Breathe......

Sorry if you thought the last post was a bit, um, forceful.

But there are some things in this world that are just wrong and when we can come out of the shadows and make them right, well, it just makes me real darned happy.

God Bless Us - each and every one!

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!

Or maybe the proper title should be "Gun Control is Over!" but the witch thing just sounded better to me......

The simple, undeniable truth is that gun control does not work. It did not work and it will not work. It can't work because it makes no sense and there is no more political capital to be gained from it. It all started when Regan got shot and ended yesterday with a slam dunk for the people of Chicago and a wonderful condemnation for "Da Fuerer Daley" (the asshole mayor).

Then they created a new term called "assault weopons" which basically meant anything black that was semi-automatic and worked their way into automatic pistols (which are not automatic but semi-automatic or self-loading as they used to be known).

This is no different that those fanatical folks against abortion that created a new term called "partial birth abortion". There is not medical term like that. It doesn't even make sense but from a marketing standpoint, they hit a homerun because it sounds so much worse than a "plain ole abortion".

Fucktards, I swear this world is full of fucktards......

Strict gun-control policies have failed to deliver on their essential promise: that denying law-abiding citizens access to the means of self-defense will somehow make them safer. But the criminals still had no problem getting guns......imagine that.

When you make guns illegal, only illegal people will have guns......yea, that's true.

But really, this should come as no surprise, since gun control has always been about control, not guns. And don't you ever believe otherwise.

Back in the olden times, our history tells us that racism created gun control in America. That's right, it wasn't Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton or a Democratic consipiracy that invented it.

It was rednecks.

Confronted with the prospect of armed freedmen who could stand up for their rights, every state across the South instituted gun-control regimes that took away the ability of blacks to defend themselves against the depravity of the Klan.

Fast forward to the 1960s, when a century of institutionalized racism began to come to an end thanks to tireless work from so many brave people (almost all of them were Democrats.....oh the horror!).

And while racism was no longer the driving force, social change, the drug trade, and the assassination of several national figures turned gun control into an article of faith among "progressive" politicians.

They saw the elimination of guns as the only way to counter the rapid increase of crime in inner cities so we got the typical knee-jerk reaction just like prohibition in the 1920's. See how that worked out as well.......

Truly onerous, draconian gun control came to fruition only in a minority of jurisdictions, predominantly those run by the old time Democrat machines. The places that wanted, no NEEDED to have control in order to make that machine work.

The District of Columbia enacted a registration requirement for all handguns in 1976 and then closed the registry so that all guns not on the books could never be lawfully owned in the District.

Chicago followed suit in 1983.

Chicago is an evil, festering place that borders on Nazi Germany. And I mean that with all it's connatations.

Since the Heller case flatly invalidated Washington DC’s handgun ban two years ago, Chicago has served as the gun-control capital of the United States.

Not coincidentally, Chicago is a dangerous place to live. Real goddamned dangerous.

Want to know how dangerous?

The weekend of June 17, 2010, 52 people were shot, eight fatally. Yea, you read that right. FIFTY TWO PEOPLE WERE SHOT IN ONE WEEKEND!

Local politicians frequently ponder calling out the National Guard to patrol Chicago’s streets.

And sometimes they actually do it.

Well, the Supreme Court decision yesterday decides it once and for all (at least in our generation) that Chicago can't do that shit.

Nobody can tell someone that they can't have a firearm to defend their home, their family, their stuff.

And I truly believe that once the criminals figure that out, and people start getting shot back at for acting a fool, that we will see the statistics go the other way.

Then what will the dumbasses at the Brady Communist Coalition do for a living.

Peace.

Foot Fetish......

As most folks who read this knows, my wife has a foot "thing".

Most folks that have a foot "thing" are sick and twisted because feet and women's shoes get them off.......and that's not what I'm talking about here.

No, her's is the opposite. She is completely grossed out by feet. Doesn't want one to touch her. She screams and slaps if they do. I wear socks during sex so I don't get tangled up and accidently, in the heat of the moment, ruin it by touching her with my foot!

So when I saw this card on Postsecret I thought it was just perfect.

Now if my wife ever reads my blog again, she can see this so she'll know the yin to her yang!!

Peace

the needle and the damage done......

Just so you'll know.........I'm fucking friends with Neil Young on Facebook.



So all of you can suck it!!

Religious Shit

Taoism: Shit happens, go with the flow.

Hare Krishna: Shit happens Rama Lama Ding Dong.

Hinduism: This shit has happened before.

Islam: Shit happening is the will of Allah.

Zen: What is the sound of shit happening?

Existentialism: Shit doesn't happen; shit is.

Buddhism: When shit happens, is it really shit?

Confucianism: Confucius says, "Shit happens".

7th day Adventist: Shit happens on Saturdays.

Protestantism: Shit won't happen if you work harder.

Catholicism: If shit happens, you deserved it.

Jehovah's Witnesses: No shit happens until Armageddon, and it won't happen to us.
Unitarian: What is this shit?

Mormon: Shit happens again & again & again.

Judaism: Why does this shit always happen to us?

Pentecostalism: Praise the Lord! There is no shit!

New Age: Shit happens and it happens to smell good if you open your heart to it.

Rastafarianism: Let's smoke this shit.

And that's all I've got to say about this shit..........

Peace

Father's Day

We had a wonderful Father's Day at my house.

I was up early and at church by 7am to get the pipes warmed up to sing loudly (and hopefully on key since there were only two of us singing)!

Hurry back home for brunch with the In-Law's - which was very good and it was all ready when I got there so I didn't have to do anything but eat!

Right after brunch I started cooking for my family dinner at 5 that evening.

I made 3 kinds of sauces for 3 kinds of eat:
- Napa BBQ for chicken wings
- Carolina Mustard BBQ for huge beef spare ribs
- Teriyaki for skirt steak

Of course, I had to smoke the ribs and grill the chicken and steak but it's all about the sauce when you do it right!

Then I did some potato salad that my son requested and some butter beans for my beautiful wife.

And that was about it!

My beautiful wife deviled me some eggs since that's my favorite food group and it was father's day (so I get what I want - hahaha)!

It sounds simple but I seriously cooked from 11am until 5pm. And by seriously I mean that I was sweating and grunting.

Which made my wife think I was crazy, (since it was father's day she said I should rest!) but the truth is that I love doing stuff like that.

Even though I'm sweating and cussing and grunting, I find cooking complex things very relaxing and it's what I would do if I had a choice of what to do (and I did have a choice since it was father's day!)

And I must say that I pretty much hit it out of the park on everything. It was a magnificent meal (even my beautiful wife agreed!) and was enjoyed by all.

So I kept busy most of the day. Later that night, as all was quiet so I had time to think back, way back.........

I was waiting for the arrival of Wonderful Samantha and her "cute as he can be" son, Thomas to arrive (they are staying with us this week during the torturous time that they call "Vacation Bible School" but I call "Hell Week").

And in that quiet time of thinking back, I had a moment to reflect on father's day.

It always seems like a "Hallmark Holiday" to me.

That is to say that it seems to be an afterthought of mother's day. You know, we honor the mom's so we should throw something out there for the dad's as well!

But be that as it may, it certainly causes those of us who have lost our father's to death, remember those happier times.

The times when all we had to do was exist within a world that our parents made for us to live in.

The times when our biggest responsibility was to clean our rooms and take out the garbage.

And in those reflections, I find myself a bit misty at the simple pleaures that we all took for granted back then.

I miss those times. I can reach out and it seems like they are close enough that I could just touch them.

But they're not - they're actually a long damn time ago and much water has passed under the bridge since we lived them.

Now we are the ones responsible for the environment.

We have the awesome responsibility to make sure that everything goes well.

We have to be the ones that make the decisions that everyone else has to live by.

And honestly, that just simply gets old some times.

Therefore, it is with full knowledge that I realize that I hide in things like cooking.

I love it, it occupies my time,

I enjoy the smiles on people's faces when they eat it.

Quite possibly, it's the only true talent that I have left.

You see, there is no where to hide as an adult (unless you count bad things like drugs and alcohol where so many folks hide - but that's not for me).

You're stuck out there on the front lines......it's your turn have the responsibility to make the environment.

The truth is that I'm luckier than most............because I love my wife.

Oh yea.

I could literally just curl up beside her like a dog and just be. She is the place where I can go to simply "be".

But she finds that a little irritating and "clingy", so I try to give her the space she needs. But even if I'm just in another room watching TV while she is reading, I get the peace I need just from being near her in the same house.

I can't quite imagine life any other way, so I'm very thankful that I can lose myself in her.

She truly is my shelter from the storm.

But every once in a while, when it's quiet and everything is still, I miss 1975 where everything was a mystery and you were nervous about what to wear to school the first day because you knew it would set the tone for the rest of the year.

I miss deciding which girl to "hook up" with for the summer.

I miss getting excited of things that make no sense to me in my world today.

I miss being able to decide who you wanted to be without any strings being attached.

Now what I don't miss, is all the hard work that went into that.

I certainly don't miss studying and homework and all the other things that went with growing up.

But I do miss that environment that I lived in...........where I was safe and the decision that had to be made were done by someone in another room.

And I do miss my father on father's day.

Even with the joy I have received from being a father myself - I miss being the child from time to time.

Especially on father's day.

Peace

I Love This Girl!!

Can you tell??

Did you ever notice??

What did I do to deserve this kind of gift??






Oh yea, I love this girl!!!

Nashville Cats

And this is why, dear people, that when we have disasters in the south, that we don't really have a problem with looting as they do in California and other "civilized" places!

Megan Fox!

And like Forest Gump say........"and that's all I've got to say about that"

VOTE EARLY AND OFTEN!

VOTE FOR A NICKNAME FOR SARAH PALIN'S NEW TITS!!

Sarah's Palins.
The Denalis.
The Nome Domes.
The Igloos.
The You Betcha's
The Klondikes.
The Best of America.
The Prude 'Hoes.
The Exxon Val Double-DDs.
The Ketchi-Cans.
The Mammilla from Wasilla.
The Sled Puppies.
Seward's Follies.

You may choose three in ascending or descending order (depending on your politics, of course)!

Peace
***special thanks to grant miller media because stealing is the sincerest form of flattery***

The Solar System......

Today, Jimmy Dean died......famous for his song "Big John".......famous for staring as a compatriot of James Bond in "Diamonds are Forever"........famous for staring in his own variety show on network television before I was old enough to know what the hell that was.......but most, famous for powering the entire universe as we know it.

Technically, he sold his sausage company to Sara Lee years ago - but as we all have learned in just the past year, Jimmy Dean Sausage Breakfast Sandwiches literally fuel the solar system.

I MEAN OUR OWN VERY OWN FUCKING SOLAR SYSTEM! AS IN THE SUN AND ALL OF THE PLANETS THAT REVOLVE AROUND IT!

So now what do we do? I mean seriously........what's gonna happen when they don't get their sandwich each morning to start their day??

We've all seen what happens when they get lethargic. They wobble off thier axis's and smash into each other at worst or just sit down where they are at best. Either was it spells disaster of a Mayan 2012 kind of flavor to it.

So I'm begging all of my readers to let's all get together and do something (yea I know that when I say "all my readers" that just means the 3 of you that are left - hell, my wife doesn't even read it anymore......but soon, after the universe falls in on itself.....even that won't really matter anymore - will it?!!)

So write your congressman and let him know that we demand that something be done to head this problem off before it's too late.

And if something bad does happen, just remember where you heard it first.

Not that there will be any "history" books left to write my name in.

Peace

Come a Rain

Jesus was a pagan
Woody was a punk
Gandhi was a soldier
Hendrix was a monk
Leonardo was an alien
Plato was a scream
Vincent was a flower child
Elvis was a dream
Kurosawa was a samurai
Achilles was a gimp
Django was a miracle
Rasputin was a pimp
Piaf was a siren
Callas was the sea
Martin was a king on earth in all his majesty

Come a rain, come a rain now

Confucius was a joker
Kafka was a spook
Rumi was a homey
Bukowski was a duke
Fellini was a scientist
Dante was a thug
Buddha was a cowboy
Amelia was a stud
Einstein was a psychic
Stalin was a hick
Marilyn was Marilyn
Picasso was a trip
Marley was a preacher
Columbus was a dope
Houdini was a rascal
Hank Williams was a ghost

Come a rain, come a rain now

Parrot of a Purple Hue.....

I had dinner with my beautiful wife and some friends and aquaintances at the Purple Parrot last night.

I love fine dining. love, Love, LOVE it!

I especially love it when I'm not the one cooking it.

And I do so love me some Purple Parrot. I know I've mentioned here before how unlikely that Robert St John is as a uber-successful restaurateur - but he is. And he is quite simply a visionary and a lucky son-of-a-bitch too!

But be that as it may, I love eating in his restaurant.

I love how I'm a frequent flyer and get special attention which is very impressive for visiting folks who are with me. It makes it seem like I'm special - which I'm not! But it does show to those of us who live in or around the food world, how well trained the staff is there.

This is not simply a "get your pad out and go write down the order" kind of place. No-no-no, they train, train and train their wait staff.

Each day they get to taste the specials and they sip the wine pairings (and spit, theoretically) before the shift starts. The chefs are there to go over what is fresh and good and what they need to try to sell before it goes bad in the cooler!

Yep, these 20-something-year-olds become part of a noble industry and they take their place at the top of that industry in our little town.

After ordering an amazing bottle of Pinot Noir (the really good stuff because it was on someone else's expense report), we got the rundown of the specials for the evening.

But I really didn't care because I had my heart set on the Osso Bucco! Osso Bucco is a shank (usually a baby cow or veal as we like to refer to it).

But alas, at the end of his soliloquy, he began to apologize profusely because they had just run out of osso bucco..........

And he did this announcement in such a way that gently let me down; "Mr. Kennedy, I know that's what you wanted to eat but if you snooze, you lose because it's all gone-gone!"

Shit!

And since Osso Bucco takes an entire day to braise, there obviously was not an option to obtain the amazing veal shank..........

So I went with one of the new menu items which was a flank steak.

Now flank steak is the stuff the Mexicans use to make their fajitas, and even though it is just now catching on in America, I am wise to it having eaten and cooked it on many occasions.

I got it mid-rare and it was served already sliced on a bed of sweet potato hash with bacon and other goodies in t.

And Oh My God, this dish amazing.

A-Fucking-Mazing I tell you!!

I don't have the words to describe the feelings I got when I tasted it.

But of course, I'll try........

Heavenly, out of this world, unbelievable, organismic - OK, I'll stop there!

The wine was fantastic, the food was delish, and what's next.....?

Oh yea - DESERT!

We got some white chocolate bread pudding, some creme brule and the sorbet trio (mint green tea, raspberry and another one that slips my mind). I coupled all of those selections with a brandy alexander and wow, did I sleep good last night!

But for me, again, the best part of it was being there with my amazing wife, who was all dressed up and beautiful!

And while I sat there and pondered my circumstances, I most certainly understood that I am truly the luckiest boy in the world!

And I didn't even need a burning bush or any kind of verification from outside sources to let me know that my life is blessed from heaven. As usual, I just soaked it in and celebrated my good fortune!

Now tonight.......tonight is a return to "normal" for me. I'm having chili dogs and tater chips with my college boy guitar coach and my almost 11 year old darling step daughter.

I love the fact that I can switch gears like that in just a day's time!!

So my wish for you is that one aspect of your life (the one you want most of all) will be fulfilled in such a way that you too can feel like the luckiest person in the world.

That's all we can ever ask for.

I did ask the woman of my dreams thirtyeleventwentysix times and finally got the "yes" that I had been waiting for all my life.

I hope your's works out too!

Peace

The Second Coming

Last night we finally got the much anticipated debut of the most hyped athlete since Ken Griffey, Jr came out.

Poor Stephen Strasburg - way too much pressure to put on a 21-year-old kid.

No way he could live up to all that hype, right?

Whatevah bitches......

Strasburg didn't fall short of the hype.

If anything, the hype fell short of him.

Fourteen strikeouts. Not a single walk. An electrifying performance, including an unforgettable final inning in which he struck out the side while all of Nationals Park roared with every pitch.

Last year's No. 1 overall draft pick put on a dazzling display of power pitching in his major league debut Tuesday night, clocking 100 mph with his fastball and baffling hitters with nasty curves in the Washington Nationals' 5-2 win over the Pittsburgh Pirates.

"He pitched," Nationals slugger Adam Dunn said, "probably the best game I've ever seen pitched."

Here is a stat that just blew my mind - 65 of his 94 pitches were strikes

I've been catching a lot of guys," said catcher Ivan Rodriguez, patting Strasburg on the shoulder, "but this kid is unbelievable."

Strasburg's fastest pitch in his debut hit 101 mph. However, his fastball AVERAGED 99 mph. Holy Shit Wow-Wee!

His changeup clocked in about 91 mph. 91 mph is faster than most major league pitchers throw their fast ball!

The starter opposing him, Pittsburgh's Jeff Karstens, throws a fastball that touches 88 mph. Although, in fairness to Karstens, Strasburg's fastball also touches 88 mph. It just does so while accelerating on the way to 101 mph.
In compiling his 14 strikeouts, Strasburg struck out every batter in the Pittsburgh lineup at least once.

Pirates shortstop Ronny Cedeno, who went down twice, said after the game: "It was nasty, all of it, everything he did. That kid is going to be the best pitcher in the National League."

Strasburg retired the final seven Pirates batters he faced.

ALL BY STRIKEOUT!

He truly seemed to get better with the more pitches he threw.

The game took only 2 hours, 19 minutes. For all the superlatives thrown at Strasburg, the thing I like best about him is that he works fast.

He actually made it possible to watch an entire baseball game and still be a normal member of society!

Crazy, right? It almost takes two hours and 19 minutes of a Yankees-Red Sox game to get you to A-Rod's first at-bat!


Strasburg said after the game, "It's kind of like when you get married. You kind of go into it wanting to remember everything — and once it's done, you can't remember a single thing."

Strasburg relied on his curveball early because his fastball was a bit wild. But by the end, he couldn't miss with his heater.

Like I mentioned earlier, he fanned the last seven batters he faced, and he struck out all nine Pirates starters at least once - every one of them!

The day was nicknamed "Strasmus" — and it was the biggest baseball event in the nation's capital since the sport returned in 2005 after a 33-year absence.

To go real deep into history, one could argue that Strasburg had the most anticipated Washington rookie pitching debut since Walter Johnson at the long-forgotten American League Park on Aug. 2, 1907.

So I truly believe that we saw history being made last night. I was one of those who just knew that this kid was so built up that the only place he could go was down. And yet he rose even higher than imagined.

As a long time umpire, I have had the best seat in the house (behind the plate) for hundreds, maybe thousands of baseball games. The level of competition grows by leaps and bounds as you move up. From 14 year old ball to high school ball is huge. High school to college is bigger than that. Then you can go to semi-pro, farm league, A, AA, AAA and finally to the major league.

The statistics go something like this:

100 players to start at age 14:
10 of those 100 go to college
2 of those 10 go to the lower leagues of pro ball
less than .001 of those 2 make it to the show (major league)

The odds are truly staggering that the stud in your local youth league will make it all the way. In my 42 years of baseball I have known many that played in college and maybe 5% of them went on to play minor league ball. I know 2 that were called up to the "Show" during a playoff run or as an injury replacement for a short time.

And conservitavely I have figured that my exposure is around 9000 baseball players!

So clip out the article in the paper today and tuck it away - because I think that your grandchildren will have something valuable to put on ebay when they get ready to retire!!

Peace y'all

Dinner and a Movie!

I had a most fantabulous weekend!

Decorum prohibits me from going into TOO much detail, but suffice it to say that my wife rocks my world (among other things)!

We had a little dinner party on Friday night for some friends of my wife (who are now my friends – believe it or not!).

And, of course, I put on my apron and became the Kitchen Bitch Extraordinaire!

(I wonder if I can trademark that title………)

Anyway, it was a simple meal:

Appetizers:
- grilled sausage in homemade bbq sauce
- skewers of grape tomatoes, fresh basil from the herb pot and cubed cheese all covered with balsamic vinegar and my wife’s tender love and care.

First Course:
- wedge salad with green onions, bacon and homemade blue cheese dressing.

Side Dishes:
- fresh green beans right out of the garden, simmered in beef consume’
- extremely small new potatoes boiled and then roasted with fresh rosemary and parmesan cheese in virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Main Dish:
- whole beef tenderloin crusted with sea salt and course ground black pepper which was grilled to a perfect 105 degrees on the Big Green Egg cranked up to 750 degrees - accompanied by fresh whipped cream horseradish sauce which takes that perfect piece of meat to an entire new level of deliciousness!

(now for those of you that don’t know your meat, that’s simply a whole, trimmed out filet mignon that looks like a horse dick and has been cooked rare and juicy and then allowed to rest for 15 minutes and then it’s sliced thinly for ease of consumption).

Desert:
-OH MY GOD! Fresh berries (a layer of blueberries, a layer of raspberries and a layer of blackberries in a martini glass) covered in a homemade vanilla custard!


Now the OH MY GOD part of this desert was quite simply the vanilla custard. And for posterity’s sake I will describe that in more detail and then I’ll dare you not to be horny, um, I mean hungry after you read it!

2 cups of heavy cream, 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract and the roe scraped from the inside of 4 vanilla beans – all of this heated to a simmer (do not boil or you’ll ruin it!)

12 egg yolks and a cup of sugar in the mixer

Slowly mix the egg yolks and sugar together and then with much love and desire, pour the hot cream very slowly into the mixer as it mixes on slow (must be done very slowly so as not to cook the egg yolks – scrambled eggs don’t make for a good custard!)

After all of that is incorporated into one thing, pour it from the mixing bowl into a double boiler and heat, stirring constantly for about 15 minutes until it gets thick (but not too thick, you’ll need to be able to pour it).

When it gets to the consistency you want it to be, put the bowl in an ice bath to stop the thickening process and refrigerate until cold. (It’s best made the day before)


I’m telling you true, when I poured that custard over those berries in the cute martini glasses, it was as if I was a porn star and was putting the pedal to the metal with all of those folks. I have never in my life heard people moan like that with their clothes on!

Anyway, with all of that and several bottles of wine, I can safely assure you that it was a good night with a very happy ending!

Then on Saturday, in the midst of horrible thunder storms, my beautiful wife agreed to go have a date with me at the theater.

We saw “Get Him To The Greek” and I loved it!

I normally don’t like these kind of movies because they’re a bit too sophomoric for my taste (if you can imagine that), but this one was fabulous.

Russell Brand was great as a rock star – he played Aldous Snow, the same guy he played in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. And he played it well. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience right down to the blue icee, the popcorn and holding hands with the woman of my dreams.

So here’s to hoping your weekend was as fabulous as mine!

Peace

Bury Me on a Dark, Cloudy Day

Shot of Gary Coleman's casket!

Whup-Ass

Now this is a big ole can of whup ass..........

Rules To Live By

1. Don't pick a fight with an old man. If he is too old to fight, he'll just kill you.

2. If you find yourself in a fair fight, your tactics suck.

3. I carry a gun because a cop is too heavy.

4. When seconds count, the cops are just minutes away.

5. A reporter did a human-interest piece on the Texas Rangers. The reporter recognized the Colt Model 1911 the Ranger was carrying and asked him 'Why do you carry a 45?' The Ranger responded, 'Because they don't make a 46.'

6. The old sheriff was attending an awards dinner when a lady commented on his wearing his sidearm. "Sheriff, I see you have your pistol. Are you expecting trouble?" "No Ma'am. If I were expecting trouble, I would have brought my shotgun."

7. Beware the man who only carries one gun.. HE PROBABLY KNOWS HOW TO USE IT!!!

More Memorial Memories

My friend Kelly Grayson is one of the best writers I know and he captured the essence of what I tried to pray for my family as I said Grace before the Memorial Day meal.........so I borrowed it!

Most of us will spend the weekend grilling burgers and visiting with relatives, or lounging on a beach somewhere, or watching a baseball game in an opulent stadium, overpriced beer and hot dog in hand. And most of us will have forgotten the meaning of the day.

So when you partake in your Memorial Day festivities this weekend, try to remember a few things.

When the smoke from the grill blows into your eyes, try to imagine the terror of the young pilot as the smoke fills the cockpit of his F4 Wildcat, spiraling into the sea off Guadalcanal.

When you sample those pork ribs, remember the Iowa farm boy whose life blood stained the surf at Normandy.

When you eat a bite of potato salad, think of an Idaho preacher’s kid who died with a prayer on his lips, asking God to forgive him for the enemy soldiers’ lives he had taken.

While you enjoy the warm summer sun on your face, take a moment to think of the frozen bodies of American soldiers strapped to jeeps and tanks at the Chosin Reservoir.

When you welcome your niece’s new boyfriend to the table, remember the black kid from Mississippi who died right beside his white buddies in Vietnam, though he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the same restaurants back home.

When you scold your misbehaving grandchild, think of the little boy whose only knowledge of his father will come from stories told by family, because Daddy died on a dusty street in Fallujah while he was still in the womb.

When you fetch your wife another glass of tea, think of a young wife living in base housing at Fort Benning, as she hears the news that her husband died at Ia Drang.

When you invite Grandpa to say grace before the meal, think of young men cut down by a hail of fire from a Maxim at Belleau Wood.

When you reflect with pride on your daughter’s recent graduation, think of a young woman cartwheeling into the sea in her F14 Tomcat after a failed carrier landing.

When you look with distaste at the tattoos on her new boyfriend, think instead of the former gang kid from Detroit who found a way up and out of poverty in the Army, only to die from an IED blast in Baghdad. And remind yourself that what matters is how he treats your daughter, not the ink on his arms.

Whilst you enjoy your beer and bratwurst, remember the 19 -year-old Army private who died in a training accident in Grafenwohr in 1960, one of many young men who knew they’d be little more than a speed bump should the Russians ever come pouring through the Fulda Gap. Yet still, they served.

When you sit at the table, think of a Navy Captain, a husband and father, who died at his Pentagon desk on September 11. His death was no less honorable.

If you’re traveling today, think of the passengers of United Flight 93, for in a field outside Shanksville they became the first soldiers in our war on terror.

When your boys fight, as boys will do, remember the boys on both sides who died at Gettysburg.

If a loved one can’t make it to the gathering today, think of Mrs. Bixby and her five sons.

While your kids play in the pool this afternoon, think of other kids not much older, trapped below decks as the Arizona went under at Pearl Harbor.

If you have bemoaned the layoffs of friends and co-workers in the recent economic crisis, think of the Navy SEAL who lost every single one of his teammates on a rainy night in Kunar Province, Afghanistan.

When you take a shower tonight, think of young men reeking of machine oil and sweat, desperately trying, and failing, to surface their wounded submarine somewhere in the Pacific in 1943.

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I tell you of these things not to spoil your appetite or your day, but to remind you that the things we enjoy in our lives are made all the sweeter when you consider what made them possible.

Remind yourself also that your sacrifice is infinitely easier. All you need do is sacrifice a moment of your time every few years to pull a lever. The way to honor a dead soldier is not simply to fly a flag on Memorial Day. Vote to preserve the freedoms they died defending. Elect leaders worthy of those rough young men and women who stand ready to do violence on your behalf.

And stop by your local Veteran’s Cemetery and put out some flowers on the grave of your choice. It need not even be the grave of someone you know.

Bring your children along, and explain to them why. It’s important.

Memorializing

I had posted a tribute to my father on facebook over the Memorial Day weekend.

And since facebook isn't exactly a place to record your thoughts for posterity, I figured I would slip it over here in blogerville where at least I can look back at some point in my future and see what I was feeling as I run head first into my 50th birthday!

Keith Kennedy respectfully ponders his father on Memorial Day and wishes that he could thank him for his service.

Thank him for all the bullet holes and broken bones in his body.

Thank him for all his sweat and tears that spilled on the ground in so many continents around this world.

Thank him for the mental and spiritual scars that I can't even begin to imagine having to deal with.

Thank him for all of the tours of duty in places that have names I can't pronounce

Thank him for the courage it took to earn that Green Beret that he wore so proudy.

Thank him for his 200 jumps out of a perfectly good airplane and for his patience as he would take me to the jump zone so often to watch him and his troopers jump.

Thank him especially for the times when he would pull rank on a warrant officer and let me ride in a jump seat on the plane that took them up.

Thank him for the memories of the many times when his aide would come to our house and say "the major will not be home today - and then not seeing him for 3 months and having no idea where he went or what he did (but being so happy when he would return).

Thank him for the fact that at one time or another every single one of my friends got to watch him sleep with his eyes wide open!

Thank him for the sadness he must have felt for having to take all of this to his grave without ever being able to share them with anyone else because even on his death bed, he was still obeying orders that were classified as "Top Secret".

Thank him for keeping all of the horrible nature of war bottled up inside of him so it would not spill over to others around him.

Thank him for always remembering his fallen comrades on Memorial Day because I could see how heavily that weighed on his heart and I never minded putting you to bed after you had consumed enough whiskey to dull that ache that I never knew.

Thank him for the fact that he was brave enough to live with all those things and never used any of them as an excuse for anything in his life because there was no room for PTSD in his generation.

So thank you dad, from the bottom of my heart.

And I'd also like to thank every other soldier that sacrifices things we will never know of......

And may God Bless our tropps and let us never forget.....

I surely won't.

Peace