Memorial celebrations are taking place this Veterans Day to honor our members of the military, present and past. So I rack my increasingly-feeble mind to write something related to the military. I came of age during the Vietnam War when honoring the military wasn’t always the case.
Similary to a great many young guys my age, I didn’t want to get drafted. Using the excuse that I was allergic to lead particularly when it entered my body didn’t sway my draft board. Public opinion of America’s involvement in Vietnam about sending young people over there to die saving the world from communism was changing to believing this was a useless loss of life.Cracks were forming in the armor of the White House and the Pentagon when Americans found out we were being lied to about battle victories and high-commie body counts. Many times soldiers couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad, and the big muckety-mucks spewing out the orders weren’t even there to try and figure it out. So the guys my age figured why go thousands of miles away to get maimed or killed when back here in the Statesyou could wear your uniform, walk into the middle of a peace demonstration, be called a baby-killer and possibly be maimed or killed in the comfort of your own environment? It seemed like a no-brainer.
Both my mother and father had lost loved ones in World War II, so when my Greetings from Uncle Sam arrived in the mail and I told my parents I didn’t want to go, it was okay with my mother just as with most mothers.
My father asked, “So what are you going to do? Shoot yourself in the foot?”
“Oh, Pete,” said my mother, “he doesn’t even know how to hold a gun.”
“Then he should have no trouble shooting himself in the foot.”
I did eventually report to the induction center with my bullet-free body and passed the physical and mental evaluations and written tests. I had to go through a more extensive eye exam because of my poor eyesight, which registered three percent lower than an eyeless cave fish. When his increased scrutiny was finished, the doctor told me (and this is true), “You pass. Just ask the guy in the foxhole next to you which way to point your gun.” Just what I needed, a military Henny Youngman.
If you’ve read my book, The Militarized Zone: What Did You Do in the Army, Grandpa?, you know the rest of the story about how I was turned into a lean, mean, fighting-machine by my favorite red, white, and blue uncle and his khaki-clad minions.
- Now for something completely different. I’m so tired of hearing about the congressional mess, mostly caused by the GOP, and seeing Trump’s face popping up while witnessing his declining mental state and as he throws his offspring under the bus and they in turn throw their employees under the bus. It’s harder for the bus to move with all the roadkill jammed under it. If his brain corrodes any further, by Election Day 2024 Trump probably will be thinking he’s running against Count ChocuIa. What especially blows my mind is that even after his 30,000-plus recorded lies while in office, attempts to steal the election, overthrow the government, grab women in their privates, MAGAs keep throwing money at him. I saw this Mr. Spock meme and thought it was apropos:
“A billionaire does not need to ask you for money. It is illogical. …he is either lying about being a billionaire or he’s lying about needing your money.” –Mr. Spock
As for the money-tossing MAGAs, Mark Twain nailed it:
“No amount of evidence will ever convince an idiot.” –Mark Twain
Have a wonderful, meaningful Veterans Day and remember the reason why we hold it dear. Every person who entered any branch of the military, either voluntary or involuntarily, had the same chance of one day having to give life for our country, as did so many. They all deserve our gratitude.