Late afternoon beer spilling, chain smoking, worn muscles, ready smiles and hardy laughs were at that picnic table by the pond. These are the men I love.... who love me. The warm sun on my face wasn’t half as pleasurable as my worn out heart feeling as though it were being held tenderly by them. My family. Crazy old stories spiced up with moments of profanity when ‘brainless voters’ or ‘overly zealous cops’ wandered in to sit at the table for a spell. David was once an EMT here while my father was the kind of police officer that this island -and country- needs again. They have been best friends for over 30 years. They remember what this island is all about..... so do I. David was born at the elementary school when it was his family farm and my dad learned to sail blindfolded in these northwest waters... my grandpa teaching him to feel the wind. They have a million stories, many of which I’ve heard repeated until my burning red eyes couldn’t take another minute of smoke. It’s funny to think how, in my more radical years, I would go home and change out of my clothes because I detested their smoke as much as my dad crinkled his nose at my Patchouli. “It smells like mold.” Was his standard comment. I often heard that and “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.” This was his answer when I insisted, from inside my 1971 Volkswagon pop-top camper, donning my indian print wrap-around skirts and knee length hair, that I was NOT a hippie! This could send me into a “Why do we have to label and categorize each other” 2 hour tirade. Freedom is on every level.
So many years have gone by...... so many passionate debates....... so much water has rippled under the bridge. Who would have thought a green livin', liberal minded semi-feminist vegetarian would clash with a Republican, nudy calendar lovin', gun toting carnivore? Humor is our families survival mechanism so he makes a sport of poking fun at me. He has resigned to having a wayward daughter...... and though he’ll never figure out where he went wrong.... he manages to have fun with it. He has a sign up in his kitchen just for me....... “Vegetables aren’t food, vegetables are what food eats!” His truck once proudly sported a bumper sticker that read, “Earth First” in bold print. First seeing it from far away made my heart skip a beat with excitement, but as I drew closer I could read, “We’ll screw up the rest of the planets later.” My first high school activism was supported by PETA: People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. One of my dad’s favorite shirts was “PETA: People Eat Tasty Animals” and “Vegetarian: Indian name for bad hunter.” Whenever we would both spiral out of control with our self important views, David would reel us back in with gentle reminders of the love we share. David has always been our glue. Drafted and trusting, he was forced to shoot in Vietnam but should be known as the kind of man who will take his shirt off for someone in need..... literally..... and he has.
Maybe they are why I can’t take myself or any issues to seriously. My views run deep but life is a crazy trip that runs us ragged. We don’t know everything, we never will.... there is no right way to live.......... only a right way to love.
To many people who protest against wars and virulently for peace forget that the majority of men/women who join the military, whether drafted or voluntarily, have the same deep level of good intentions that the protesters have. We are both warriors, in our own right, for something better. Warriors for goodness, safe living and liberty. Don’t let the media drama fool you. We are mostly GOoD people, ALL of us, and together we are stronger than any wrongs! Divided we are vulnerable.
My dad and god-dad are warriors and I am a peacenik, but there aren’t two men in this world who I love more. “Honor thy warrior, not thy war.” Peaceful Memorial Day Dad! I’m sorry.
Remember to hug a veteran and feel the magic....
By,
Angela Light
Following this blog are two military stories from back in the day when a section eight meant a man didn’t have to fight in a war he didn’t believe in or be locked in jail like a criminal.
David’s personal story:
One basic training day, just before an inspection, a guy in my company took extra care to bleach the hell out of one of the toilets. Afterwards he took a big old glop of peanut butter and smeared it on the inside of the toilet bowl. When the gigantic Sargent, who was “Dumb as a box of rocks” according to David, discovered the ‘filthy’ mess in the bathroom his gruff disapproval showed on his hard face. It was that moment the drafted soldier decided to go suddenly bonkers. The soldiers’ eyes bugged out and crossed while his disjointed motion led him to the toilet. Once there, he reached down filling his right hand with the light brown goo and smeared it into his open mouth with bizarre mutterings. The sergeant turned himself around marched out the door of the barrack and preceded to puke his brains out. Of course none us knew what was going on until afterwards. We never saw that guy again and we never heard what happened to him...
Dad’s story that had been going around at the time:
There was this soldier in basic training and everywhere he went he was looking down and around. He would be in the mess hall, in formation, marching or even in the shower....... forever appearing to be on a serious scavenger hunt. He definitely had everyone convinced that he was a major nut case. Then one day his face brightened, he straightened his stance proud and with a firm grasp displaying his section eight orders, announced, “This is what I was looking for!”
For you old islanders to get a chuckle out of.......
David left - Jim right
Neslund meats! ROTFL!
Winking at a certain younger Veteran and cherishing the loving moments we have been able to share. You have helped me heal my relationship with my dad. You are an incredible man and will always have a place in my heart.
