AMERICA
ONE NATION UNDER GOD!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I'm no hero...
I never wanted to be a hero. I did want to be a tough-guy. But after I had matured and experienced enough of the real world, I found out that the man who worked 50+ hours a week to feed and clothe his wife and children, were the true tough guys. All I had really been was mean. Not tough.
Three quick details of my past...
Summer of my junior year in High school, at the beach. A friend challenges me to swim out past the end of a 200 yard fishing pier. I was a strong, experienced ocean swimmer. I lived within a stones throw of the ocean all my life. So I took up the challenge, and we dashed into the surf and once past the breakers, we began to sprint to the end of the pier. The pier was full of fishermen. They didn't look happy to have us there, scaring away the next big catch. One of them began shouting and pointing at us. We strained to hear what profanity he may have been directing at us. When the crystal clear words "Look behind you." came through. Fully expecting to either see nothing, a bluff, or a dorsal fin knifing through the surface, I turned. Much to my astonishment, I saw a young girl dog-paddling. I asked if she was okay. She said "Yes." Then for some reason I asked if she needed help getting back to shore, and she said "Yes." I had her grab around my neck and we swam back into the surf with the girl in tow. I moved her in front of me and carried her through the breakers, Ducking under the boomers to avoid being toppled and loosing the child. Once we reached knee deep surf I put her down and her parents came running to meet us at the water-line. The reunited family said thanks, And Larry C. and I walked off to join a dry sand, tackle football game already in action.
Fast-forward 20 years.
Sitting on my front porch watching the afternoon go bye. A young boy from the neighborhood is walking down the opposite side walk. Moving from my right to left. A man driving a car in the opposite direction, stopped and motioned the boy to approach him. Always expecting the worst of people, and rarely being wrong, I rose from my seat and walked to the car. The man was telling the boy to come closer, and did not see me until I said "Hey kid! Stay where you are." The boy froze and the man tried to interrupt. But I ordered him in a very threatening tone to "Shut up." And then I asked the boy if he knew the man in the car? The man and the boy were both frightened. The boy said "He's my Dad."
I tipped my hat walked back to my porch and resumed my former position. Feet up, beer in hand. Like I said, I'm no hero. I just do what I would like others to do for my family.
The third episode took place while on liberty in Everette, Washington. A national politician, on some military money committee called Everette home at that time. So we were on orders of BEST BEHAVIOR, OR ELSE...
So following the rules of survival, I left in a group of five. Big men each and all. Rick S., Rich J., Ruben R., Mick L. and myself. I had learned long before this night that drunks can't defend themselves. So as a self defense mechanism, all my drinking was done in moderation. We were walking down the street when the night air was broken by screams for help. It was very surreal. But I turned on my heels and began running up the street in the direction of the sound, with four other patriots at my side. After a short distance, we encountered a woman being forced into a car by two men. Everybody had heard the then recent story of the woman in New York who had been brutally murdered and raped while screaming for help. All the while local residents ignored the pleas for 30 minutes, and no one even called the police. Ya gotta love Yankees. That was New York. This was Washington. We must have been a very imposing sight. The men froze and lowered the woman to the sidewalk. Rick S. began asking questions and I watched for a weapon. The woman was trying to explain that these people were taking her somewhere she did not want to go. But the older, yet smaller man kept interrupting. I warned him "Shut up. Or the next thing you're going to see is the ground rushing up at your head!" That's when the younger guy, but bigger guy said "Come on mom. This is getting serious." The woman was obviously inebriated and apparently very much looking forward to seeing her husband take a serious whoopin. She finally fessed up, and we went on our way. We were not about to apologize for our actions. As we were about to turn the corner, one of the male voices, shouted "thank you." We never knew or cared if they were thanking us for a rescue attempt, or for not beating them up!
As I stated before, I'm no hero. But there is a hero in my story. It's not a band of fellow warriors. Or a Bunch of leather clad bikers. Not Conan, or Superman, or Captain America or even The Batman. No, My wife is my hero. The Bible calls women, the weaker vessel. I believe this is a poor translation. Rather than weaker, I think more delicate would be more appropriate. A fine Crystal glass as opposed to a clay mug. My wife is more delicate. But she is not weaker. She is the strongest, most courageous, biggest hearted person I have ever known. Male or female. She single-handedly raised our children while the Navy kept me away. She managed the entire household and finances in my absences. And unselfishly turned over the helm when I returned. She keeps an immaculate house. And when I fell ill to cancer, she put her life on hold to take care of me. Her work, strength and determination are the drving force that keeps us going as a family. If not for her, there would be no story. It has been three years and counting and I'm still her first priority. Even her own medical emergencies take a backseat in her mind. Yes there is a hero in my story. But it is not me.
Three quick details of my past...
Summer of my junior year in High school, at the beach. A friend challenges me to swim out past the end of a 200 yard fishing pier. I was a strong, experienced ocean swimmer. I lived within a stones throw of the ocean all my life. So I took up the challenge, and we dashed into the surf and once past the breakers, we began to sprint to the end of the pier. The pier was full of fishermen. They didn't look happy to have us there, scaring away the next big catch. One of them began shouting and pointing at us. We strained to hear what profanity he may have been directing at us. When the crystal clear words "Look behind you." came through. Fully expecting to either see nothing, a bluff, or a dorsal fin knifing through the surface, I turned. Much to my astonishment, I saw a young girl dog-paddling. I asked if she was okay. She said "Yes." Then for some reason I asked if she needed help getting back to shore, and she said "Yes." I had her grab around my neck and we swam back into the surf with the girl in tow. I moved her in front of me and carried her through the breakers, Ducking under the boomers to avoid being toppled and loosing the child. Once we reached knee deep surf I put her down and her parents came running to meet us at the water-line. The reunited family said thanks, And Larry C. and I walked off to join a dry sand, tackle football game already in action.
Fast-forward 20 years.
Sitting on my front porch watching the afternoon go bye. A young boy from the neighborhood is walking down the opposite side walk. Moving from my right to left. A man driving a car in the opposite direction, stopped and motioned the boy to approach him. Always expecting the worst of people, and rarely being wrong, I rose from my seat and walked to the car. The man was telling the boy to come closer, and did not see me until I said "Hey kid! Stay where you are." The boy froze and the man tried to interrupt. But I ordered him in a very threatening tone to "Shut up." And then I asked the boy if he knew the man in the car? The man and the boy were both frightened. The boy said "He's my Dad."
I tipped my hat walked back to my porch and resumed my former position. Feet up, beer in hand. Like I said, I'm no hero. I just do what I would like others to do for my family.
The third episode took place while on liberty in Everette, Washington. A national politician, on some military money committee called Everette home at that time. So we were on orders of BEST BEHAVIOR, OR ELSE...
So following the rules of survival, I left in a group of five. Big men each and all. Rick S., Rich J., Ruben R., Mick L. and myself. I had learned long before this night that drunks can't defend themselves. So as a self defense mechanism, all my drinking was done in moderation. We were walking down the street when the night air was broken by screams for help. It was very surreal. But I turned on my heels and began running up the street in the direction of the sound, with four other patriots at my side. After a short distance, we encountered a woman being forced into a car by two men. Everybody had heard the then recent story of the woman in New York who had been brutally murdered and raped while screaming for help. All the while local residents ignored the pleas for 30 minutes, and no one even called the police. Ya gotta love Yankees. That was New York. This was Washington. We must have been a very imposing sight. The men froze and lowered the woman to the sidewalk. Rick S. began asking questions and I watched for a weapon. The woman was trying to explain that these people were taking her somewhere she did not want to go. But the older, yet smaller man kept interrupting. I warned him "Shut up. Or the next thing you're going to see is the ground rushing up at your head!" That's when the younger guy, but bigger guy said "Come on mom. This is getting serious." The woman was obviously inebriated and apparently very much looking forward to seeing her husband take a serious whoopin. She finally fessed up, and we went on our way. We were not about to apologize for our actions. As we were about to turn the corner, one of the male voices, shouted "thank you." We never knew or cared if they were thanking us for a rescue attempt, or for not beating them up!
As I stated before, I'm no hero. But there is a hero in my story. It's not a band of fellow warriors. Or a Bunch of leather clad bikers. Not Conan, or Superman, or Captain America or even The Batman. No, My wife is my hero. The Bible calls women, the weaker vessel. I believe this is a poor translation. Rather than weaker, I think more delicate would be more appropriate. A fine Crystal glass as opposed to a clay mug. My wife is more delicate. But she is not weaker. She is the strongest, most courageous, biggest hearted person I have ever known. Male or female. She single-handedly raised our children while the Navy kept me away. She managed the entire household and finances in my absences. And unselfishly turned over the helm when I returned. She keeps an immaculate house. And when I fell ill to cancer, she put her life on hold to take care of me. Her work, strength and determination are the drving force that keeps us going as a family. If not for her, there would be no story. It has been three years and counting and I'm still her first priority. Even her own medical emergencies take a backseat in her mind. Yes there is a hero in my story. But it is not me.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
All you need is LOVE...
Greater love hath no man...
If this video doesn't touch your heart...
Nothing else on this page will.
Warning; Extremely graphic. Not for the faint of heart...
If this video doesn't touch your heart...
Nothing else on this page will.
Warning; Extremely graphic. Not for the faint of heart...
The latest Battle,
The latest battle and hopefully the last. Is drug addiction. I have been fortunate in my experiences, to only become addicted to two chemicals in my life. The first was caffeine, and the second was nicotine. I quite the latter after I saw how it mercilessly ravaged my mother. The former held the possibility of causing more pain than the pleasure it offered was worth. So, I quit that one also.
But a more sinister monster lurked on my event-horizon. For the last three years I have been taking hallucinogenic levels of morphine, and eight 500mg tabs of vicodin daily.
I was not a drug experimenter in my rebellious youth. I was more into whole scale research. I warn those who are new to this story, Start at the bottom of my blog before you continue with this particular post...
I stand as living proof of God's grace and unconditional love and forgiveness. I was a rebel without a pause. Smart mouthed, ear pierced, dare-devil, swaggering brawler, trouble maker, carouser, hedonistic, intellectual, rule-breaker, opinionated. They were all applicable to me. And those were my good traits. When I think of all the things I have survived in my life, and there have been many, I used to credit myself as being smart enough to know when to fight harder or run away. But now, I realize that neither myself nor luck had anything to do with it. I don't do luck. The toss of the coin, or the roll of the dice, are determined by probability. Not chance. An Akum's Razor approach and simple logic details make chance or luck an impossibility.
God provided my protection is the simplest explanation, and it's the only explanation that makes sense logically.
So now I am involved in a new battle. A battle that I cannot win on my own. 4 weeks ago, I stopped taking vicodin. No cravings, no physical reactions. Nada. And today marks three days with no morphine. Some people ride the dragon once, and spend the rest of their lives train spotting. I have been taking prescription morphine and vicodin, 2 of the most recognized addictive substances known to medicine, and blammo! Color me clean...
I did not, could not, do this on my own. I sent out a prayer request to my biker pals, friends and loved ones. And then I asked God, the everlasting Creator of the universe to help me. And today, for the first time in forever, I am clean and sober.
Hopefully you can learn from my experience and not need to travel my road. Your results may vary.
But a more sinister monster lurked on my event-horizon. For the last three years I have been taking hallucinogenic levels of morphine, and eight 500mg tabs of vicodin daily.
I was not a drug experimenter in my rebellious youth. I was more into whole scale research. I warn those who are new to this story, Start at the bottom of my blog before you continue with this particular post...
I stand as living proof of God's grace and unconditional love and forgiveness. I was a rebel without a pause. Smart mouthed, ear pierced, dare-devil, swaggering brawler, trouble maker, carouser, hedonistic, intellectual, rule-breaker, opinionated. They were all applicable to me. And those were my good traits. When I think of all the things I have survived in my life, and there have been many, I used to credit myself as being smart enough to know when to fight harder or run away. But now, I realize that neither myself nor luck had anything to do with it. I don't do luck. The toss of the coin, or the roll of the dice, are determined by probability. Not chance. An Akum's Razor approach and simple logic details make chance or luck an impossibility.
God provided my protection is the simplest explanation, and it's the only explanation that makes sense logically.
So now I am involved in a new battle. A battle that I cannot win on my own. 4 weeks ago, I stopped taking vicodin. No cravings, no physical reactions. Nada. And today marks three days with no morphine. Some people ride the dragon once, and spend the rest of their lives train spotting. I have been taking prescription morphine and vicodin, 2 of the most recognized addictive substances known to medicine, and blammo! Color me clean...
I did not, could not, do this on my own. I sent out a prayer request to my biker pals, friends and loved ones. And then I asked God, the everlasting Creator of the universe to help me. And today, for the first time in forever, I am clean and sober.
Hopefully you can learn from my experience and not need to travel my road. Your results may vary.
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