The Fall Of Saigon
I would have been not quite six years old at the time. I remember that mom and dad would watch the evening news, and sometimes they'd argue about it. Saigon falling to the North Vietnamese definitely sparked an argument. Mom and dad would go into the dining room to argue, and I'd be left to watch the news alone. At least until mom sent me to play elsewhere. She didn't think a 5 year old should be watching the news.
*break for a rant about my father*
My father was, among other things, a Marine. He served in Vietnam, somewhere around 1967 or 1968. His mother was hospitalized during his tour, and he was given leave to visit her. She recovered from her whatever-it-was, and dad never went back to the military. He came to St. Louis instead. A mutual "friend" made a bet with my dad. He bet that dad couldn't get my mom to agree to marry him.
A few months later, dad won a measly $5 and a wife. They had a little honeymoon, conceived myself, and only then did he tell my mom that he was AWOL from the Marines. He told her because he had decided to turn himself in. He was court-marshaled and sentenced to 2 1/2 years in the brig. When he was released, he had his dishonorable discharge papers framed and hung on the wall behind his recliner.
*end rant*
Somehow, my father thought that spending 4 months as a stock clerk in a large, safe city in Asia entitled him to opine about Vietnam. My mother disagreed.
So I got to watch a few news clips while my parents argued. All I remember seeing was helicopters and crowds of people. I didn't understand any of it.
Some months (or years) later, I earned a spanking for asking ceaseless questions about the Vietnamese children that were coming to America on a plane.
My parent's did not understand that I felt I'd missed a turning point in history, with the fall of Saigon; and that I wanted to know what was going on now. I thought those Orphan Flights would be just as historic as Saigon, and I didn't want to miss it!
Yeah, so I was wrong. Oh well.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Monday, April 11, 2005
Music
.
If you check my profile, you'll see that I'm not a fan of country music. That's because I associate it with the bar across the street.
We could hear the jukebox from our front porch; they always turned the music up on the weekends. As the night would wear on and the drinking would get heavier, the music would become more and more maudlin. There were endless versions of some poor slob who's dog had died, or his wife had left him, and he was walking down the train tracks, because he'd just got outta jail... Songs with the corniest lyrics, I swear!
As long as the music was maudlin, the bar would stay pretty quiet. But sooner or later someone would play "I'm Gonna Hire A Wino" and follow it up with "You're Cheatin' Heart"; and we knew it was just about time to go inside and call the cops. Because those two songs in combination meant that some woman was fed up with her no-good-drunk-of-a-man; and she was right that instant sitting on some other guy's lap.
The noise level would rise to a point that we couldn't hear the music anymore, and then bodies would come tumbling out of the bar. A knot of people beating on each other would be surrounded by a larger group of observers. Some would try to interject a bit of drunken wisdom, "Hey, man. You can't be doin' that." or "She ain't worth it." Others would join in the fray. Lord knows why. Still others would wail at the sky, bemoaning their fate.
The funniest one I ever saw was a woman jump into the mess of people and shove her husband out of the fight so that she could start a new one. She yelled, "GodDAMN you, Greg! Now we can't drink no more!"
This caused a mass exodus back into the bar; people having realized they were jeopardizing their own drinking privileges for the night.
In case you're unfamiliar with the song "I'm Gonna Hire A Wino"; here are David Frizzell's classic words:
I came crawling home last night, like many nights before:
I finally made it to my feet as she opened up the door.
And she said, "You're not gonna do this anymore."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
She said: "Just bring your Friday paycheck, and I'll cash them all right here.
"And I'll keep on tap - for all your friends, their favorite kinds of beer.
"And for you, I'll always keep in stock, those soft aluminum cans.
"And when you're feeling macho, you can crush them like a man."
She said: "We'll rip out all the carpet, and put sawdust on the floor.
"Serve hard boiled eggs and pretzels, and I won't cook no more.
"There'll be Monday night football, on T.V. above the bar.
"And a pay phone in the hallway, when your friends can't find their car."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
She said: "You'll get friendly service, and for added atmosphere.
"I'll slip on something sexy, and I'll cut it clear to here.
"Then you can slap my bottom, every time you tell a joke.
"Just as long as you keep tipping, well, I'll laugh until you're broke."
She said: "Instead of family quarrels, we'll have a bar-room brawl,
"When the Ham's bear say's its closing time, you won't have far to crawl.
"And when you run out of money, you'll have me to thank.
"You can sleep it off next morning, when I'm putting it in the bank."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino, to decorate our home,
"So you can feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"When you and your friends get off from work, and have a powerful thirst.
"There won't be any reason, why you can't stop off here first."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
.
If you check my profile, you'll see that I'm not a fan of country music. That's because I associate it with the bar across the street.
We could hear the jukebox from our front porch; they always turned the music up on the weekends. As the night would wear on and the drinking would get heavier, the music would become more and more maudlin. There were endless versions of some poor slob who's dog had died, or his wife had left him, and he was walking down the train tracks, because he'd just got outta jail... Songs with the corniest lyrics, I swear!
As long as the music was maudlin, the bar would stay pretty quiet. But sooner or later someone would play "I'm Gonna Hire A Wino" and follow it up with "You're Cheatin' Heart"; and we knew it was just about time to go inside and call the cops. Because those two songs in combination meant that some woman was fed up with her no-good-drunk-of-a-man; and she was right that instant sitting on some other guy's lap.
The noise level would rise to a point that we couldn't hear the music anymore, and then bodies would come tumbling out of the bar. A knot of people beating on each other would be surrounded by a larger group of observers. Some would try to interject a bit of drunken wisdom, "Hey, man. You can't be doin' that." or "She ain't worth it." Others would join in the fray. Lord knows why. Still others would wail at the sky, bemoaning their fate.
The funniest one I ever saw was a woman jump into the mess of people and shove her husband out of the fight so that she could start a new one. She yelled, "GodDAMN you, Greg! Now we can't drink no more!"
This caused a mass exodus back into the bar; people having realized they were jeopardizing their own drinking privileges for the night.
In case you're unfamiliar with the song "I'm Gonna Hire A Wino"; here are David Frizzell's classic words:
I came crawling home last night, like many nights before:
I finally made it to my feet as she opened up the door.
And she said, "You're not gonna do this anymore."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
She said: "Just bring your Friday paycheck, and I'll cash them all right here.
"And I'll keep on tap - for all your friends, their favorite kinds of beer.
"And for you, I'll always keep in stock, those soft aluminum cans.
"And when you're feeling macho, you can crush them like a man."
She said: "We'll rip out all the carpet, and put sawdust on the floor.
"Serve hard boiled eggs and pretzels, and I won't cook no more.
"There'll be Monday night football, on T.V. above the bar.
"And a pay phone in the hallway, when your friends can't find their car."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
She said: "You'll get friendly service, and for added atmosphere.
"I'll slip on something sexy, and I'll cut it clear to here.
"Then you can slap my bottom, every time you tell a joke.
"Just as long as you keep tipping, well, I'll laugh until you're broke."
She said: "Instead of family quarrels, we'll have a bar-room brawl,
"When the Ham's bear say's its closing time, you won't have far to crawl.
"And when you run out of money, you'll have me to thank.
"You can sleep it off next morning, when I'm putting it in the bank."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino, to decorate our home,
"So you can feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"When you and your friends get off from work, and have a powerful thirst.
"There won't be any reason, why you can't stop off here first."
She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
"So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
"We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
"And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."
Thursday, April 07, 2005
The Worst Thing I've Ever Done
.
This month's Blogging For Books subject is ... Cruelty.
What a quandary! To tell, or not to tell? If I bare my deepest act of cruelty, I could lose every friend I have. But if I don't take this opportunity... It's the old "tree falling in the woods" thing. You know, if I did something awful, but no one knows... will I still be seen as good? I guess I'll never know unless I hit that "publish" button at the bottom of my blog.
"We like to think of ourselves as nice people. Yet even the nicest person can engage in cruel, vindictive, or just plain mean behavior.
For this Blogging for Books, write about the meanest thing you have ever done - either to another person or to yourself. (Topic idea credit: Jenorama)"
I've fried ants with a magnifying glass and fed nasty food to my dog. Who hasn't? I've said hurtful things, deliberately; with the sole intention of making someone miserable. I've even thrown rocks at children.
But all those things had a reason behind them. A justification, if you will. Each one carried it's own lesson, too. Your dog will eat anything. Ants run from heat. Sometimes you have to choose between a power trip, and having your own power. Throwing rocks won't change the fact that you're mom is getting the shit beat out of her at home... Or that the only reason your sister is throwing rocks along with you is that your mother is taking the blows in her place.
None of those things shame me. It's all stuff I'll happily talk about, if you're interested in the sordid details of my childhood. And there's one thing I will not happily talk about. It makes me sick to my stomach when I remember it. It's the thing I did that taught me the definition of "cruelty".
I helped beat up "the retarded kid".
It doesn't matter that I was in the 4th grade at the time. It doesn't matter that I had been the victim of escalating abuses at school. It doesn't even matter that a teacher had just that week plucked a splinter of my own broken glasses out of my eye, yet continued to have me fend for myself on the playground.
What mattered was that for once, they were beating up someone else. And I rushed across the street to join in.
I wanted to know what it was like from the other side. I wanted so badly to be part of a group, just once. I thought maybe they would like me if I did a good job on this poor kid.
So I ran across the street and whacked him with my bag full of homework.
I was aiming for his head. I wanted to knock him down so the kids could see that it was me with all that power. But he was tall and I wasn't strong enough. My book bag bounced ineffectually off of his back and tears were running down my face. (Yes. I hit him from behind. Not only did I attack a mentally deficient child, I did it from behind. If there's a hell, I'll be there along with Hitler and those guys who wore black hats on the Lone Ranger show.)
I expected the kids to start laughing any minute. I was afraid they might turn on me next. A part of me thought that wouldn't be a bad thing. At least I would deserve it for thinking I was in any way socially acceptable.
I still had a chance to show how tough I was, though; because no one had noticed my feeble attack. I thought I could jump on the kid's back and pound him in the head a few times. Then everybody would see how great I was. Except I couldn't jump that high. My arms weren't strong enough to pull myself up to his shoulders.
I tried again. And I just couldn't do it. He was a 7th grader, for gosh sakes! I just wasn't big enough.
I could still get in a few good blows with my book bag, but first I'd have to re-load it. Everything had fallen out when I'd made my sneak attack. The fight moved down the street as I stuffed my books back in the bag. I'd have to run to catch up.
And then I came to my senses. Instead of running back to the fight, I ran down a gangway. I hid in the shadows and dried my eyes on my sleeve. Then I walked toward home until I was past the fighting. When I got around the corner, I ran.
I ran past the homeless people, fresh tears blurring my vision, terrified that someone would punish me for beating up the retarded kid.
There it is. The worst thing I've ever done. My definition of cruelty.
And Jay? I think this Blogging for Books subject is pretty damn cruel too. :p
.
This month's Blogging For Books subject is ... Cruelty.
What a quandary! To tell, or not to tell? If I bare my deepest act of cruelty, I could lose every friend I have. But if I don't take this opportunity... It's the old "tree falling in the woods" thing. You know, if I did something awful, but no one knows... will I still be seen as good? I guess I'll never know unless I hit that "publish" button at the bottom of my blog.
"We like to think of ourselves as nice people. Yet even the nicest person can engage in cruel, vindictive, or just plain mean behavior.
For this Blogging for Books, write about the meanest thing you have ever done - either to another person or to yourself. (Topic idea credit: Jenorama)"
I've fried ants with a magnifying glass and fed nasty food to my dog. Who hasn't? I've said hurtful things, deliberately; with the sole intention of making someone miserable. I've even thrown rocks at children.
But all those things had a reason behind them. A justification, if you will. Each one carried it's own lesson, too. Your dog will eat anything. Ants run from heat. Sometimes you have to choose between a power trip, and having your own power. Throwing rocks won't change the fact that you're mom is getting the shit beat out of her at home... Or that the only reason your sister is throwing rocks along with you is that your mother is taking the blows in her place.
None of those things shame me. It's all stuff I'll happily talk about, if you're interested in the sordid details of my childhood. And there's one thing I will not happily talk about. It makes me sick to my stomach when I remember it. It's the thing I did that taught me the definition of "cruelty".
I helped beat up "the retarded kid".
It doesn't matter that I was in the 4th grade at the time. It doesn't matter that I had been the victim of escalating abuses at school. It doesn't even matter that a teacher had just that week plucked a splinter of my own broken glasses out of my eye, yet continued to have me fend for myself on the playground.
What mattered was that for once, they were beating up someone else. And I rushed across the street to join in.
I wanted to know what it was like from the other side. I wanted so badly to be part of a group, just once. I thought maybe they would like me if I did a good job on this poor kid.
So I ran across the street and whacked him with my bag full of homework.
I was aiming for his head. I wanted to knock him down so the kids could see that it was me with all that power. But he was tall and I wasn't strong enough. My book bag bounced ineffectually off of his back and tears were running down my face. (Yes. I hit him from behind. Not only did I attack a mentally deficient child, I did it from behind. If there's a hell, I'll be there along with Hitler and those guys who wore black hats on the Lone Ranger show.)
I expected the kids to start laughing any minute. I was afraid they might turn on me next. A part of me thought that wouldn't be a bad thing. At least I would deserve it for thinking I was in any way socially acceptable.
I still had a chance to show how tough I was, though; because no one had noticed my feeble attack. I thought I could jump on the kid's back and pound him in the head a few times. Then everybody would see how great I was. Except I couldn't jump that high. My arms weren't strong enough to pull myself up to his shoulders.
I tried again. And I just couldn't do it. He was a 7th grader, for gosh sakes! I just wasn't big enough.
I could still get in a few good blows with my book bag, but first I'd have to re-load it. Everything had fallen out when I'd made my sneak attack. The fight moved down the street as I stuffed my books back in the bag. I'd have to run to catch up.
And then I came to my senses. Instead of running back to the fight, I ran down a gangway. I hid in the shadows and dried my eyes on my sleeve. Then I walked toward home until I was past the fighting. When I got around the corner, I ran.
I ran past the homeless people, fresh tears blurring my vision, terrified that someone would punish me for beating up the retarded kid.
There it is. The worst thing I've ever done. My definition of cruelty.
And Jay? I think this Blogging for Books subject is pretty damn cruel too. :p
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