley or the Baker Gators having a war on their hands when they host a tough Blountstown team this week.

They are high school boys playing a game, but that game does prepare many young people for real battles and wars fought on the other side of the world in combat zones with complicated names.

We are surrounded by the military’s presence here. And I’d dare say all of  us know several people who are active duty. We go to church, coach youth baseball or go fishing with them.

But unless we have a relative or close friend serving, we tend to forget about the sacrifices they are willing to make.

I never met Staff Sgt. Forrest B. Sibley, but almost 50 years ago his grandmother was my Cub Scout leader. His father was a few years ahead of me at Gulf Breeze High and he had an uncle a couple of years ahead of me and another that was two years behind me. When I learned of the Aug. 26 deaths of Sibley and Capt. Matthew D. Roland, the war “way over there” suddenly got a little closer to home.

Not too many years ago, these men, who will forever be known as national heroes who paid the ultimate price, were growing traits that would allow them to give their all for our freedom.

Friday night, when the boys “go to war” on the football field, they’ll return home safe and sound. Their worst fear is that of a season-ending injury. The mothers and fathers of our football players will know their sons are safe.

In the days and weeks ahead, I’ll be praying for the families of Staff Sgt. Sibley and Capt. Roland.

I’ll also be praying that by God’s grace, this war — which has lasted way too long — will soon end.

This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: DICKSON: Remembering the real warriors

Ten years ago today, I woke up in Crestview, not realizing the community I had come to love during periodic visits with an old college friend would become home.

I was a Hurricane Katrina refugee.

Two days before, I was an evacuee at the house of a friend's dad in St. Francisville, Louisiana, a historic English community upriver from Baton Rouge.

On his battery-powered TV, as the Corps of Engineers’ flood walls toppled, I saw boats launching from the Interstate 10 exit ramp a mile from my house.

Uh oh.

Katrina was supposed to be another three-day vacation, like Hurricane Ivan the year before. But it got serious.

Since roads into New Orleans were blockaded, and I couldn’t get to my Metairie house — less than two blocks from the now-famous 17^th Street Canal — I accepted my college buddy’s invitation and headed to Florida.

On the night of Thursday, Sept. 4, 2005, I arrived, exhausted, in Crestview.

The next morning, I stood in Publix, an unfamiliar grocery store, and was dumbfounded when not one, but two workers asked if I needed help.

It was that “customer service” thing we heard rumors of but never experienced in New Orleans! It was just the first of 10 years’ worth of kindnesses I’ve had since I blew over here.

A BOOT FROM GOD

Sometimes, it takes God giving you a hefty boot in the rear to get your attention. A once-in-400-years hurricane is a little extreme, but was effective.

I was a cruise line's marketing manager when its Buffalo, New York-based parent company fired all 120 of its New Orleans staff in the wake of the storm. Many of my colleagues, rendered homeless by Katrina, were now jobless, but it liberated me for periodic visits home to New Jersey to see my dad, whose health was declining.

God kept steady freelance writing and design gigs coming my way; then, after he called Dad home in April 2007, he dropped this job in my lap.

God has a funny way of doing things. We sometimes shake our head in wonderment — if not bemusement — at what he does, but hopefully we learn our lessons, too.

Crestview was where he wanted me to be. So here I am, writing for a small-town newspaper, a job I’ve wanted since I was a kid, attending a loving little church and surrounded by friends, my new family and two amusing, decorative but not-very-smart cats.

And all it took was an unladylike lady named Katrina to get me here.

Thank you for welcoming me.

PS: In case you wondered, I lived on the “good” side of the 17^th Street Canal, where the floodwall held. My house survived, unscathed, but came less than a quarter-inch from flooding.

This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: HUGHES: Storm of the century also was my nudge from God (PHOTOS)