Distant Voices

"Mother is the word for God on the lips and mouths of small children..."
-Eric Draven

"Relatives are annoying and if they are not annoying then they are dead..."
-Kitty Foreman

"A man who honors his teacher, honors himself"
- Chinese Proverb

For my beloved wife Jenn who lost her father, Jeff on August 30th, 2017.

( I read once a story about how in a distant land, long ago that during a famine old people were ordered to be killed to leave more food for people who can work. In this story a man who loved his mother tried to hide her but she told him to leave her in the woods. On the way after discovering her leaving trail markers so he doesn't get lost, he lost heart nd took her home. Long story short they get invaded and with her help the village solves riddles that spare them.

The following story isn't about saving people from a conquering army but rather the value of parents. No matter how much they piss you off or not, they are valuable.)

[This is a true story]


I was in the jungles of Costa Rica.  I had been here a few weeks when we were told that in order to help win hearts and minds we were to go clear out jungle that over grew a school house construction site.

We arrived and got off the bus after first having had to raid the local police academy's yard tools. It was humid and uncomfortable.  We really had our work cut out for us as the jungle had even enveloped the foundation and cement walls of the small 4 room building.

As people began picking up tools to work I noticed a long machete leaning against a fence. I picked it up and felt a wave of nostalgia pass over me. My Mother's image began to take over my mind. I shook it off and listened to the plans for the day.

I had been told to begin hacking the jungle away. I began the task, swinging the machete back and forth low. Each pass reaped the tall grass and bushes leaving a trail behind.

Half-heartedly I began to chuckle to myself. I remember my Mother sitting on a stool with a cigarette watching me work in my youth. She would sit there sometimes drinking coffee spouting out instructions and tips to me. She used to use things like this to teach me stuff.

I tried to push it away as my blade kept mowing down the jungle. I began to realize that my technique was faltering.I could hear her telling me to keep my "alive" hand to my chest to protect me.

"Yeah right! Moms gone! She can't see me!" I thought bravely to myself...

I paused ,took a quick look around and then sheepishly put my "alive" hand to my chest before she could see me.

"Watch your blade! You're swinging crooked. It's not effective!" I heard her say.

Obidiently I corrected my grip and once again sliced through the foliage like air. My arm began to tire as I worked.

"If you are tired, switch hands!"

I switched the blade to my left hand. Still keeping the pace with my right hand I continued slicing through the jungle.

"Watch your breathing! " she yelled out.

I noticed that I was panting. I began to breathe through my nose. Deep even breaths like I had been taught.

"Use the air, don't waste it!" She said when she noticed the improvement.

I was pouring with sweat. Every muscle was tired and sore. Still I kept on swinging the blade. I could feel her eyes on me, watching my cuts, waiting for me to mess up. I drove on deeper into the jungle. I had even cut down small trees with the machete to her silent approval.

After a while the jungle had been removed. As we were picking up the tools I felt the urge to look back but hesitated.  Would I see nothing? Would I see her? Would I never see her again?  Could this be the last time?

Finally I looked back, I did not see her but I could hear her telling me to go home. I stood there staring at the silent jungle until my friends called me to get in the bus to leave.

( I used to say that only Children should bury their parents, Parents should never bury their children. I personally believe that you honor your parents by doing the burying.

Being a parent is many things. I learned from my Mother that a good parent is an Instructor and both my parents despite it all were excellent instructors in their areas of expertise.

We are our parents. People will see your parents in the way you act and the things you do. Maybe even in the things that we don't do.

I will always carry my Mother in my heart and in my training. People can and do see her in my movements and habits. People will look at me and see the man my Mother wanted me to be.

and my Mother will be honored.)
-B

The Two Towers.

(This is a true story)

"Somebody love me once but I cannot remember why..."
-Reel Big Fish

(I admit that this woulda been a great story for 9/11 but I really didn't think of it and I really had been focusing on the last story. This story is by no means untold by me. This story always comes up during "where were you during 9/11" stories. This story is directly related to 9/11 and my "goings ons/whereabouts". I also would tell this story when people ask if my wife always hated me. Anyways here's the story and I hope you like it...)

Before I get into the story at hand I need to tell you a back-story. I joined the Army after deciding that I had no other way to support my family. I wanted to provide them with EVERTHING and the window I was waiting on was closed on my fingers. I received the news that these people wouldn't hire me but would hire liars. At the time I was an Armed Courier and when I heard the news I got mad, well furious was a better word for it, and realizing that I did not want to be the guy who failed at providing for his family, I returned to the vault. There I turned in my money and my vehicle, then I drove straight to the recruiter. My pistol was privately owned so I still had it with me when I arrived. After a while I told the recruiters that I was armed and refused to stow it in my car. When they asked me too I said that I would just come back later and they asked if I had a badge and credentials, which I did, I showed them and they were cool with it. I kept my gun/Badge and the enlisted me. They told me that carrying a weapon there was prohibited but the sign was broken and awaiting replacement.

Fast forward to 9/11:

I was home from basic training. As a reward for doing well and qualifying top 16% , I was told that I would get to stay home two extra weeks on top of my leave to do recruiter duty. I worked at the very recruiting station I signed up at.

My wife and I were asleep that fateful morning. The phone rang super early and she answered it. Weapon X, was on the line spouting off about how a pilot crashed a plane into a tower. My wife asked her if we could talk about it later and hung up on her. Then she went back to sleep.

I don't remember when but the phone rang again. This time it was my Sergeant. She passed the phone to me and when I said hello they asked if I was ok, then they went on to tell me of the terror attacks. They told me to come to work now. I told them that I would shave and get into uniform and the said "No" just to come in as I was, they did not want me to look military. I said ok and hung up the phone.

By then my wife was freaking out. People and her family were calling the cell phone asking if we were ok and telling what they have heard about the attacks. They even told her that the terrorists may be targeting Soldiers and killing them .My parents were up watching the news when I walked out of my room to tell them.

By then I was already dressed, I still remember what I was wearing: A Green Day Shirt, big baggy stonewashed jeans and DC shoes, I was still a skateboarder then so I still dressed like one. Before I walked out of the room my wife asked me if I was going to take a gun with me. A few months before she had bought me a H+k USP .40 with a stainless steel slide. A very pretty,High performance handgun, I would eventually carry that gun for duty. I told her "no" I didn't need one, I just gotta check in and then they would let me go home.

So I walked out to my parents asking question and I had no answers. I told em I'd go to work and find out what was going on and let them know.

I turned around and yelled to my wife "I LOVE YOU!" as I turned the door knob to leave. I heard her say my name and I stopped in my tracks to turn around to face her. There was my beautiful wife walking around the corner, face wet and red because she was sobbing and in her hands was the pistol she bought me, resting in her palms in its leather scabbard. Tears in her eyes she raised the pistol to me and said in a low voice...

"please take it...I don't want anything to happen to you..."

and all I could do is stand there and stare at her. My beautiful wife, the woman I loved enough to marry, the woman I wanted to spend forever with, crying her eyes out because she thought I could die. She was crying her eyes out because I wasn't armed, She was sobbing her eyes out because she wanted me to take my weapon with me and at that point I remembered my duties as a husband. I knew I could get in trouble but she was more important.

"Yes..."

and I took the pistol from her and she threw her arms around me and cried.

When she was done crying I put the pistol on in front of her. Thank God my shirt was large, it covered up the gun quite nicely. I then proceeded to work and when I got there all I had to do was be briefed and given safety rules. I got nervous about the weapon so I said to my Sergeant this:

" Hey! do you remember that thing I had on me when I signed the line?"

"Yeah"

" Well, I got one now. My wife wanted me to take one."

he replied this:

"oh, you brought just one? you should see the station commander..."

and if on cue she walked in the room and asked what we were talking about.

" the young Private here has a gun on him."

she replied:

"Oh, just one?"

and she opened her warm up jacket and revealed no less than four handguns tucked in her waistband. All I could think was "Fucking band geek!"

I finally got to go home and me and my wife spent the day together. We went grocery shopping and I still had the gun on. I wore it the whole day...

When my wife left me the first things to go was that pistol. To this day I still feel bad about it. I really think that me letting the gun go was this story. She loved me soooo much that she cried for me to take it but then she could leave the way she did. She bought me the gun because she loved me, she told me so when she bought it and when she left I couldn't bear to look at it anymore so I sold it. Then I used the money as a down payment for an apartment for me and my son. With the remaining money I bought a tactical flashlight that I still have/carry to this day.

In the end the weapon that my wife brought to me in tears that day did do its job, She gave it to me to protect me and keep me safe. I carried it to protect her and my son, but in the end the pistol gave me and my son a start on a new life.

The Towers fell and lives were lost and lives were changed. My own disaster would happen a few years later when someone else convinced my beloved Shelly to leave me for their arms.

So I believe the answer to be "No", my wife didn't always hate me. 

-B

(Just like there are fates worse than death, there are even worse ways to lose people. But in this way its worse, you see what they have become or you feel the pain of not being part of their lives anymore. Either way all you can do is just sit there, watch and wish that you had thought to bring a coke and popcorn. I say it a million times and I will say it past I'm dead..." the person you love may not always be there.." who cares how and why they left because nothing will ever change the fact that YOU LOVED THEM, right or wrong, for better or for worse, YOU LOVED THEM, but be with them and love them, take the time and the love to build memories and keepsakes that will remind you that yes you loved them and maybe, just maybe they loved you too and all was well in the world and that will comfort you when they are no longer there. That's why I tell you these stories, not so I can wallow in self pity and drown in sorrow. I tell them because they remind me of a happier time, a time when I was whole. I can look into a pretty girls greenish/copper/hazel(whatever) eyes and remember the beauty of loving and being loved...that and they do sell single serving microwave popcorn that fits in your pocket for just such and emergency...luv ya, -B)

Tail of the Dog.

(This is a true story)

(This is one of two stories told by me at Sully's high class wedding. Actually I tell this story often but the wedding was the first time I ever Publically told it. People were on the edge of their seats waiting to hear what happened next. I battled with myself for a few years with whether or not I should publish this story and actually almost wrote it out while in Egypt. So here it is and I hope you like it and please tell your friends...)

For Sarah and her cat Zepplin, who passed on 9/11/2013...

So despite being the "awful" husband my X-wife would say I was,she would bring me baked goods. When we were married she used to bake for me all the time. I gained a lot of weight and there was plenty of me to love while I was married to her.

Well the incident in question happened fully after the transformation of my beautifull wife. Her hair was still short, she wore a lot of flannel and around her neck she wore the symbol of her new religion.

I myself stop short of naming her religion although I'm sure you all are smart enough to figure it out. The funniest part of the whole thing is that she didn't realize that she wore it so people knew what she was aligned with. She called once to tell me about her new spirituality and was taken aback by the fact that I already knew. I mean its not like I never saw her, My X-wife was always calling and always showing up at my work! to be honest, how could I NOT know? Anyways this religion is/was notorious for love spells and (this is cool) human sacrifice...spoiler dood...as well as other stuff. I myself never paid it much mind till one day.

It never hit me, the problems I could be having with my X and her new religion. Hell most people laughed it off. My mom would joke about her casting spells on me and finally turning me into a toad or whatnot. I personally thought a Voodoo type experience would be cool but it wasn't the right religion.

Well the reason for worry finally hit me like a Mack truck when one day out of the blue she showed up at my work with baked goods in hand. As she handed  me the Bread she looked at me with an odd look and then it hit me. I'm her X the she declared to be the "Darth Vader" of husbands and here she is giving me HOMEMADE baked goods, Yeah, I thought, this isn't going to go well.

So I took the bread, thanked her and started to walk off. She stopped me and asked why I wasn't eating it. I told her that I just ate but I was gonna get a coke and eat it in a few. That seemed to satisfy her and she left the shop. After watching her leave and waiting long enough to be sure she wasn't coming back I took the tinfoil wrapped bread and chucked it in the dumpster out back, feeling alive as if I just dodged a bullet.

Over the next few months that's how it went. She would bring goodies(yeah right!) and I would wait till she left to throw it in the dumpster. It was a pretty neat routine actually, very comical, like we had rehearsed.

Well one day she showed up and as I recall she had brought Zuchinni Bread. While we were married it was a weakness of mine. I would make her bake a loaf just for me and then I would devour it like a velociraptor, the carnage! I took it and made my usual excuse and before she release the loaf she said this...

" If you ask me this is the best loaf I have ever made...its DAMN good!"

and walked off with my son to go to her house. I waited till she was gone and the proceeded to the dumpster carrying the tinfoil package in front of me like it was an I.E.D when my boss Bill stopped me.

" Where are you going with that?"

He was standing near the back door with a cup of coffee in his hand.

" To throw this out."

As I answered I gave him the "Where have you been, oh and are you stupid" look.

"Why?"

"I never eat anything she brings."

" Why not?"

" Dood, she into -Deleted-! I wouldn't eat it!"

" Lemmie have it."

" What?! are you stupid?!"

"Just give it here!"

" Don't eat it!"

"I'm not gonna eat it!"

Finally he told me what he was gonna do with it. A really mean dog lived across the alley from the back door of the shop. I have been told it bit Bill once but he would feed it scraps anyway. The dog was not only a mean one but notorious for being able to get over the fence.

I conceded, gave bill one last warning and let him have the package. He took his coffee and with the loaf of bread under his arm walked out the back door and closed it after himself. The rest of the day went without incident.

That day was my "Friday" and I went home for one of my days off. When I came back to work Bill asked me if I had heard the news to which I replied no.

Bill said that he went outside with the bread and fed it to the dog and everything was fine. Then the next morning the little old people that owned it came and knocked on the back door. That's not too unusual for them to do as when the dog got out they would ask if we had seen it.

Only this time they didn't ask where the dog was, they asked if we knew who had killed it...

Seems that late the very night that the dog ate the bread someone had climbed the fence and shot the dog, killing it unnoticed and unheard by anyone...

After that I was even more firmly resolved to never eat anything my X-wife ever made for me...

-B

The Ghost and Mr.Chicken

(This is a true story, at least I'm pretty sure its a true story)

( In a coupla weeks I get to go on a Ghost hunt tour of the Stanley Hotel and to celebrate the occasion I'm sharing with you the story of the first and only time I have ever seen a ghost or at least a reasonable facsimile. I hope you like it.)

If you even kinda look at this page when I make you look at it by shoving my phone/iPod in your face you would know I love  ghosts and spookables. You would also know that it wasn't always that way.

Back when I was a midget I was like all the other midgets. Scared to death of anything ghost/monster related. I remember closing my eyes when a horror movie commercial came on the T.v. and being terrified. I seem to recall once closing and covering my eyes and still was able to see the scarey stuff. How I became "unscared" is a story for another day.

The incident in question had occurred many, many, many, many, many moons ago. My family lived with a sect of our extended family known as the "Oz". I'm really not sure how they got that name but I do know I spent most of my younger days lurking about and gettin in trouble with my cousin Mike. Our two families resided together in a little house located in Oceanside,Ca. I've heard tell that the little house still stands to this day but as of a few years ago, is no longer in control by anyone in this family.

Well there were about 7 kids in the house at that time and like any struggling family of the day our grandmother governed us. We had three places in which we were allowed to play per "Cha-Cha's" rules. One was the front/back yard, two was the living room and lastly when Cha-Cha has had enough of us was the Garage. On occasion our Grandmother would allow us to play in the garage and she would open the garage door letting in sunshine and air. On those days it was really nice to play in the garage that way, kinda like being outside and inside at the same time.

I remember on that day all the kids were playing in the garage with the door open. All of the Oz and my older sister were doing what kids do together in a garage. I do not recall why I was not included or out with them.

I do remember walking down the hall toward the living/T.v room. I had stopped in the room, I cannot remember if the T.v. was on. Mike had just walked in to from the garage and looked to be excited and in a hurry. He saw me standing there and ran up to me and grabbed me by the left shoulder and wrist.

" Hey! come into the garage, there's a ghost outside!" he exclaimed.

I responded with " There's a ghost outside? where?"

"In the garage! Come look!"

and with that he dragged me to the garage.

All the kids were in a group towards the back half of the room  looking across the street pointing. My cousin Belle moved to me and said...

"Its across the street, can't you see it?"

I looked and to be honest I could not.

"No."

Mike then came up and said.

" Its by the clothes line."

The house across the street had a square, revolving clothesline in the front yard. I looked and looked with all the kids getting more and more excited. They all began clustering around me pointing.

Finally I saw it. I saw a ghost white shaggy haired, Scottish terrier walking in front of the Clothesline, sniffing the ground.

" I see him!" I shouted, pointing at the dog..." I see him!!!"

We were all pointing now at the dog. The dog still sniffing the ground seemed to hear us and looked up at us, staring with coal black eyes. All of a sudden it leaped up into the air and morphed into what you think a ghost should look like. It changed into a waving, "sheet" looking phantom. Upon seeing this transformation all of us began jumping up and down, yelling and screaming, still pointing at the ghost.

Cha-Cha had heard all the commotion and came running into the garage. I remember she had a large kitchen knife in her hand. She stopped, looked at us and then looked in the direction we were all pointing. I remember her expression changing from her usual mean look to a look that to this day perplexes me...she had a expression of surprise and for the first and only time in my life I saw fear in the face of my legendary Grandmother.

She shook it off , put the knife in her other hand, strode up to the door, reached out and pulled it closed. After ensuring it was closed and locked she returned to her kitchen. All the children settled down and broke down into the usual groups, girls and boys, with Mike and myself often got Belle, as we were the "Not old enough to go to school kids " and both groups talked excitedly about the incident...

I have no memory of what happened following the incident.

I do recall my Mother and her Boyfriend (My Father) coming home and picking up my sister and me and taking us shopping at a food store called " Food basket". It was a cool store, R2-D2 was once there and he rolled right up to me and beeped, pretty cool right! Any way, I remember being seated in the child seat of the wire basket, trying to tell my Mother about what we had seen and she told me to tell my Father. So there I was a young, frustrated child trying to explain to a young Marine that we had seen a ghost and he was giving me "Non-believing patience". After several attempts to explain he finally cut me off with this...

"You think you saw..."

The classic coup-de-graw of parents telling you that you didn't see and thus ending any hope of convincing. I was cool with it, frankly I was tired of trying to convince this "jarhead" what I had witnessed and gave up. I never saw that ghost again...

I used to tell that story every now and again. Mostly I told it at an occasional Halloween get togethers. I can't honestly say I have seen a text book ghost since then. I still have the footage in my mind of what I saw that day. I'm not to sure that any of the Oz or my sister remember that incident.

-B

(Well kids, usually there's a moral or two that I place here but not today. Today's story is just a memory that I have had since my childhood. My friend, call sign Red 1 Actual once told me that she likes the stories as they tell her about me. So here's just a look into the past of a Hero spelled with a capital "Z"...thanks for reading.)

God and Country.

( This is a true story)

Every year comes and goes. With the cycle of the planets and the solar system every year brings memorial day. A day were we remember the fallen and the brave. The sacrifices of the Women and Men of this countries fine military. The sacrifices of so few for so many.

Roughly half a year ago a man asked me the purpose of other people and myself wearing "Operator Caps".  If you don't know an "Operator Caps" is baseball style hat with Velcro patches that you can attach Flags and various morale patches. On my cap I proudly display a Betsy Ross flag, the original flag of our great nation.

I told the person that I wore an the caps because I could put an American Flag on them and that it was hard to find a hat with a flag on it. He then asked why with a look that basically told me I was an Idiot on his face. I replied simply " because unlike some people I am proud of my country and I am proud to serve and proud to have fought for that flag..."

I wasn't always like that. My Mother and Father always were sporting patriotic gear. My mother bled Red,White and blue due to my Father being in Force Recon. My Father sported the Colors due to his pride in service and his beloved Marine Corps.  To be honest I really didn't understand it either.

I started believing when I shipped my Father off to war in Defense of our country. While he was away I would put American Flag stickers on my skateboard to show my support to the brave men and women. That was pretty much the extent of my patriotism.

Finally the day arrived that my Wife and family shipped me off to the Iraqi War. I did two tours there with the motley-est crew ever...Cobra Company!. I came home from the Army and all I had was pride in 1st Armored.

Then the disaster of my life happened, my Beloved wife left my son and me...

I still didn't have pride in my country. I had pride in my service. I wore tan Tanker boots around and my Dad had made me a plaque to place my medals, awards and ribbons on.  I placed the awards on my wall and wore the boots with pride.

John Scott once said to me " aren't women cruel?..". This was in reference to the fact that my X-wife would call me and tell me all kinds of nasty things. True I have said before that divorce is ugly and it sure is ugly.

I remember one night she called and proceeded to bombard me with ugliness. The main focus of tonites call was to defile my service to the country. She told the she left me because I joined the Army and that all my overseas tours were thoughtless and heartless. She told me everything I went through was why she hated me and the reason she didn't love me anymore. She told me she stopped loving me after I joined the Army.

Most people would say that they would tell the girl to F-off and hang up or that they told them something bitter and tough...not this guy. I sat there in silence trying not to cry. I sat there and saw all the anguish and pain of being deployed to war. I saw the beauty of my little family and I saw her telling me all these hurtful things. I cannot begin to describe the feeling of a broken heart breaking all the way through to two separate halves.

After she hung up I sat there with the phone still to my ear. I remember my apartment was dark. I sat there staring at my plaque with my awards feeling my anger rising in the pit of my stomach. I dropped the phone to the ground and rose to my feet, reached out and snatched the ribbons and medals off the wall. I turned to the door and strode out bending down without breaking my stride to grab my boots off the floor by the door.

Quickly walking I went out the gate to the dumpster, I wasn't able to hold the tears back anymore and my face had become wet. I arrived at the dumpster, flung back the lids and angrily threw the medals and the boots into the dumpster. As I threw them in I cursed the day I joined the Army and regretted the war and the COBRAS. I HATED my country that sent me to the war that cost me me family.

I sank to the curb sobbing and sat down.

I began to ask why did I have to be one of the ones that made it back. Why couldn't I have been one of the ones  that didn't make it? To be one of the ones that gave it all. Why did I come back to this hell?

To have made the ultimate sacrifice and to not feel this pain.

I sat there with my knees to my chest, head on my arms in the dark by a dumpster. I sat there thinking of Anerios and Payne, thinking that they gave it all. That they had sacrificed it all.

Then out of nowhere I suddenly realized that my wife said she left me because of the Army and the war.

She made me realize what I had sacrificed. I gave my family to the Army , the war and the country. I gave my family life to America. My family did not survive the war. I had made a sacrifice for my country, I gave almost all I had to give.

I stood up walked to the dumpster and took out the boots and the plaque. I sat down took off my shoes and replaced them with my tanker boots. With my medals and boots I then walked back to the apartment and placed the plaque back on the wall. I laid down on the couch and fell asleep.

Since that day I pretty much have worn American flags or something related to my service. I finally learned the price of a piece of cloth or a patch. I gave everything I had to give and to this day the price is still heavy. There are many people in this country that scoff at the idea but to them they can look at my Betsy Ross, laugh and then they can kiss my ass.

All of us went, not all of us came back and even though many of us did come back, some of us never fully returned. Part of me will always be riding a tank through Sadir city, hoping and dreaming of coming home...

-B

An Officer and Gentleman

[This is a true story or at least that's what my Mom told me.]

"Do unto others that you would have done to yourself…"

There is about 8 Jillion different ways to say that last quote. I myself tend to like " Treat others how you want to be treated". You hear it a lot ,well I used to, but even seldom ever see it practiced. More often than not you hear people mention Karma and hoping to see Karma in action.

Well as you all know my Mother has taught me almost all of my philoskifies. She did teach me the "Golden Rule" when I was young. I took it as what it was and never really thought much into it. I mean Karma tends to be visible as in if you let someone in during traffic, someone else let's you in when you need it and when you cut someone off, you get cut off yourself later. The world has turned pretty much into a dog-eat-dog world but I did see people try to live by the rule. As the years went by I saw it less and less. The Golden rule however is about bestowing upon others what you would like bestowed upon yourself, like mercy or compassion. How can you expect mercy or compassion if you yourself would never give it?

You often even hear of people taking advantage of position over people who have pissed them off in life or treated them unfairly. It seems completely first nature to worry about yourself rather than worry about others. To put the "shoe" on and proceed to do to others what has been done to you and then some! Who would not do that? I think most people would take advantage just to have the final word.

I'm not really sure how the topic came up on the day that Mother told me this story but she was telling me about my Fathers character.

While my Dad was in the Marines he had a Master Gunnery Sergeant that had it out for him. According to legend he's the reason Dad retired, he would rather be "out" than to deal with this guy.

This man I guess made my Fathers life a living hell, pickin on him and such. I seem to recall that time with my Dad being really cranky and irritable. I remember Mom talking to him trying to calm and soothe Dad after work. Eventually Dad hit 21 years and called it a day.

Well after he got out my Dad went to a police department ,worked hard and was rewarded with a Gold Detectives badge and the perks that go along with it. By that time Dad had forgotten all about the mean, nasty ole' Master Gunny.

Being specialized in his police field, Dad often taught classes at the police academy to new cadets. One time Dad went to the academy to instruct a brand new class. While walking down the hall he rounded the corned and came face to face with a cadet from the class.

Standing staring at each other the cadet was obviously older. The cadet began to give my Father the greeting of the day while still looking at my Father. I guess they recognized each other at the same time…

The cadet was none other than the Master Gunny…

The Master gunny looked Dad over, unbelieving what he was seeing, here was the man that he had rained hell on, someone whom he thought he would never see again let alone in the deserts of New Mexico. As he looked Dad over his eyes drifted down to the gold shield that was hanging around his neck and saw that the tides had turned and the shoe was definitely on the other foot.

Dad stood there looking at the Master Gunny knowing that the shoe was on the other foot. Knowing that now the tide had changed. Knowing that he could extract revenge on the man that led to him leaving his beloved Marine Corps.

And with the Master Gunny standing before him with his mouth hanging open, staring at my father, Dad stuck his hand out and received his brother Marine with open arms…

Dad had done the impossible, the unheard of...he let it go. He had every ounce of capability to treat the guy however he wanted but he didn't, He treated him how he should, treated him how he wanted to be treated.

My mother is very proud of my Father for what happen that day. She knew he was an honorable man but yet again he proved it and I agree. Many people would have taken revenge.

Dad had chosen to not take vengeance and instead was rewarded with one of the closest friends he has ever had.

These days lots of things happen to me. I'm told there's a reason and I am also sure its written in the bible but its just worded cooler. There's a T.v show my son and I  watch that once had a character say...

"When we ask for strength, they send us hard times to make us stronger..."

And every time I'm wronged I think of the story of my father and the Master Gunny then I let it go for I know how I would like to be treated. When I was young I fully believed the Marines were the new Knights, living by a code of honor and my Father being one of their Elite proved it once again.

Just food for thought in these modern times where people only think of themselves

(By the way Dad, I know this may not be the way it happened and I know this because in this version I made you taller...word is bond...)
-B

Dreaming of still life

[This is dream I had]

(How would I begin?.. ok I'm currently overseas delployed with the most negative people I have ever met. This trip makes me look like a bonafide optimist. The "fun" has worn out but even still I have somethings to make me smile even if its only on the inside. I had this dream a little before the publishing and even though it is just a dream I gotta admit it made me smile but at the same time it made me realize that I still have some time left. Either way you look at the glass it was still nice, like parole from here.

Greek mythology tells the tale of a guy stuck in hell with a burning thirst. He is chained in a pool of clear water and everytime he lowers his head to drink the water level drops to just out of reach. Well in another myth involving this poor guy, the daughter of the woman who runs earth gets tricked into going down to hell. While there she screws innocently with all the punishments and in the case of our chained friend she gives him a drink. It was told that she made the thirst worse for the guy despite her act of mercy.

That's what the dream was like…so here it is, I hope you enjoy, I did.)

I was standing in front of my house on the sidewalk by the drive. The world appeard as a ghost would see it. Everything appeared in misty shades of grey and black. Almost not real, almost a mirage or a silvery illusion. I could not feel the breeze or the suns warmth.

There I was unable to feel but feeling the warmth in my heart as I gazed upon my home I had been so long from. I stood there drinking in my cactus with yellow ribbons on its tines. It still stood proudly in its circle of rocks next to a Chinese Elm that my father had tried with no success to kill.

I began moving up the drive to the house, gliding, not feeling the effort of walking. Moving as a spectre would. Walking like a memory returning to being, from the sad memory to the reality of existance. What a house, modest but containing so much. I had lived there with my family for years.  This was the house my son called home after his birth. How many times had I come home here? Returing from prior deployments to this very house.

I pushed open the gate and listened to the gate open on squeaky hinges. I continued on up the side walk to the front door. I stood staring at it breathing in the beautiful relief of finally making it home. I reached out with my right hand to open the door. My hand was moving in slow motion to the open the house. I became aware of the back pack slung over my left shoulder and I shrugged slightly to adjust the load.

The door opend at the slightest touch, allowing me entry. I walked throught the foyer and through the open door to the house.I stopped in the entry way and looked around in the haze of grey and silver. I couldn't see anyone to greet me. No parents or sister to welcome me home. The empty house did nothing to darken the light in the center of my being, instead I bent slightly at the knees and swung my bag off my shoulder and onto the cool tiles at my feet.

I turned left and walked in to the kitchen, there on the counter were my pistols lying there neatly as if on display in a shop. I picked one up and felt the cool metal in my hand and my arm felt complete again. As I looked the gun over I noticed a gallon of milk sitting next to the firearms. I put the pistol down and reached out to touch the milk. I could feel the pebble texture of the container and felt the moisture of the condensation. I watched fascinated by the two drops of water racing down the side of the container. Two droplets locked in a race with each other powered by gravity.

I then remembered my room. I turned on my heels and began walking to the hallway. At the end of the corridor I could see my door, ajar with beckoning light spilling from its opening. As I glided down the hall I reached out with my right arm to touch the wall as I passed. Drinking in the rough texture of the paint.

Finally I stood in the doorway of the room I spent countless hours in avoiding humanity, my place of solice where only my family or closest friends would visit. Where my possesions resided. Where I could be by myself. Finally home…

I pushed open the door and gazed upon my fortress of solitude. All how I rememebered.

But there in my bed was something that stopped my thoughts and ghostly memories cold. Lying there underneath the covers in silent slumber was my beloved son.

I stood there in my doorway unmoving, unable to look away at my sons sleeping self. Eyes riveted as if looking at a work of art so beautiful it would be a mortal sin to blink.

For the first time since entering my house as a phantom I felt like I had returned home. Standing there watching my son sleep. I began hoping he would wake up so I could hug him and talk to him but at the same time hoping that this memory would never end.

Finally home…finally accomplishing…finally not lonely…

Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. I took my eyes off my child and looked behind me down the hallway. The hallway once filled with a silvery light was now dark, black as night. I looked back to my room and my son and both had been replaced by the blackness.…

I now realized I was awake and the noise was my MP3 player scolding me awake. The blackeness lightened and I saw the bunk over me. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my bed and put my feet on the floor feeling the disapointment and the loneliness of the darkness.Then I stood up and started the duty day…

-B

(I can't wait, God willing I will make it home to my precious son. All this time and the pain of losing a year will be gone when I can look at him and take him in my arms again. When my son is no longer a dream I will feel more whole than I am now…)