Friday, June 30, 2006

American Fighting Man

american soldier

american soldier - not sure of author
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime. He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Some Cute-Ass TOES!



you know you're just jealous :)

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

This says it ALL

Friday, June 16, 2006

Montreal and Father's Day Weekend.

My favourite cousin is coming down tonight for the weekend with his girlfriend, her sister and their cousin. So I'm sure I'll have plenty of blogging to do on Monday.

Take care all, and for you Dad's out there- HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Dirt Roads

What's mainly wrong with society today is that too many Dirt Roads have been paved. There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character. People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride. That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog. We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along. There was less crime in our streets before they were paved. Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun. And there were no drive by shootings. Our values were better when our roads were worse! People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks. Dirt Roads taught patience. Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly; you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk. For your mail, you walked to the mailbox. What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody. At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap. Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole. At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini. At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out. Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!

Twinkies with God.

There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived so he packed his suitcase with twinkies and a six pack of root beer and started his journey. When he had gone about three blocks he met an old man.
He was just sitting on the park bench watching some pigeons. The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink of his root beer when he noticed the old man looked hungry so he offered him a twinkie.
The old man gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. His smile was so incredible he wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer. Once again he smiled at him!
The boy was absolutely delighted. So they sat there all afternoon smiling and eating and drinking, but they never said a word. As it grew dark the boy realized how tired he was and got up to leave, but before he had gotten a few steps: he turned back around, and gave the old man a hug. The old man gave him the biggest smile ever.
When the boy returned home his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face! "What did you do this afternoon that has made you so happy?" she asked him.
The boy replied, "I had lunch with God!"
But before his mother could reply, he added "and you know what? He’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen".
Meanwhile the old man also radiant with joy returned to his own home, his son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and asked "Father what did you do today that made you so happy?" He replied, "I ate twinkies in the park with God."

Saturday, June 03, 2006

The Pool is Officallly Open!

To all of you lovely folks who like to swim- the time has arrived!!

I won't even make it mandatory to play a game of poker to swim! I promise!
So come one, come all- Dad loves it when the pool's full.

My summer has finally begun.

ps. sorry for the long delay in blogging, the computer was acting up and I finally broke down and had the operating system replaced...long story short is that the daily blogs will start again!!
Play catch with me!
*psst* you can FEED me!