Neighbors

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Getting to know the neighbors can be daunting. It seems that in the poorer neighborhoods people mingle a lot better than they do in the more affluent ones, and I’ve been in both. Berry Creek, in Georgetown, Texas was the upper end of the top end. Even the “garden homes” would shame most of the homes in my native Killeen. Now, to be sure, I was certified white trash. I grew up in a little town in Texas called Simmonsville, later absorbed by Killeen. We were so poor that the people on welfare were the cream of society because they had a check. That put them right up there with the civil service in the eyes of the little town.

So, as luck would have it, I won the real estate lottery, and the Beverly Hillbillies moved to Berry Creek. We ended up owning three homes there. My hand would literally shake as I wrote the checks for the mortgages each month. Our homes sat on the golf course, the main house, a recreation of Elvis’s Graceland,was positioned on the twelfth green. I was a gold member of the Berry Creek Country Club, with unlimited golf privileges. Please note that I can’t hit a golf ball, but I can drink beer, and drive a golf cart like nobody’s business.

We had NO contact with the neighbors. Their shorts were in such a knot that it amazed me they could go to the bathroom. Since my roots were back in Killeen, and my friends couldn’t afford the gas for the fifty mile trip to what was basically North Austin, nobody came a calling. When we went to the club for dinner we sat at a large, round table. No one sat near us. We were the turds in the swimming pool. (They didn’t like us going to the pool, either!)

As luck would have it, I ended up divorced, living in the main house alone. I had this friend in L.A. Lance had met me on YouTube. I admired his videos. Lance was, well is, a video genius. He did it all. He used Final Cut Pro, and was a wiz at blending story, sound, and special effects. He had this dream of coming to Texas. One day I got a call. He wasn’t COMING to Texas, he as IN Texas. Right down the street at the bus station. He had no idea how hot it was here so I had to rush to pick him up before he had a heat stroke. Poor guy showed up in a leather jacket during the summer. Hey, he’s from SoCal, ok?

After he settled in we hung out on the porch and got to know each other. Now, this guy is like Bob Denver from Gilligan’s Island, complete with the Dixie Cup sailor’s cap, and he even played a flute. My son, and his wife, Jackie moved in along about this time, and we had a rather comfortable little group. About a week or so after he arrived, Lance received a package that he had mailed himself from California prior to hopping on the bus. Several quart jars of his “prescription” to help him get through the summer. After we saw him unpack we just waited for the cops to show up. I’ll never understand how Lance got away with that. While I, myself, do not partake, suffice to say everybody else did, including the cat, and in short order the house on the twelfth green became the Yellow Submarine. This was a very laid back group. We didn’t mind that the neighbors didn’t have anything to do with us, we barely noticed that there were other HOUSES in the area.

One Sunday afternoon we were setting up a cookout on the back lawn. We put meat on the grill, I got beer, wine, and cheese, and we commenced our own private party as the golfers played through. My son and I looked up, and here came Lance with a water pipe I’d gotten from Afghanistan. And brothers and sisters, he was open for business. My son rushed over and let him know that he WAS in Texas, and law enforcement frowned on such action, whereupon, Lance corrected the situation by returning to the house, and emerging with a bowl. Not the bowl you think, but a real BOWL! A soup bowl you could put an entire serving of Campbell’s soup into. Like the Lord said, “Filled and pressed down!”

As the golfers played through, Lance fired up, and enjoyed the view. I jumped off into a pitcher of martinis, and I must admit, the view wasn’t bad. As luck would have it, it wasn’t long before the smell permeated the atmosphere, and drew the attention of two rather distinguished looking gentlemen who drove their cart right up onto the lawn to inquire as to just what did wet think we were doing. They  had a bottle! Well, there was no getting out of this. Lance, being Lance, simply showed them the bowl, and then astounded me by asking them if they’d like to “hang out!” As I tried to construct my legal defense, to my amazement, they sat down. Lance rolled a “Fat Boy,” and passed it around.

Then another golf cart showed up . . . and another . . . and another, until we had a lawn full if people I’d never met in my eight years at Berry Creek. There was also a traffic jam on the twelfth, with a couple of carts just going in circles. The course Marshall didn’t mind because he was sitting with Lance! The day melted into the evening, and soon it was gone, as if it never happened. Lance went home after that, but he left his mark. I go there now and then, pause in front of the house on Oak Tree Drive, and wonder what became of all those people. What I do know is on one Sunday afternoon, for a little while, we were all neighbors.

I Love Servicemen and Women

IMG_0060I love servicemen, and women. People who charge into the breech, protecting us while we sleep without a second thought. Those who keep the watch. War is always an unpopular decision, and as it drags on it becomes more unpopular, but the soldiers who wage it are but the instruments of political will, not the directors. The way it’s supposed to work is some foreign nation attacks America, and our armed forces repel that action. The president, and congress are supposed to reflect the will of the people. Sadly, of late, such is not the case.

I remember so vividly, during the Vietnam war, the ire against it turned on our returning troops. Part of the North Vietnamese strategy was to sow discontent among the American people, a plan that some in position fell into step. People such as Jane Fonda, Donald Sutherland, and yes, John Kerry, all marching to the Vietnamese drum. The political winds that were blowing had indeed driven us into a war with no purpose. History has proven that the little Asian nation made absolutely no difference at all to the world stage. Eventually, they got a unified country, and we got a wall!

The soldiers came home, the war was over, but there were no parades, no flags, no “VE” day, just broken men and women, trying to forget. Politics did that to them, not the war. When you go far from home to fight you simply have to have the reason to do so. With the horror of war you must know, in your heart, that there is a reason for it. You have the right to expect that upon coming home, the memories will be silenced by the applause if the people at the airport. You do not expect to be spit upon. You do not expect the ghosts to still be there forty years later.

America has made an entire industry of protecting the “freedom” of other nations. Again, politics plays the role, not the will of the people. Politicians invent, and arm entities such as Al Qaeda, and then stand back in snake amazement when the mad dog they fed bites us! And their reasoning? Russia might take over the world! History has shown that Russia did good just taking over Russia! Their weak hold went away like cotton candy when they tried to match America dollar for Ruble in the “cold” war. When the twin towers went down we rushed to seek the perpetrators. It wasn’t hard to figure out. In effect, we had bought the plane tickets. The politicians, and their lapdogs in the CIA had unleashed that terror, and the very word, “terror” became a catch phrase in order to get the American people to sell their freedom, shred the constitution, and allow our soldiers to charge off after one crazy old man on a walking stick because, yet again, someone might take over the world!

Do you want to know what the Trump phenomenon really is? I’ll tell you. It is the outrage of the American people at the political wasteland they’ve had to endure for the last fifty years. It’s the arrogance of people like Hillary Clinton, who point at a successful American businessman, and claim he isn’t savvy enough to direct the ship of state because that ship has been floundering so long that only the most consummate liar can even hope to guide it. The very idea that the government of the people is far beyond the people’s understanding, and our only hope is this ruling class, this Illuminati, this new royalty. That’s the reason Donald Trump will be the next president of the United States! The American people are taking over the White House, and if we ever have a just war in the future there will be applause at the airport. I love servicemen, and women. Continue reading “I Love Servicemen and Women”

The God Particle

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Got all into something called “The God Particle” this week.   I believe in God. In spite of my shifts in concepts, I have always believed in an unmoved mover. I watched the most beautifully produced documentary just the other day about the proofs behind this and in the end found out that it had been made by Muslims. In the conclusion of the work the narrator says, “Allah,” but by this time I’d forwarded it to a lot of my believing friends. Being a reasoning person I had to accept that truth is truth. The video scientifically analyzed the mathematical preciseness of the organization of the universe, and demonstrated that how if one tiny thing were not exactly in place the whole thing would disintegrate into utter chaos. It addressed evolution by demonstrating that there was a certain level of geological history where life virtually exploded and contrary to Darwin’s idea that life evolved from a single root that grew upward in ever increasing diversity, the “tree” was actually upside down and life had in effect came into existence quiet suddenly and began to “fine tune” as some species failed the test and disappeared from the scene. It showed an equation called 1.618 that governed everything from the shape of galaxies to the number of petals on a sunflower, to the proportions of a pretty girl’s face. And it was put together by Muslims!

 

     Then I spent several days watching a series called, “How The Earth Was Made,” and got the same information. The very planet we call home is so complex, with intertwining systems so closely connected that it is almost beyond comprehension. One segment explained how Antarctica, with all of its inhospitable conditions, virtually controls our entire weather system by producing brine that creeps along the ocean floor thereby articulating the currents that flow around the globe. One last video studied what would happen if the earth’s rotation slowed only one mile per hour and the result would be devastating! The very moon operates as a balance, keeping the earth rotation in a synced fashion, enabling the weather system to remain constant, within certain parameters which, if it were not so, one year New York would be New York, and the next it may be situated near one of the poles.

 

     Great minds, such as Stephen Hawking say that when things get too complicated the theist will just fall back on a “god” in a vain effort to avoid the question, while they, themselves, when their own model fails will suggest a multiple-universe theory in effect claiming that if the model doesn’t work just apply layer upon layer until it does or any opposition simply gives up in exasperation.

 

     My concept of God is that of a great creative force that we, as mortals, will never understand, we aren’t capable. Jesus was strapped with trying to educate simple fishermen, a tax collector, and a few women as to the way the universe works. Did He try to explain the time-space continuum to them? Certainly not! At the last supper, did he try to hold a lecture on molecular reorganization, or the presence of dark matter, no. He held up a piece of bread and told them, “This is my body. Whenever you have this ritual you need to remember that!” Jesus was explaining to them in terms they could get their minds around. They understood the Passover, and all it meant to them, as Jews, and He was the ultimate Passover for all people.

 

     We, as Christians, no, let me rephrase that, as believers, have to accept that there are some who will never accept our concept, or explanations for the order of the universe no matter how persuasive our argument. For all their scientific method they will abandon it, and proceed on the premise that there simply cannot BE a god and any system that makes that claim is simply rejected outright. You will never change these people. I didn’t change my ideas while watching all of the documentaries I cited above. They merely reinforced what I already suspected. And, if you will note, when you forget about all the arguments about Jesus and Mohammed, the Muslim work was outstanding in its direct analyzation of the science of mathematics and the correlation to the universe.

 

     As believers, our explanations look absurd to atheists. Atheists have a hands on, linear methodology in their universal view, but does that make them evil? Certainly not! A girl in high school on the East Coast wanted to start a club geared to atheists like herself so she, and other likeminded kids could gather and discuss ideas, and feel a oneness. At first the school absolutely forbade it, but after the ACLU got involved she was allowed to form her group, but was then bullied into giving it up by the “Christian” community around her. Tell me how those “Christians” were any different than a radical Muslim who believes he must destroy all “infidels” to spread his “faith?” She was accused of being a Satanist. This is so far in left field if defies explanation but I’ll try. A Satanist is a believer. Jesus said, “Even the demons believe in God, and they tremble.” People who subscribe to this mind set believe there is a god but choose the opposite path. To me they’re like the kid, when we all went to the movies on Saturday, who would cheer for the guy in the black hat. For whatever psychological reason they have rejected what is regarded as proper by most other believers for the side that is completely opposite to that. The atheist simple rejects any spiritual explanation of the universe, preferring a physical model instead.

 

     As long as you live you will be formulating your world view. Mine has evolved so much that it barely resembles what was in my head at sixteen years old. The one constant remains: There has to be a designer for such a finely turned situation. Can I explain this to a non-believer? Nope. Can I, myself even ever completely understand this designer? Absolutely not! Should I judge, or cast stones at someone who doesn’t subscribe to my very own ever changing view? Well, Jesus, Himself, said, “Judge not lest you be judged.” Now, He didn’t say that to be clever. He said that because He knew we could never get our finite minds around the infinite. I am comfortable with accepting Biblical principles. The young atheist simply is not.

 

     I am always amazed at the knee-jerk reaction to any inclusion of Biblical principles in government. Put a statue of the ten commandments on the courthouse lawn and certain groups lose their collective minds. The ten commandments are an early example of codified law given to a bunch of people trying to carve out a civilized existence out of a horrible situation.     I hear all the time about the separation of church and state, but that’s not what the first amendment is all about It says, “Congress shall make no law respecting the ESTABLISHMENT of religion …” It forbids Congress from jumping up and making the Baptist Church the official religion of the United States. It does NOT nullify bringing your morals, common sense or life experiences to the table when you vote, or make decisions. How else can you make these decisions? You see, that’s what’s wrong with this whole idea that we have to blindly accept that we really have no opinion or options when it comes to government. When Congress sits in session can they impose religious guidelines and restrictions on the rest of us? Constitution says they cannot. Can they let their experience, morality, and personal beliefs guide how they will vote? You bet they can, and DO! Should they have anything to do with the little atheist girl wanting to form a club with her likeminded friends? Well, that’s where my Libertarian beliefs kick in. They have a right to their beliefs, and she has a right to hers!

 

     You will never convert this little girl. Conversion comes from within. You will never scare a gay person straight. For whatever psychological reasons that mold our sexuality it is OUR mold. Our INDIVIDUAL mold. Lead by example. Live your lives by your principles and if those principles are sound, kind,and not bigoted there are those who will approve. Cast your bread upon the water, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get back a sandwich! And that, my friends, is the true God Particle.

Joseph Did You Know

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Joseph did you know we’s all gonna ride the train? Sometimes when an idea pops up it takes on a life of its own. So it was with the founder of the Mormon faith on that hill long ago. Joseph Smith could not possibly have known how far his ideas would go when he concocted his story of the angel. The idea of golden tablets, Egyptian texts, magic glasses, all blend a story that is, frankly, extraordinary. This article is going to be a mixture of theology, psychology, and just a little common sense, but with a large dose of understanding. You must understand that most people are followers. A few lead. Humanity has to be this way if anything is going to get done. In religion your faith is divinely inspired, and everybody else is evil. Everyone has “the truth.”

“Pilate said to Him, ‘What is truth?” For humans, truth is whatever you perceive it to be right up until that final breath when you suddenly realize you were wrong. God is truth. God is truth because He is the creator, and if he says, “Be,” then it IS. Man can’t do that, but man has a way of saying “truths” over and over, and after a while it becomes man’s truth. . . right up ‘till that final breath.

Joseph Smith had these truths. Now, like Juan says, “I ain’t even gonna lie to you,” there weren’t any tablets in the woods. Swat them bees. Now, when you say that to Mormons they go spastic. I’ve seen them retreat, claiming the tablets were brass, may even have been copper, and the sheets were paper thin. There was no gold in Palmyra, New York except in the banks in somebody else’s name, but there was treasure in the mind of a small boy, and maybe, just maybe, there was an incredible occurrence on that hill. Inspiration is organic. God doesn’t come down and seize the hand of the writer of religious material. He filters it through the human psyche. When I wrote “Sharon” there were some people who claimed that I was inspired. Nope. Just made it up. That’s what a writer does. But if my words light a fire in someone’s mind, who’s to say that’s not a form of inspiration.

Mormons holding onto the golden tablets are like Catholics holding onto the Shroud of Turin. Hey, I was one of those. They ran that bathrobe through radio carbon and it came back bananas. I read all the theories, came up with one myself, sorry, no shroud! People constantly grasp for the tangible to prove the intangible. Jesus told us that no sign would be given. Don’t base your faith on parlor tricks. Verily, Verily, I say unto thee, if thou art perplexed thou understandith not the trick, and it’s all tricks, folks. I followed behind a Catholic “mystic” like a puppy, and she wasn’t anything more than a Tarot Card reader in short shorts. Never said I was a prophet, people.

Have you ever written a book? I have, let me tell you about it. It starts with a single page, and then, as the story develops, it evolves, and actually writes itself. A good story teller can weave a spell. Joseph Smith was such a story teller. It doesn’t matter if he made it up, stole it from some Presbyterian minister, or just found it in a jug of moonshine, the fact remains that he did not transcribe anything from any golden tablets, but he did start something that he, himself had no control over.

Does that nullify the Church of Latter Day Saints? Certainly not. Religion comes in two parts. The religion, and the culture that it generates. When a religion begins it is simple enough, but if it lasts it becomes a “theology.” Theology is refined by “theologians.”  Once these guys get involved you’re just screwed. The inspiration, and vision of the founder has long since dissipated, and it must be “revived” or explained, or, God forbid, canonized. That’s where you get holy underwear, funny little hats on Jews, and weird people kissing snakes in Arkansas. Each religion judges truths by what they perceive to be true, i.e. the Mormons can’t have a real temple because only the Jews than have one. Who said? I have seen the Temple in Salt Lake City, and it looked too holy for me!

So, how do you judge a religion? By the culture that proceeds from it, that’s how. Look at Islam, the “religion of peace.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard all about Mountain Meadows, but I also heard about the Mormons getting burned out time and time again, finally fleeing to a salty lake in the desert. They didn’t try to take anything from America, they divorced America! Then, they built a culture that frankly works, magic underwear and all! It was all a lot of fun to burn them out in New York, Illinois and Missouri, but when the attackers of the LDS Church came barreling over the Wasatch Mountains and “John Wayne” was waiting on the other side it was a whole different critter. Nothing like a good ol’ country butt stomping to make you more tolerant of other cultures, huh?  I learned a lesson from C. J. Grisham. When you strap on an Ar-15, and stand up, the fat boys all fall down and pray. There’s a truth for you!

I’ve seen all the writing on how ex-Mormons “expose” the church, but the fact of the matter is, they couldn’t make it, while millions of others did. Does that make Mormonism true? Nah, no truer than any other man-made religion. God made man, man made religion. I hear all the stuff about how bad Mormonism is, but some people need patterns in their lives. Have you ever seen a bunch of kids playing with Yugioh Cards? I once made a video showing three little boys playing them, all from different cultures, but the rules of the game transcended the ethnic differences. Religion is like that. That is that “God Hole” I talk about. Man seeks organization, conformity, and answers. All religions put forth theories that seem ridiculous to the outsider. Know them by their fruits. If Mormonism doesn’t work for you then leave. Become a Hari Krishna or something, or make up your own. Recently, on a trip from Salt Lake City to Brigham City I observed the industry all along the I-15 for sixty miles or so. Industry built by a people who came here with nothing but a Book of Mormon and one crazy old man who was tired of getting burned out every time he prayed.

There is no way Joseph Smith knew what would become of his Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I don’t know if he ever discussed the Great Salt Lake during his life, but the movement he began evolved into that industry I observed along the fifteen that afternoon. That’s no accident! That is a culture that works for most of its members. I’ve heard that LDS people aree not Christian, or follow “another Jesus.” You wanna see anti-Christ? Look at Islam. When ISIS comes they’ll come for all of us. Those temples in Utah will look a lot better then. “And the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred and two hundred and sixty days.” Joseph did you know we’s all gonna ride the train?

Teach The Angels How To Fly

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“We’re gonna teach the angels how to fly.” So uttered June Montgomery one second before she died in a car crash at the end of the book, “CigarBox.” There was some literary license taken in that book. Through all the edits over the years, the final version is vastly different from the first draft, but there is a back story within the pages that has remained constant, and a central character who was a real person, silently growing up in the shadow of events swirling around him.  The truth behind CigarBox boiled down to a simple ring, and a little boy who never forgot.

 

In the late nineties a young woman, her three-year-old son, and two girlfriends were racing across Jonesboro, Arkansas to a Christmas party. They apparently ran through a stop sign, crossing into the path of an SUV, which slammed into the side of their small car, killing the mother, one of her friends, and pitching the baby out through a side window, skidding him across the highway, bouncing him off a chain link fence, finally depositing in a field with two broken legs. The car spun and objects within it flew out into the road. One particular object was a cigar box, resting on the seat. Inside were pictures, letters, and then there was a ring. The first responders gathered up as much as they could, removed the dead, and the cigar box.

His parents were divorced. His father was staying with us in Texas. It was a bitter divorce; with all the frills you’d expect on “Dallas.” We got the call at noon, during Christmas dinner. The information was confused, and we were sure little Michael was dead, as was his mother. I stayed back in Texas to maintain the house, but everyone else rushed to Arkansas. When they got there the doctors told them that the baby, while being scraped up a bit, and with two broken legs, was going to be fine. There was no logical explanation as to how he got out of the car during the impact. The doctors said he just flew across that highway like Mighty Mouse. The baby became known as “Mighty.” Mighty came home to Texas, as did the cigar box.

Mighty’s dad became a police officer. He tried to join the Marines, but a bad ear kept him out. Later he would go to the Middle East to fight terrorists as a private contractor. He could hear terrorists just fine with his right ear. We raised Mighty in the big house at Berry Creek. He walked slightly bow legged, due to his injuries, and he loved to eat. In later years it was hard to get that boy up for school, and if you didn’t stay right on him he’d miss that bus every time. On the shelf of the study sat the cigar box.     Our family was Catholic. In the second year of my marriage to Mighty’s grandmother I had become Catholic. I wanted the four boys we were raising to have a good moral structure, and I found that attending Mass provided for that need. My boys fell right into the flow of the church. They had Father Everette, and all the people there, and Sunday was actually fun. My wife was divorced from Mighty’s grandfather in Arkansas, and the family was filled with hate. I had two boys, and she had two, and there was much animosity between them, animosity that remains until this day, but Mighty didn’t know about all that.

Years and tears went by, my wife’s son Bobby died, my son Timmy turned to drugs and went to prison, Wilbur did well in the Navy, but he lived in California so we rarely saw him, and Michael went over to Afghanistan to find Bin Laden. A girl named Jackie came and went, and there were five new little guys, but in spite of Jackie’s story there was another one, one we didn’t talk about, and on the shelf, in the study, was the cigar box. And so it came to pass, between my wife’s heart attack, and Jackie’s legal problems the family was torn apart. The house in Berry Creek was reduced to “empty chairs.” But, Little Mighty grew.     We hardly noticed little Mighty quietly growing up, not attracting much attention to himself. He loved to run up to the Country Club where there was a concession stand that served burgers outside, and Mighty had an open account. I had been very strong in my faith, but after all that happened I fell away. I still believed in God, but all the trappings of the Church were not as important to me anymore. I never questioned what had happened, I just adjusted and went on. I grew very used to being alone. Women can have emotional problems, men are not afforded that luxury.

IMG_2498Mighty eventually moved into his father’s new house about sixty miles away. While his dad worked his job overseas, he lived with his dad’s girlfriend. I don’t know her, but I understand the anger of the years has rested on he Her now, so the animosity lives on. Mighty began to go to the Church. Then, quietly, he began to take his classes. Then, he brought the family together to witness his confirmation. They all stopped and watched as Mighty made his mark on the family.  During that ceremony, he showed my now ex-wife a ring. I wasn’t there. I’m very distant from the family now, and haven’t been to church in years. The hate finally won, and my thirty years of marriage dissolved like cotton candy.  The ring he showed her was a simple thing. A little silver thing with a cross on it. He told her, “Grandpa gave me this when I was a little boy. I saved it for this day.” Then, he slipped it onto his finger. I didn’t tell him where that ring came from. During the confusion of that awful Christmas I opened the cigar box on my desk. Inside were simple things. A lock of hair, a child’s drawing, and a little silver ring.  I had never seen it before, but I kept it in a desk drawer until the boy was old enough to keep up with it because I suspected that someone else had worn it on that eventful day so long ago in Arkansas.

 

Mighty recently completed his USMC basic, and went to his assignment with the Corps. On his finger was a little silver ring with a cross on it. A gift from his mother, before she taught the angels how to fly. And, Mighty’s gift to me, from a little boy who never forgot. The cigar box has long ago been lost, but no matter. “June Montgomery” made her mark.
 

Arrested For Driving While Blind

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Arrested for driving while blind. Friends and neighbors, brothers and sisters, that old ZZ Top line is about the only thing I haven’t done, and I’ve done it all. If there is anything I missed, it’s only because no one told me about it. If you want to dig dirt on me, you’d better bring a dump truck. I have been in country music for forty plus years, and I mean the real music business. I wasn’t just hanging around some bar, hoping my family might drop in and hear me play a guitar, I was a writer, and I wrote my way all the way to Nashville. Unless you’ve been living under a big yellow rock you’ve probably heard something I have written.

My mother once told me that if I ever hurt a decent girl she’d beat me to death with an iron skillet, so for the first four marriages (yeah, I said four) I married sluts. Number five was a thirty year ordeal, where I kept trying to leave, and she kept following. We finally divorced, but she wouldn’t let me leave, so here I am. As time and tears went by I began to settle down. There were two major factors contributing to this: One, I got too damn old, and two, I got tired of making bail. Somehow I came through all of this with my health, which is a miracle, because I quit drinking when they invented the funnel. Today I will still take a little Jim Beam, but nowhere near my glory days. I’m partial to a martini.

So where am I going with all of this? It’s simple actually. I see people all the time living in the past. They had a bad childhood. Let me tell you about a bad childhood. I am certified white trash. The first time I saw a fruit display on a formal table I tried to eat the wax apple. I hear someone on Doctor Phil going on and on about an abusive father, but let me school you, my dad was a roofer in Texas for thirty years, and being a roofer in Texas is about as bad a job as you can get, if you don’t count being a slave. My dad wouldn’t whip us, he’d knock us through the wall. Good news was that we were quick, and he only had to knock us through one wall for us kids to catch on. We were so poor we thought the people on welfare had government jobs because they had a check!

Human beings become better through ordeal. Steel becomes stronger through tempering. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Texas has never been easy. This is hard country out here. Our wages are low, and our hours are long, but we know the deal. You really have to believe in God, because if you don’t then none of this makes any sense. I couldn’t understand a word of the Bible until I was thirty-five years old. We had that old King James Version, and with all the “Thees” and “Thous” I just couldn’t connect the dots. Life connected the dots for me. I began to realize that if you cast your bread upon the water you’d get back a sandwich.

Writers are a special lot. For me, writing is therapy. As the words form on the page I vocalize, and when I vocalize, I begin to see the logic, and understand not only other people, but my own situation. I don’t believe in all this psychiatry stuff, and theories, or drugs, or mind control. I believe that most thinking people, over fifty years, can figure out what hurts, and what doesn’t hurt. You begin to see that there is room in the world for other ideas, and just because you don’t agree with them, they are just ideas. When I hear a liberal expounding some whacky “Bernie Sanders” plan, I know it won’t work, but rather than go tit for tat I understand that it’s all fine because good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, they’ll have the same fifty years that I had to figure it all out. It’s all so simple. This will put a meal on the table, and that won’t.

I do understand the Bible now, but there’s a lot of “fluff” in it. The truths that Jesus spoke of were down to earth facts. Don’t judge. I never judge! When someone does something that I think is bad, I’ll just remember back when I did exactly the same thing, and be glad the statute of limitations has run out. We have all fallen short of the glory, and I fell short the day the doctor said, “Hey,” and I said, “Huh?”

It all boils down to this: You get what you expect. If you dwell in the past you will always be there. If you set goals, no matter how remote, you may not get there, but you’ll be on the way, and the journey is half the joy. We all make mistakes. What seemed so serious back then, will just be funny as you recount it to a friend at a local pub. The sad part of life is if you live long enough to figure it out then you’ll come to the same conclusions that I did after you are old, and young people have it all “figured out,” and will not listen as they begin their journey toward “the truth.”

If you want to dig dirt on me, you’d better bring a dump truck, because I’ve done it all, and if there’s anything I missed it’s only because no one told me about it, and I’m man enough to admit it! I’ve found one person who totally understands me. She sleeps with me, eats with me, agrees with everything I say, and cries when I’m away. In the spirit of the recent Supreme Court ruling on marriage I have decided to marry my dog.

Heros

Heroes come from the strangest places. Anthony Ruelas. Remember that name. I am not worthy to lose his boot straps. This boy is a shining example of what it means to be a Christian, a citizen, and American, and more than that, a Texan! One of his classmates went into an asthma attack. Let me tell you about that kind of health crisis. I hear people say that they can hold their breath for three or four minutes. Think about not getting your next breath. Been there, done that! When you have that condition you learn to keep your Albuterol in your pocket in a certain position so when you reach for it you will find it in just the right place so you can bring it out fast. If the attack is extreme, you just hope that the drug will get to the back of your throat and give you any air. Your lungs seem to be crystalized, the bells ring, and if they ring long enough you die. The little girl was hearing the bells! Anthony took it upon himself to help. He scooped her up and carried her to the nurse’s station, and life, while a teacher ordered him to stand down. Shades of Hillary! Person in distress, help right there, someone in “authority” intervening with absolutely the worse decision possible!

Oh, it got political this morning. When I found this story it was black and white, or black and brown, rather, the little girl being black, and Anthony is brown. Immediately a libtard leapt upon me, ridiculing my subscriber base, and saying that I would blame this on Obama. From people who think it’s perfectly fine to kill up to 3,000 babies a day one can expect no less. This is what the country has come to. This is what the liberals champion. This is why children aren’t allowed to pray in school anymore, unless they’re Muslim, of course.
I often do human interest stories about Killeen, and I, like Anthony, went to school at the KISD (Killeen Independent School District.) I’m going to surprise you. Every single one of my teachers were Democrats. Every one of them supported Lyndon Johnson, but there was one major difference! They all had souls, something that is sadly lacking today. Back in my day the teacher would have carried that child to the nurse. I’m waiting for that teacher’s name so I can give her (or him) that fifteen minutes of fame we all enjoy at some time in our lives, but it seems the teacher has gone to ground. Ever chase a snake with a hoe? They do that, you know.

And the media in this area? Oh, my living God. Let us pray. This story will be lucky if it gets one paragraph on the classifieds in the Killeen Daily Herald. The only reason it may show is that I have embarrassed them here today. But Anthony’s story won’t die! Ask yourself, why is Anthony not getting the same media blitz that Clockmed got with his little device a few months ago? I’ll tell you why. It doesn’t sell copy! A young man being a decent human being doesn’t have the commercial appeal of a thug charging a police officer, or some puppet scaring the pants off of an entire school with a “clock” the size of a suitcase, that’s why!

Now, I promised Crystal Lee Larimore not to use bad language anymore, but when that teacher goes home tonight, I hope her (or his) mother runs out from under the porch and bites them! Jus sayn’.

UPDATE: Twenty-four hours before I discovered this story The Washington Post was already running with it. That is good!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

http://www.amazon.com/Simple-Boy-Austin-Wilbur-Witt/dp/1503179540/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422121598&sr=8-1&keywords=Wilbur+Witt