Thursday, May 26, 2016

Memorial Day Thoughts of my Dad

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Christopher graduating from Kindergarten. Class of 2028.

May 26, 2016


My dad served in Vietnam. He didn’t volunteer to go. He was drafted when he was just a kid. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to be an 18 + year old kid and hearing the rumblings from the news of a war brewing and told that you may be forced to go?

How scared must my dad have been? After all these years can you believe I never even asked him if he was. That’s pretty damn selfish of me.  When you’re sent to war against our will, given a gun, and told to kill what does that do to a man? All those kids who were sent off to a war and a land they more than likely never heard of, to fight a person they never would have met in their lifetime, must have been a nightmare. Being a father now I would be petrified for my children to be carted off overseas into battle without them actually volunteering to go.

When I was 18 I was told that I had to register for the Selective Service. I didn’t quite grasp what that meant. Basically it was a registration card that all men filled out and mailed to the federal government on their eighteenth birthday. That post card was your tickets to be drafted if the need to fight for our country was greater you’re your need to live a happily ever after life.

When America was involved in War World II, men and women from all over the country, stepped up and volunteered to fight overseas or take up jobs in America to support the war. It was in our, and the worlds, best interest to get involved. America was dragged in after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

My dad won the lottery he didn’t want. His social security number was selected out of a lottery system the government came up with in order to choose the ones going to battle. He left his 18-year-old wife and one-year-old son behind and was shipped off by the Army where he was sent to Missouri to complete basic training before heading to war. Damn that must have been a whirlwind for him. 

Intense government indoctrination began to make my dad into a warrior who would gladly sacrifice his life for the greater good of God and country. A warrior? My father was stick skinny, blonde hair; blue eyed 6 foot, kid.  He was entrusted to carry the basic M-162A rifle or just called the M16 into battle. Up to that point the only thing my dad carried in his hands was a paint brush that he used to paint houses. Before that he used his hands to push a broom and bag groceries at a local market.

When my dad was done and ready to go to war. He may have fit the Army’s mold of a warrior but underneath he was still a dumb kid who at 21 had no idea how the world worked. Most people travel on their own to self-discovery and culture shock. My dad was carted off like a herd of cattle where the only self-discovery he was going to search for within himself was did he have what it takes to survive.

Imagine:

In the driving rain a war rages on despite sheltering yourself from the wicked weather. Gunfire and explosions over take mother natures lighting and thunder. Despite being afraid you begin moving with the pack of men, because the fear of being alone out weighs the fear of death. You begin searching for an enemy behind the lines of a gigantic green jungle. The tree top brush was so thick not even the suns rays could penetrate the green canvas that overlays the land so it is unable to light up the open areas beneath the leaves and branches. You step inside the blankets of shrubs and brush only to encounter a person who wants to kill you. Gunfire erupts and like a fast pitch baseball, the bullets wiz by your ears. You hunker down because you are scared shitless. Unable to determine where your enemy is you just shoot down range hoping your bullets strike whatever is in front of you before they kill you with their bullets. After an intense battle there is an aftermath of smoke and haze. The scream of the wounded is now replacing the sounds of gunfire. There is only death and destruction instead of rain and wind. Some how you survived but many of the people with you did not. Now, the time comes to treat the wounded and bag up the dead. Clean the battlefield, regroup and head out again. Are you the next to die?


In America we celebrate Memorial Day. America honors our soldiers that died fighting wars. It is a day that I salute the men and women in uniform who have volunteered to enlist in the armed forces to represent their country, America. I thank you all for the sacrifice. I thank my dad, who is still alive. Today I honor Memorial Day.


Captain Imperfecto at work.



© copyright 2016 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved.








Monday, May 23, 2016

Return the Love

You are here: Home » Return the Love, part I


Nico (left) and his brother, Christopher, enjoying a lazy sunday morning 
05/22

May 24, 2016

*This blog is not a reflection on anyone that I know, including not a reflection of myself or my current situation. It was just a thought I had after talking with a few people regarding their own situations. It was 1400 words so I broke it into 2 parts. This is part I" - cf
Part I

Why does it seem that most people I have been encountering do not want to be happy? Is this by design? Maybe it’s in their DNA to be miserable or mean to people? Come on guys and gals let us try, and at least be civil towards one and other. Return the love.

These people have no reason to be intolerable. We are not in a purgatory digging a ditch. The angry people seem nice when I meet and greet them at restaurants, or in line at a store, or when I’m stopped behind their car while waiting at a red light while I observe them yelling into their phone from the rear car window of the Mercedes. Yikes! I would hate to be the one at the end of that line!

I’m no mind reader but by his or her actions I can only surmise that they are going through the motions of life instead of seeing, hearing, tasting, or embracing, what life has offered them. Things can’t be too bad for you. 

Yes, you, the one in a 2010, plus, car, passing all those people who are walking or waiting for public transportation who would love to travel in a car while listening to music and enjoying some new found freedom.

I see you. Yes you, the one standing in line at the Magic Kingdom in Walt Disney World where you paid over $100.00 to get into the park.

I’m observing the one arguing at a restaurant; yes you, berating the host because seating is an hour long for this expensive food, that others have been patiently waiting in peace  and quite until you came along.

Gotcha! Lady, over there, beneath your cool looking hat, and hidden behind your sunglasses, pursing your lips at the poor valet guy, as you clutch your Gucci purse while checking your Michael Kors watch, then lifting your iPhones up to your right ear after you adjust your diamond stud earrings so you don’t scratch your screen. Your life doesn’t seem that bad to give that fella a hard time.

Happiness does elude the mentally ill. And I truly understand your plight. Not everyone’s brain secretes enough serotonin, the fluid that allows us to think clearly so that a good time is ruined by a callous statement made by a heartless individual. Every day for a depressed person is a struggle for them to be happy.

There can be no hope for the ones who refuse to recognize the people who are in their lives, day in and day out, and do the most good for you but are continually treated like crap because their good wasn't enoughc. It is the feelings of the discarded people, who never fully recover from nasty words, that are thrown back at them like daggers. Those fake daggers enter the skin, like a fake kiss blown in your direction, and stick to your chest, at dead center, of the targeted bulls eye, that is your heart.  These everyday people, who love you, who do everything in their power to make you happy deserve your recognition. If you don’t have the decency to show love and control hate then what’s the point of having them stick around?


I’m not dumb to think you’ll change your ways simply by reading a blog. After all, we are creatures of habit. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before you expose yourself again when someone pisses you off. Sadly, I’m no more to you than that person you just treated like shit at the store, or business, even in traffic. I see you, but I’m finally seeing you. Eventually I will search for change and have no regrets leaving you when my change is for the better.

Return love to me. Return it to the others that you treated unfairly. Return the love to all so that it will grow and surround you with understanding and form a cocoon of self worth around your depressed ways. Return the love and shatter your DNA so it can break your mold instead of breaking my will. Return my love and I, in turn, will share the love with you again.





A quick snap from my temporary writing desk before I posted this blog. Captain Imperfecto
5/23/16





© copyright 2016 Captain Imperfecto LLC. All rights reserved.



Click here to read part II Breakup Anthem