Saturday, October 27, 2018

Show Me Those Cups

I swore that I would give up on writing political posts. Unfortunately, most of America is one big political jokeSo this blog was called for. I couldn’t help myselfI’m sure all of youhave watched the news and Facebook posts since the bomber. You know the guy. He sent bombs to key Democratic politicians and CNN. I have to say one thing about the thing. So many of you are just as crazy as the bomber. There are more conspiracy theorists than I can imagine! I’ve seen almost everyone blamed for it. It won’t be long before someone “connects the dots,” They will swear that Mickey Mouse was the mastermind behind it all. He is from Florida after all.
I haven’t seen anyone trying to offer a viable solution to the insanity. All people do is point the finger at each other. This problem was not caused by one side or the other. It was caused by both political sides, the media and people of wealth and influence.!!!!! For too long now, all off the above have been worried about their own political agendas and growth of power.They are trying to create a world where their views are the correct ones.   
Both sides of the political spectrum have advocated violence to gain support and power over their opponents. They want people to believe that there is only one side or the other. “You can’t be a true American if you aren’t a hard core Christian Republican!” The other side is “You are a fascist if you don’t believe the way I do!” So which side is right? Neither of them are. A person cannot believe anything is 100% one way or another. That individual is either a fool, or a mindless drone just wanting to fit in.
For my own sanity, I have to believe the majority of Americans are more like me. We don’t see everything as black and white. In the case of America right now, blue and red. Let me give you an example. A friend, Donella Miller and I just had a difference of opinion on the whole kneeling during the national anthem. Both of us agree there is an issue with police brutality. She sees the kneeling as a way to get the message out. It makes people see.  I am against it, because of my feelings about the National Anthem and our flag. I can see her reasons why she believes the way she does. She can see my reasons for how I feel. It is one of those things we can agree to disagree on. Despite our differences, we are still friends and support the others right to believe as they do. Imagine that an African-American woman and a bald white guy being civil.
Having civil discourse can make interesting things happen. Did you know that it can even be magical? Somethinginteresting happens each time people of different views sit down and have a civilized discussion. A die hard politician gets a belly ache. Let’s try and give them more discomfort. Let’s discuss the issues. See what the problems really are. I’m sure multiplepeople looking at the same problem from different angles can come up with a solution. It may even be one that most people can live with. Imagine if hundreds or thousands did this without having to be right. 
Maybe we should start a new movement. We would have to come up with a cool name for it. I like the CUP’s (Consolidation, Unity, and Persistence.) Our symbol could be coffee and tea mugs. Why did you come up with that crazy name?” you ask. First off, I like coffee. Secondly, coffee and tea are like opposing views. They are hot and bitter at first. If you give them time to cool and take small sips, you might find you enjoy the results. The warm liquid will permeate you, while giving you a warm jolt. This invigorates, making one ready to take on the challenges of the day. Plus, it is a far better symbol than a donkey or elephant.
I beg you. Let all of us take a look at what is going on now. No one likes where the country is headed. That is one of the common threads from all sides. Take the time to sit down over a nice cup. Do your best to have a civilized conversation with someone that is different than you. Understand that you are not going to agree on everything. Simply talk and listen. You will find you have many of the same problems. Each of you may come up with a solution or two to the common issues. You might even gain a better understand of the other individual. If nothing else, you gained a little time away from the pressures of the day.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

PHA Dilemma


Many people do not understand the difficulties that a member of the National Guard faces in order to be able to serve their state and country. Gone are the days when National Guard soldiers sat around drinking beer and telling stories. Today’s soldiers are pushed hard to be well trained and ready to answer the call, at a moment’s notice. We must balance home life, work life, and the military life. That is harder than one might think. There have been many times my wife has told me, “We’re not your soldiers.” I’ve also caught myself giving my employees the ‘knife hand’ or wanting to tell them to ‘drop.’
            Staying ready and prepared for the military is always an issue. Physical fitness is much harder for a Guardsman, than an Active Duty soldier. We do not have the ability to have our Soldiers meet each morning for physical fitness training, as they do on active duty. Instead it is the responsibility of each individual to do it on their own. Some are great and remain physically fit. Others, well they look like they are in a perpetual state of pregnancy. Every reservist First Sergeant has at least one or two of these in our formations.
            The Soldiers’ health is another stumbling block for us as well. Weekend Warriors have to pay for their own health care. It is not provided for as it is for traditional soldiers. This results in many of the younger soldiers not seeing a Dr. regularly. Many times we find major health issues when it is time to deploy. We all know you can’t send an unhealthy person to combat. Their health could kill them after all.
            The military has found a way to try and weed out these problems prior to a deployment. The Periodic Health Assessment is the answer. Once a year, each soldier must go through a PHA. Periodic Health Assessment. This sounds great, doesn’t it? Soldiers go through a health review. Those needing to see a Dr. or Dentist to get fixed up get a chance to do it. Those that can’t be fixed can be processed out, opening positions for new soldiers to come in. That is the theory at least.
            There are a few hang ups to this wonderful idea. A person must understand that the people that the people performing these functions are civilian contractors. They are paid by the number of people that they see. They are doctors, nurses, and technicians that are working to make extra money on the weekend. You can imagine how much thy truly care about the process and individuals. A good example is the dental exams. I have dentures, there is no reason for me to see the dentist. However, every year I have to sit 20 minutes in a line waiting for the dentist. I tell them I have dentures before I ever start waiting. When I finally get to the dentist it’s always the same.
            “You have dentures?” the old man yawns.
            I pull them out and show him. “Yes I do.”
            He quickly signs my paper. “Thank you. Go to your next station, please.”
            You can see where I feel so cared for and my time has been used properly. You have to see a physician before you leave. They ask you a few questions about your health. There is no physical exam. You could be dying from cancer or some weird tropical disease and they would never know. All you have to do is say you are fine. There are now health issues. They check the block and mark you as deployable.
            On the flip side. A soldier who is tired of being in the Army, they simply need to go in and complain. They can complain about being stressed out, or any injury that is hard to verify. The Dr. will mark them as non-deployable. A medical review will then be initiated. The soldier may think that they will be out of the military soon. That is laughable. It can take a year or longer of Dr. visits and documentation before they are released.
            God help you if you have some minor issue, and want to stay in. You are instantly marked as non-deployable. I don’t care if you have a twisted ankle, bunion, and some minor injury. It then becomes the individual soldier’s responsibility to prove that they are fixed and deployable after that. That may even cost the soldier money out of their own pocket.
            This whole process takes the majority of the day. Each soldiers moves from station to station. There is no order. You jump in whatever line is shortest. The person there signs off the box for their station. Sometimes they don’t even look up at you. Then you race off to the next shortest line, until you have all your boxes checked off. Then you are done! A sense of euphoria passes over you at that moment. You are declared fit for duty for another year.

Friday, October 5, 2018

Hamburglared


               I’m sure this blog will upset a lot of you. I know there are so many of you out there that think you are enlightened, or morally superior to most people. This because you stand on one side or other.  You are a pawn in this great debacle we call politics today. You are so embed in your side It binds you. You can see nothing else. You my friend have become what I term the, “McDonalds,” society. I know some of you are more Panera people, it’s the same concept though.
            There two main reasons that I have named you this. McDonalds is the highest grossing restaurant in America. That is a sad testament to the American pallet. Why do you think this is?
It is not because it is a good cheap meal. God knows I can go to a lot better places and get a meal for almost the same price. It is because they are the advertising kings. They have convinced the people, especially the youth. They have to have that happy meal or super-sized value meal. Let’s not forget their burnt coffee mocha latte’s too. The golden arches are a symbol that children know immediately.
            Think about the food as well. Is it that great? I know I would prefer a burger from many of the smaller independent restaurants. They are much more flavorful. The food isn’t made ahead of time. They are cooked on the grill while I wait. The meat is juicy. I can order the toppings I want on it. It isn’t dried out from sitting under a heat lamp for extended periods of time. However, people have been convinced that there is nothing like that special sauce.
            This is how Americans are with politics and ideology, today. It doesn’t matter what side you are on, you have been brainwashed to follow in the steps of what others have told you is right. You can see this by how extreme most of you are on any given subject. There is only right and wrong. Your side tends to be always right! I wish I could say I was always right. Lucky for me, I have a wife and three daughters. They will let me know that I am not right when I go off the deep end. My twelve year old tells me, “Dad, you not right in the head” all the time.
            Let me prove my point. I have friends that tell me that they support our President 100%.
He is our president. I work for the man. I will support the government I serve. Let’s get real though. Too many times I questioned the ideas of the President I served. However, I did my job anyway. I have not supported any politician, or idea, 100% since I was five years old. I listen to the crap that comes out of their mouths. There have been several questionable comments made. Twitter is not always a good thing!
            The other side is the same. Some professor or disgruntled politician makes a comment about how evil the other side is. Some of them have even openly endorsed violence. The next thing you know, we have protesters destroying property and carrying makeshift weapons. Anyone not agreeing with them are a racist, patriarchal, homophobe. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in everyone’s right to a peaceful protest. They do not have the right to bully or destroy.
            There are two sides to everything. Nothing is ever completely right or wrong. There is good and bad in everything. If you do not believe this, you have proven my point. Take the time to read and research a subject. Don’t let the media, a politician, parent, professor, or facebook tell you how to think. Do that for yourself. You know what happens to the lemmings. Many of them die following the crowd. Don’t give power to those that seek to control you. You are a puppet to their agendas, only if you choose to be.
            I have not chosen the path of the norm. I will not be that hipster wearing a man-bun screaming for socialistic reform. Nor will I be that old fat man wearing the “Make America Great Again,” hat. I will be the grumpy old bald bastard sipping on his beer and whiskey. I’ll shake my head thinking, “Jackasses don’t they know they are both acting alike.”

Monday, September 24, 2018

You Hurt My .......


               There was a time in this world when people could discuss different opinions, even argue about them, without being offended. I can remember when I was in college. There were many times that we would sit down and have heated debates over political, social, and religious ideologies. There was often a bottle involved then. I did not always agree with other people. They did not always agree with me. I was called a few names that aren’t that nice. This was because I saw things different than others. Usually, the name referred to some part of the male, or female anatomy. This didn’t result in me running away to my ‘safe space,’ or a demand to have them censored. It made me want to be able to prove my point better.
            I miss those days. It was a time when the idea of ‘freedom of speech’ was real. There were new ideas and ways of life I learned about. We are a nation that swears by the idea of “freedom of speech.” However, we do not practice what we preach. Today’s society is filled with individuals that get butt hurt when people have a different view or opinion. People act as if others have no right to a different opinion. There should be only one point of view…..their point of view.
            People forget that this country was founded on the idea of freedom.  Men and women have fought and died to guarantee this right to you. Some of these people weren’t even citizens of this country. This should make people realize an important fact. It is not just your views that should be protected, but everyone’s. No matter how asinine it may be. Believe me there are some people that are way out there. Think of those individuals wear tinfoil hats, believing that aliens are trying to suck out their brain waves. How does it hurt me to let them believe that?
            There are so many different religions that are being practiced in this country. Each is important the worshipper. Please tell me how it hurts anyone to be told “Merry Christmas,” “Happy Hanukah,” “Peace be With You,” or “Blessed be.” No matter what form you worship God in, do you actually think you will be damned for that? Do me a favor. Think a little on it. Unless someone worships evil, all religions have the same basic ideas. Be good to people. There are just different paths to the afterlife. None of us will know who is right until we take that final dirt nap.
            Socially there are a great many different views here. This is due to how we were raised, the region we are from, or our ethnic background. A person whose ancestors are from Ireland will have different views and ideas as someone that comes from Ethiopia, Brazil, or Japan. I believe that diversity makes life interesting. Things would be so boring, if we were all the same and acted alike. Plus, there would not have a variety of foods and entertainment to choose from. How would you like to have just one restaurant to choose from to eat at every day?
            Politically we are a mess as well. There are two basic parties in this country. Watching them go at each other could be entertaining, if it weren’t so sad. Each side thinks that they are the only ones right. Maybe, they should take the time to listen to one another. Politicians should realize we are all Americans. They need to work together and find a middle ground. Neither side is 100% correct. Once they realize that they are not the center of the universe and all important, things will get better for us all.
            “We the People,” is one of the most important phrases in our history. This means all the people in our country. It is not just for a single group. I believe, if you mix and stir us all together, you will come out with something wonderful. There will be a wonderful savory stew that all will want to taste. Leave one key ingredient out, you get something bitter or bland. A meal one will only eat to keep from starving. Don’t be afraid of different opinions.  There is always something new you can learn from others. If, you can listen and talk without being offended.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Burning It Up


I will begin my project with a story about myself. I am SFC Matthew Hopkins. I have served in the Virginia Army National Guard since 1988.This story took place during Desert Storm. I was serving as a young Specialist hauling fuel and vital supplies for the combat troops prior to the onslaught of the ground war. We spent weeks on the road without a shower or the water to shave. This made the time we spent at our LOG base extra special. We could sleep on a cot instead of the hood of a vehicle and get a well-deserved shower. It also shows that old soldiers don’t spring from the bowels of Hell. We all start off as a young dumb soldier.

 

            The ground war had not started at the time. Our platoon had spent countless days ferrying fuel to key points along the Iraq border. This was in preparations for the push into enemy territory. The only water that we carried was for drinking. I don’t think I had had an actual shower in almost three weeks when we returned to our base. A dark green cloud of stench followed me as I drug my gear to our squad tent. All I could think about was some much needed sleep. I tossed my gear down on the pallet that served as my floor without any fanfare. Military gear and clothing spilled out like a child’s Legos. Ignoring my mess, I flopped face first onto the tight canvas cot. I would kill one of my soldiers for that kind of behavior today. Your gear gets taken care of before you rest. It could save your life if kept in good working order.

            Unfortunately for my younger self, my squad leader had the mentality then that I do now. He was a left over from the Vietnam War and knew better than I did. He didn’t see the practicality of my actions. His experiences had taught him my actions were reckless. It was his job to correct that action. My eyes had barely closed when I felt a size 11 boot kicking my foot. “Hoppy get your sorry ass up off that bunk and get your gear squared away. You never know when the next run might come down the line.”

            The retort I had died in my mouth before I could ever let it go. He stood there with his hands on his hips glaring down at me. He was the spitting image of my mother when she was pissed off at me. That was minus the breasts and dress, of course. You didn’t argue with your mother after all. I looked around at my buddies for some support. There was a dim hope that they would back me up. That idea crashed and burned. Each of them avoided eye contact with me. Somehow, they all had turned into G.I. Joe. Each man in my squad began to clean and put away their gear hurriedly. None of them wanted to be the next one called out. My job as the sacrificial lamb had been fulfilled. I did the only thing any other soldier would do in my place. I grumbled incoherently under my breath, sat up, and began to clean all my gear.  

            It took us almost three hours to get things right. First, it was weapons maintenance. Weapons come before anything else in the Army. If you have never cleaned a rifle that has survived 2 sandstorms, you are lucky. The sand in Saudi Arabia was extra nasty. The sand wasn’t that course big stuff most people experience at the beach. It was a fine baby powder dust. Small particles lodged in places that I didn’t even know a rifle had. There was no way to keep it from permeating everything. I used 2 old t-shirts and a pair of boxers getting it all cleaned to pass inspection. Don’t judge me! Old military boxers are better used for cleaning than wearing.

            Once the equipment was prepped, it was time to take care of personal stuff. Laundry was next on the list. We hadn’t found a 24 hour dry cleaner. There were no washers and dryers in the desert. At least, there weren’t any for us normal people. The only option left to us was doing it by hand. I’m not sure who came up with the method we decided to use. All I know is that it worked fairly well. Several of us put all of our dirty uniforms in a large metal trash can. No, we didn’t toss a match in after. Although, that might have been a good idea. The stench from them could have been used for chemical warfare.  We added water and some powdered detergent. Someone had come appropriated a large metal pole, a boat paddle would have been better. Since there were no boat available in the desert, we used the pole to stir the clothes like an agitator in a washing machine.

            Each individual took a turn stirring our cauldron of clothes. Images of a bad take on the witches from Macbeth always runs through my head when I think about it. Our witches were dressed in camo, smoking cigarettes as we took turns stirring. A turn of 5 to 10 minutes was about all anyone could handle. Wet clothes are extremely heavy and dense. We stirred, poked, and prodded the uniforms until the water was a dark oily substance. As soldiers bored silly do, we made a game out of it. A stop watch appeared like magic. It became a contest to see who could stir it the longest. The water eventually looked like a weak coffee with nuggets of creamer floating in it. That was the signal to put everything in the rinse cycle.

            The rinse cycle consisted of a second garbage can filled with the cleanest water we could find. Most people wouldn’t use the water we had to even water their gardens. It smelled funny and was processed from a military water purification plant. Despite it being ‘purified,’ we were still warned to not drink it. That water was only for bathing and cleaning. Only bottled water was fit for consumption. You have to love the military way of doing things. Our ‘purified’ H2O was stored in a 5000 gallon tanker. The tanker was kept on site by the shower. There was no way we were using the drinking water for cleaning. The good stuff was worth its weight in gold.

            We dumped several 5 gallon cans of the water into the fresh can. Each soldier took time about pulling a piece of the clothing from the dirty water. That garment was then dunked into our cleaner batch of liquid. The preferred method required pushing to the bottom of the can repeatedly. Once the soldier felt that it was rinsed to a semi-clean state, two soldiers took ahold of it from different ends. Twisting it like crazy was the best method for ringing the water out of it. It is the same method used by teenagers to ring out a wet towel at the pool. After the water had stopped dripping from the pretzelized uniform, they were hung on a clothes line. The line was constructed from 550 cord. It stretched between the large squad tents we used. The sun died everything in less than an hour. That was to be expected when temperature was 100+ most days.

            Satisfied that all the maintenance on all forms of gear had been done, it was time to take care of some much needed down time. There was nothing else that our Squad Leader could complain about. We all laughed and joked as we headed back into the tent for a long long sleep. Staff Sergeant Wiggins, my squad leader, was able to find that one thing that we had missed. The man had no compassion for poor tired troops. “You boys need to get you a shower before you lay down. It smells like someone let a herd of pigs loose in here.”

            Being the young dumb aggravated smart ass I was at the time, I had to open my mouth. “Come on Ralph, we haven’t showered in three weeks. What is a few more hours? Besides, if you got out of the tent every once and while and sweated a bit you wouldn’t notice it as much”

            That sealed my fate. Never call the Senior Sergeant in your tent a lazy bastard. Definitely, don’t use his first name when you are insulting him in that fashion.

            “Really Specialist,” he said with a smirk. “Since you feel that way you can be the last to take a shower then. In the meantime, you are going to make sure the showers are filled and warm for the others first.”

            Open mouth, insert whole leg! It is an art form. Few can master the retort that will land you in trouble like I did. The gasps and snickers that went through the tent testified to my skills.

            I started to make another comment, but thought better of it. He could have done far worse. I wasn’t certain if anyone had been assigned shit burning duty. My younger self didn’t want any part of that. Taking care of the showers was like hitting the lottery in comparison. Filling a water tank and lighting a heater was much more desirable than setting human excrement on fire. None of us liked standing over that mess. It was made worse by the fact that an individual was required to stir the flaming mass with a stick until it all burned off. Anyone that has been stuck on that detail can tell you, it is not worth whatever you did.

            Slowly, I walked the 50 or so yards to the shower. Like any young soldier, I kicked rocks and called down the curses of the gods upon the head of my squad leader. A lightning strike was too good for him. Boils and pestilence would have been a fitting punishment as far as I was concerned. My mind was focused on the horrors that would be inflicted to him, not the job at hand. Like an automaton, I filled all of the necessary tanks. This was a pain when considering how the shower was constructed.  It was a wooden frame with pallets for the floor. The sides were made from thin plywood and an old canvas tent tied around it. A metal welded tank rested on the top of structure. It was filled with water and gravity fed water to the 6 shower heads below. The person on this detail had to climb up a ladder nailed to the side repeated to complete all the tasks for hot showers.

            There were no electric water heaters in the desert, at least not for us normal soldiers. We had to use submersion heaters. That is an archaic device. It was basically a gas fuel tank and exhaust pipe that set down in the water to heat it. There was a chamber at the bottom of the device where the fuel burned to heat the water. A person would start a small trickle of fuel, preferably a slow drip. This gathered in the bottom of the sealed chamber. There wasn’t a simple button to push for ignition. It was ignited by tossing a match in as the gas dripped slowly in. It wasn’t normally that dangerous to light.

            That day, was much different. My own desire to daydream and focus on my own misery became my undoing. That combined with someone trying to be proactive created all the factors needed for a disaster. The only way the heater became dangerous was if you allowed too much fuel to gather in the chamber. I was not focusing. I failed to notice that someone had already filled the chamber with fuel. That was a mistake I would pay for. The fuel began to drip into the chamber. Certainly I was still cursing as I struck the match and tossed it in.

            Every god I had called upon was chuckling at me then. I’m certain they were even taking bets on the outcome. My world erupted in a flash of light and a roar. Luckily for me, the heater didn’t explode. However, a giant fireball shot out. Flames, heat and light engulfed me. There was a moment where I was weightless suspended above it all. The next moment I was flying off the top of the shower. A rope holding the canvas around the structure may have saved me from serious harm. Somehow my leg became entangled in it. My smoldering self stopped only inches from the ground. I dangled like a worm wigging on a hook while parts of the canvas and plywood started to burn.

            Sometimes it is good to have your buddies close by in a disaster. There are other times when you wish you were alone. This was one of those instances where it was a mixed blessing. My buddies came running out of the tent. The noise and my screaming probably had something to do with their curiosity. Several of them rushed over to try and help me. Others rushed to grab cameras and take pictures of my dilemma. Facebook wasn’t even a thought then. People had to have pictures to share the moment. I’m sure I would have laughed and took picture too, if it had been someone else dangling there. A person with their eyebrows and mustached burnt off screaming for help can be rather amusing.

            One of the guys pulled out a pocket knife and cut me loose. I had only a moment to view the destruction wrought by my actions. Someone screamed, “Put that Damned fire out!”

            Being a man of action, and feeling responsible for the fire, I sprang into action. The closest fire extinguisher was in the motor pool. I sprinted there, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the first vehicle. Some of you smarter people are already asking, “Why?” It was the heat of the moment. Putting out the fire was all I had on my mind. I wasn’t a trained firefighter, after all.

 I had the pin out and ready to go as I arrived back on site. The canvas was mostly gone. Several pieces of wood were charred. There was no time to waste. I let loose with a cloud of chemicals. I sprayed back and forth like a madman. One extinguisher was not enough. Someone handed me a second one to finish the job. A cloud of fumes and smoke arouse into the air while I stepped back to catch my breath.

            This is where the rest of you go, “Aha!” I was proud of my quick thinking when a booming voice came across my shoulder. It caused my satisfied grin to fade “Quick thinking Hoppy. You know you could have used the water from the tanker.”

            My Platoon Sergeant stood towering over me. Sergeant First Class Glenn Day was a mountain of a man. He was another one of those Vietnam Veterans who had the presence that demanded respect. His smile made me feel so small and stupid. My heroics were lost in that moment. It was that look that a parent gives a child when they have done something wrong that they are proud of.

            Slowly, I turned following his gaze. There sat the 5000 gallon water tanker just a few feet away. Water trickled out of the end of the hose. The hose lay where I had tossed it after filling the water tank. The hose was just inches from the shower. It was one of those moments when you just want to do that palm slap to your own head. All I could do was hang my head and stare sheepishly and the sand blowing across. Someone snickered. That caused someone to laugh. That laugh caused others to start laughing. Before long we were all laughing. The mirth was one of those long heart felt sessions soldiers have. They come after something serious as just happened, and everyone made it out alive.

            Everyone started to wander off as the laughter died down. Things are only interesting for so long. I was standing there looking at the carnage I had created. My Platoon Sergeant placed one of those big paws of his on my shoulder. There was some humor still in his voice as he spoke to me. “You know you have to rebuild it, don’t ya.”

            “Roger that Sergeant,” I replied. There was no joy in Muddville that day.

            He chuckled again, “First go get checked out. You look like a sun burnt hairless rat right now.”
            It took a few minutes for them to pronounce me fit for duty. That was after all of the laughter died down. The laughter had started when an individual showed me what I looked like with my eyebrows and most of my mustache burned away. What are friends for, if not to laugh at your misery? My friends kept up the laughter as I rebuilt the showers the next few days. Soldiers from all the platoons sat about shouting advice and laughing with each misstep I had during the reconstruction. I think I called them every name I could imagine during that period. I couldn’t stay mad at them. I understand I was their moment of entertainment during a time of extreme stress.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

The Bane of the Bald Man


I am writing this for my friend Jamie Cantrell. He reminded me of this terrible problem.

First of all, this is not a vanity piece I am writing for myself. I have been asked several times to write about the epidemic that has hit the men of the United States Military. More specifically, the Senior Non-Commissioned Officers that prowl the ranks and file. This tragic disease seams to affect a majority of the men without any thought to race, religion or ethnic origins. This silent stalker is known as Male Pattern Baldness.

 I am not a scientist that can give you a long explanation why so many of these gallant souls are affected by this tragedy. I have thought about it in depth, due to the fact that it has been a problem for me for almost 30 years now. The first school of thought: Soldiers just have way too much testosterone in their systems. This could be true. Soldiers are required to be super aggressive and ready to destroy the enemies of the nation. The NCO’s have to have even more so that they can control the younger soldiers. Usually, it is harder to control them in garrison than in a combat. Too many young men and women think it is a good idea to sneak out of a third story window to get more beer. That isn’t so bad, but there is always that one. They do it wearing combat boots and a sheet. Screaming ‘I am Bacchus, God of Wine.’

My father, a veteran, claimed it was the hats and helmets that we always had to wear. He claimed that the constant friction and lack of oxygen killed the hair follicles. I have to disagree with the Old Man. Like most young soldiers, I was always taking off my headgear or wearing a bandana to protect the skull. This of course was when there were none of my Sergeants around. Back in my day, they would have strangled me with the bandana or beat me with the helmet. Not to the death of course, that would require too much paperwork. I have learned that as I climbed the ranks.

I even had one of my fellow soldiers claim it was an experiment from the government. They had put something in the endless inoculations that the military had given us. He wasn’t sure what the experiment was about, just that it was being performed on us. I don’t put much past the government. That is one I shrugged off. He did retire early from the Army. Now, he draws one of those special checks from the VA.

It doesn’t matter about the reason. What matters is how you treat these poor souls. Remember, we have many problems you do not have. If we are off duty, hats are something that we forgo a lot. I will guarantee that every year each of one of our special group receive a sunburn like you have never experienced. There is nothing worse than a sunburnt head. It is a pain like you have never had before. Additionally, there is the problem of the peeling skin as it heals. That makes a person look like an alien from the show ‘V.’ The Snake people are taking over!

The winter holds a different problem for us. God help you if you forget your wool cap in a snow or ice storm. A sheet of ice will form on the top of the old noggin. This isn’t so bad. What really sucks is when you go inside. The cap begins to melt. Ice water will slowly run down your neck and down your back. The ‘Ice Challenge’ has nothing on this. You are freezing the rest of the day. Nothing but a steaming hot bath can solve the issue.

Finally, there are all the people that think it is good luck to rub your head. A bald head is not a Buddha Belly people. In fact it can be very bad luck for you. The wrong bald man may take it as an insult. The result could be a dislocated soldier. Be nice and ask before you touch. The life you save may be your own.

Please keep us in mind as you brush your hair this morning. You may complain about all the hair care products you have to use, or the time you have to take to look your best. We do not have that option. It is a simple was and go. The only hair care product we may have is a can of Turtle Wax.’

Friday, August 15, 2014

Welcome to the Neighborhood


I read another article today by an individual who is afraid of having returning combat veterans in their neighborhood. They have a fear that the individual will snap and wreak havoc upon their neighbors. I am sorry that we individuals who served and sacrificed so much, are a nightmare that keeps these individuals awake at night.  Instead of cowering and clutching your children to your breast when we pass, just say “Thank You.” You wouldn’t have that giant SUV and over priced home if that man our woman had not stood the line while you sat at home watching Oprah.

Instead of worrying about what could happen, think about how that soldier could be a benefit to your community. Neighborhood watch goes to a new level with vets around. You know that your children are safe playing in the neighborhood when they are on watch. Children are more important to soldiers than you might think. Even in combat zones, we give them candy and presents. Many soldiers have died trying to save the life of a child, even of our enemies. The health and welfare of a child is more important than our own. Additionally, we are ever vigilant for danger. It is ingrained in us from having to survive. Any strange people, or vehicle, will quickly send up red flags. Remember, we are able to run up mountains with an extra 80 pounds of gear on. That weirdo on the playground has no chance.

Occasionally, communities have problems with peeping toms, flashers, and other such wierdos. It is hard for the police to always catch these pervs. Have your husband’s go over and buy the monster a few cold beers. They can explain the problem and ask his help. I’ll bet they have a wife, daughters, or even a mother. I am sure they will love the excitement of the idea. We’ll never turn down an opportunity to cammo up and hide in the darkness. It gets even better because there is a chance of jumping from concealment and scaring some dirt bag to death. I’ll apologize early for any traps your husband may trip while walking the dog at night. Those flare trip wires will give you a headache. Just make sure your spouses don’t ask to help. You don’t want to have to deal with a 5 A.M. boot camp going on through your streets. They can’t go to combat without training after all.

Veterans are also great for getting rid of pests as well. No, I’m not talking about you daughter’s boyfriend. There are too many laws about that. My neighbors have used me several times when a rabid groundhog, opossum, or raccoon have made an unwanted appearance. Most combat soldiers have no quam about putting down a sick animal. It is far better than the suffering it has to go through. Don’t think we missed the shot if you hear 2 shots. It’s just the training. You have to make sure it is dead and dead again. For a cold beer or bratwurst, we’ll even dispose of the carcass for you. We know some of you suburbanites are a little squeamish about that.

If you live in the country, we can even be more help. Sometimes we may go a little overboard. Don’t ask us to put up a fence without specifications. You might end up with triple strand concertina wire, a four foot tall berm, or both with a tank ditch added in for good measure. When asking us to remove a stump, make sure you specify no explosives. Without that specification, you might have a crater that you can park your truck in.

Let’s not forget those combat medics and surgeons. They are a plus to have in the neighborhood. They can treat everything from a headache to a sucking chest wound. You may say you don’t need that much experience. I beg to differ. Remember when Mr. Jones came home with lipstick on his collar at 1 A.M. Yep the medic would have when he ran out of the house screaming with that meat thermometer sticking out of his backside. Just don’t be surprised if the have you clear out a landing zone and call in for a medevac.
Veterans are not the monsters I the closet. We do have problems and issues. So does the beauty pageant mom and the workaholic dad. Don’t shoot fireworks at our homes or yell “Incoming.” We will be fine. Treat us as your neighbors and friends. All we every want is to come home and live our lives enjoying our families and working hard. Give us a smile and wave. That goes a long way.