Dread

In less than 3 weeks, our country will decide what direction it wishes to go.
Sadly, it appears that we will be headed down the road of curtailed personal freedoms, economic disaster, and pervasive government control over our day to day lives.

And I weep for what was once a great nation.

Ours was a nation built on rugged individualism. A man had an idea, worked hard to bring it to fruition, and bettered his lot in life.

My father embodies the American dream. He came to this country as a young man. He became educated, obtaining a degree in History. He began as a teacher, but ended his career as a corporate vice president. His trail was one of twists and turns, setbacks and opportunities. His skill, determination, and perserverance got him to the point he is today: A retired gentleman farmer with a rural spread of land to call his own.

Mechanisms are being put in place to destroy his opportunity for the next generation.
Our school system has steered away from making children literate. Self esteem is taught, rather than reading, writing, math, and science. If a child says that 2+2=chair, he is praised, not corrected.

I deal with the products of this system every day.

Young people who have been indoctrinated to the idea that they are unable to survive without a handout. They have been taught that the deck is so stacked against them, it is pointless to try. That their only avenues a better life are to become an athlete, an entertainer, or a criminal.

Being a doctor, a lawyer, a salesman, or an accountant isn't an option for them. They cannot read at a 3rd grade level, and their schools don't care.

We have created a generation of incompetent idiots. They will vote with their wallets, which have been promised to be filled from the labors and sweat of someone else.

The top 50% of wage earners in this country pay 96% of the bill. Unbelievable, I am part of that top 50%.

Actually, not unbelievably. I spend my days off working to better my lot in life. I am paid for my extra work, which puts me in a higher tax bracket. I pay confiscatory taxes on my extra labor, but I need the net proceeds to move forward.

It is now being proposed to take the fruits of my labor and redistribute it to those who are more deserving.

Excuse me?

I was raised to believe that when you earn something, you deserve it.

My father worked his entire life to provide for his family. The spread of land he owns is thought of as being the family homestead, despite it only having been purchased a few years ago. Through prudent financial moves, my father owns it outright. It is his, and cannot be taken away from him.

It will, however, be taken from his family.
The value of his estate will be taxed upon his death.
Between all of his children, it is unlikely that we will be able to amass the likely 100-200 thousand dollars that will need to be paid in estate taxes... so it will be sold.
The proceeds of that sale will not go toward educating his grandchildren or bettering the lives of the family he leaves behind.

It will go toward keeping segments of our population anchored in ghettos, keeping them dependent on government, keeping them ignorant...keeping them voting for more.

And we will be told that it is justice. A man who wishes to lead our nation recently said, "I think it's better when you spread the wealth around".

I have a quote for him. It is from Star Wars. "This is how Democracy dies... to thunderous applause."

Resolve

I am discovering some things about myself.
Some of the baggage I carry around with me, I don't need.
I don't need the guilt that has burdened me for half of my life.
I am free of it.

I can speak her name without tears.
I can tell the story of what happened without shame.
I can look back and be thankful for knowing her... for loving her.

And I am a better man for it.

Other baggage, I am more inclined to hold.
My distrust.
My prejudices.
My jaundiced view of other people.

These things serve me well in my chosen profession.

And I am finding that I need them.

Yes, they take me to a dark place that I am not unfamiliar with.
But it is somewhere that I need to be.
I need my anger. I need my angst.
They keep me on edge.
They keep me sharp.

I spend much of my life working without a net.
This baggage keeps me from being complacent.
Not careless.

Before I began examining how I came to be the way I am...
I did a lot of things that others viewed as heroic.
Some of them, had luck not been on my side, would have turned out very differently.

Looking back, I see that I took many of those chances because I did not consider my own life as valuable as another. If I took the fall, it would validate what I considered to be a less than worthy life.
I felt it would be better to die a hero than to live a cretin.

I don't look at it that way anymore. I care if I make it home, now.
The things I do, I do because I honestly believe that I can do them better than just about anyone else.
I can succeed where others would not.
Arrogant? Maybe.
Prideful? Yes.

I am proud of what I do. I am proud of what I can do.

I know what I am. I know what I was built for.
I am a soldier. I am a guardian. I am a warrior.
It is not my role to stoically endure evil.
It is my purpose to close with it, do battle, and defeat it.
Because others cannot, or will not.

I keep my darkness so that others don't have to.

For the first time, I own it.
It doesn't own me.

Victory Dance

People in my line of work love rituals.
They serve an important purpose for us.
The nature of what we do is so unpredictable, we take comfort in rites of certainty.

I have a few.
I don't have to be at work until 2:30. I begin my preparation just after noon.
I turn on Rush Limbaugh, as background noise.
I have a hot shower, shave, and brush my teeth.
I put on my underclothes, which are a special kind.
I stretch. Hamstrings, calves, quads. Biceps, triceps, chest and back.
Once I am loose, I do some pushups, then stretch again.
I lay out my uniform, my tools, and my armor.
I take a moment, looking at them, considering them.
I put it all on, deliberately, insuring that they ride properly and won't shift out of place.
Once dressed, I close my eyes. I reach for each of my tools, quickly, refreshing the muscle memory, so I won't have to think should I need them.
My eyes still closed, I draw my weapon. Over and over, smooth is fast, fast is smooth.
I open my eyes and repeat. Smooth is fast, fast is smooth. Get it out, find the sights.
I recheck my creases and gig lines, then I head out the door to confront whatever the world will throw at me.

At the end of the week, when I return home, I have my Victory Dance.
I pour myself a masculine drink. Whiskey, on the rocks, a little bit of water.
I go upstairs, and sip it as I take off my gear.
It helps me relax after a long week of not relaxing. Yeah, I have moments during the week while I am not "on", but I am still... there.
Once my week is over, I don't have to be there.

My Victory Dance officially ends my week.
It is my reward for coming home alive.