Michael J. Geier Geier 1
Written communications
Mrs. Allard
04 December 2010
“There isn’t anywhere to go from here is there?” a question that somewhat humorously crept from Doris Lessing’s lips, as she received the box that would change her later life. In that box rested the golden face that we all know Alfred Nobel, and admire as the Nobel Prize. The eldest to ever receive this prize in literature, Ms. Lessing was known as one of the greatest British writers since 1945. The Grass is Singing was her first work that truly declared her a novelist. This tragic story of love and racial differences that could never be overlooked was only the beginning for this sensational and unique woman. She wrote of things that mattered, things that quite obviously gripped her heart. After her novel The Golden Notebook it became more apparent her audience’s hearts were equally entranced. This book was an unbelievable breakthrough, not just for Ms. Lessing, but for British literature as a whole. She reflected the thoughts of a woman named Anna Wulf who kept five personal journals of politics, men and sex, politics, Jungian analysis, and dream interpretation. Ms. Lessing looked to inspire that there are many perspectives to hold in life. These works are set in a list of more amazing stories, fiction and non-fiction, that Ms. Lessing poured most of her life into. What lies behind this daring, empowering female figure who has accomplished the near impossible? Let us dig deeper into one of the many incredible lives of a Nobel Peace Prize winner, Doris Lessing.
Doris Lessing was born in 1919, on the 22nd day of October. She was born in Persia, (what is now Iran). She was the daughter of British parents. Her father had served as Captain in the British army during WWI, where he lost his leg. He then transitioned to a job as a bank official. Doris Lessing's mother was a nurse. She was married rather young, giving birth to two children. A son and a daughter,
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John and Jean. It didn't take her long to leave that marriage, and get into another one. Four years to be exact. She married a German refugee named Gottfried Lessing. They had one child together. His name was Peter. They too were divorced in 4 years. Lessing then made a change, moving to what she called, “.. grubby, cold England.” (nobelprize.org) She soon took to writing. And she's never looked backed.
Lessing used her literature to address issues with government, as she was a member of the British communist party. She also used her literature to look at racial relations. Like in her book The Grass Is Singing, she looked at the interaction between a farmers white wife, and the black family servant. Her books tend to have a theme of liberation and emancipation, a joyous event, yet from a sadder point of view.
Doris lessing wrote book after book, using her literature to show the lifestyle inequalities. She also campaigned against nuclear arms and south african apartheid. These writings got her banned from the country for 39 years. It didn't take long for lessing to be banned from South Rhodesia for speaking out against their government.
Lessing got her first big hit with The Golden Notebook. It came during the feminist movement, and women saw it as literatures lead blocker, clearing a lane, creating an opportunity for the next female to step up and do the next big thing; weather in literature or not.
Fictional books can be used to paint a picture, a picture more dramatically set up than a true story. People tend to assume fiction to be true, or feasible. So in creating a compelling story that paints the picture you want, you can push an idea, win a people, or call for action; even if its only self-examination. This is a powerful ability, and in Lessing's case she used it for excellent reasons. Hitler on the other hand, would not have been so positively motivated, had he been a writer. Novels are very similar to songs. When written well, they can alter a persons mood, a persons train of thought. Bands have started cults with their music alone.
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It's rather comical, to me at least, that Doris Lessing is viewed as an amazing writer. Yet she never had any college education and dropped out of school at age fourteen. But she has written over 50 books, operas, and plays. Another comical thing she did, was trying to publish two books she wrote, using a different name, by her own publisher. She had already created a quite a name for herself, but she was looking to prove just how hard it is for a new writer to get published.
Lessing allowed her Nobel lecture to be published in a manner that could be used to raise money for children who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. (nobelprize.org) Thats a very honorable thing to do. It seems as though Doris Lessing has always been a very selfless individual, using her influence as a powerful writer, and national figure to help those who cannot help themselves.
One of the most interesting things about Doris was her nonchalant attitude about winning all of the prestigious awards that she has. When she found out about her winning of the Nobel prize she was quoted saying “Oh Christ... I couldn't care less.” (Nobelprize.org) She won a plethora of awards including, the David Cohen Prize, and the Palermo Prize. I don't believe that Doris really cared about the awards at all. I truly believe she wanted her voice to be heard and she wanted to advocate change.
Doris Lessing was a woman with an incomparable writing style. And she used this style to bring attention to many things. She used this style to empower women. During the feminist movement women looked to her for motivation and guidance. That is why Doris lessing won the Nobel prize, because she used her writings to lead people. Not a nation, not an ethnic group, not a gender, but a people.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
An unideal hero..
My friend Levi is 20 years old, but he is without a doubt the most best man I know. In this day and age, there is a difference between a man, and an adult male.
Levi works harder than anyone I know. Every morning he starts working before the sun comes up, and comes home to sleep well after 1am.
What makes farming so hard, is that the work is never done. There are no holiday vacations, and the milk check doesn't pay overtime. You are in the barn every day regardless of rain, snow; weather -40, or 120 degrees outside. And if you think it doesn't get that hot, you haven't stacked hay in a steel roofed barn. There is no calling in sick, there's no one else to rely on, except yourself.
He starts his own chores on his dairy farm before the roster crows. He milks 40 Holsteins near Norwalk. When he finishes up all of his chores; cows are fed, milked, and the barn is clean; he heads of to the other farm. Levi is a hired hand on another, bigger farm. On this farm he milks over 80 cows. He single-handedly runs this second farm on his own, as the owner is getting older, and can't offer much more than experienced advice. When Levi is finishes up his 3 hours of chores, on the second farm, his day isn't done. There is still two farms worth of field work and maintenance yet to be done. With all of the work to do, there is no time for a lunch. Maybe a soda, maybe a packed sandwich, but no time to sit down and relax. Levi is dedicated to the success of both farms.
Levi is constantly on the road between the two farms, he never has time to watch television, or eat his meals at a table. It isn't easy supporting a 2 year old, and her pregnant mother. But Levi does it.
Devoted father, and family man.
Levi and I used to go out and party quite often, we were almost insuperable. Now days, I couldn't pay him to skip going home and come out drinking with me. And for just cause. At age 18 Levi was expecting a child. Now he is expecting a second.
It isn't a lot of peoples ideal life plan to farm all day, everyday, to feed your daughter and her pregnant mother. Levi provides for a family, at a mere age of 20. Most 20 year olds I know, wake up at noon, to go to class, then party with their friends at night. It probably wasn't the life Levi would have chosen, had he had an option. Irregardless, he is up and at it everyday. He puts his nose to the grind stone, and does what he has to do, to ensure his family is taken care of. I can think of no greater motivation that that. His family is the force that drives him.
It isn't ideal to have two children, unmarried at age 20. But in a world where many men would have packed up, and jumped town leaving the women to raise the child on her own, Levi took up his responsibility like a real man should. Levi is loud, sarcastic, and even rude. The roughest cut hero imaginable, but he is a hero none the less. Levi is devoted to his family.
Everyday Levi makes it happen. He spends endless hours between two farms. He tirelessly works and cares for his family. He supports his family. He is a true blue collar worker, the back bone of america. His story is one of taking responsibility, and maturity. I know no greater man than Levi.
Levi works harder than anyone I know. Every morning he starts working before the sun comes up, and comes home to sleep well after 1am.
What makes farming so hard, is that the work is never done. There are no holiday vacations, and the milk check doesn't pay overtime. You are in the barn every day regardless of rain, snow; weather -40, or 120 degrees outside. And if you think it doesn't get that hot, you haven't stacked hay in a steel roofed barn. There is no calling in sick, there's no one else to rely on, except yourself.
He starts his own chores on his dairy farm before the roster crows. He milks 40 Holsteins near Norwalk. When he finishes up all of his chores; cows are fed, milked, and the barn is clean; he heads of to the other farm. Levi is a hired hand on another, bigger farm. On this farm he milks over 80 cows. He single-handedly runs this second farm on his own, as the owner is getting older, and can't offer much more than experienced advice. When Levi is finishes up his 3 hours of chores, on the second farm, his day isn't done. There is still two farms worth of field work and maintenance yet to be done. With all of the work to do, there is no time for a lunch. Maybe a soda, maybe a packed sandwich, but no time to sit down and relax. Levi is dedicated to the success of both farms.
Levi is constantly on the road between the two farms, he never has time to watch television, or eat his meals at a table. It isn't easy supporting a 2 year old, and her pregnant mother. But Levi does it.
Devoted father, and family man.
Levi and I used to go out and party quite often, we were almost insuperable. Now days, I couldn't pay him to skip going home and come out drinking with me. And for just cause. At age 18 Levi was expecting a child. Now he is expecting a second.
It isn't a lot of peoples ideal life plan to farm all day, everyday, to feed your daughter and her pregnant mother. Levi provides for a family, at a mere age of 20. Most 20 year olds I know, wake up at noon, to go to class, then party with their friends at night. It probably wasn't the life Levi would have chosen, had he had an option. Irregardless, he is up and at it everyday. He puts his nose to the grind stone, and does what he has to do, to ensure his family is taken care of. I can think of no greater motivation that that. His family is the force that drives him.
It isn't ideal to have two children, unmarried at age 20. But in a world where many men would have packed up, and jumped town leaving the women to raise the child on her own, Levi took up his responsibility like a real man should. Levi is loud, sarcastic, and even rude. The roughest cut hero imaginable, but he is a hero none the less. Levi is devoted to his family.
Everyday Levi makes it happen. He spends endless hours between two farms. He tirelessly works and cares for his family. He supports his family. He is a true blue collar worker, the back bone of america. His story is one of taking responsibility, and maturity. I know no greater man than Levi.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
I have an issue that I would like to address. I don not want to insult anyone, so if this pertains to you, or your boyfriend/husband, brother or whatever, blame them not me.
American males are becoming more and more irresponsible, and immature. I see men wearing skinny jeans, mistreating women, and walking out on their children everyday. To be quite frank, that pisses me off. I'm not saying that every man has to work on a concrete team and deer hunt, but he should have some self respect.
I see men dressing like women. I have recently noticed more and more men wearing jeans so tight, that they cannot be pulled up to fit over their hips. I'm all for free style, and self expression. But please do it in a way that doesn't make you look like an idiot.
I also see men with pants so baggy, that the belt loops are down below their buttocks. That doesn't look cool, it looks stupid. When your pants hang so low that you can't walk straight and are forced to waddle around, you know its time for a change. I don't care how cool your boxers look, I don't want to see them.
I know of a couple of guys who have made children with girls, and do not talk to them anymore. Nor do they help support the baby with money, or even efforts. That is ridiculous. Absolute garbage. I don't care how much you may hate the mother, you slept with her, you got her pregnant, now you need to sack up and take care of the child as well as the mother. I couldn't fathom why you wouldn't want to be around.
What ever happened to cliches like manning up, taking it like a man, or being a man about it. You are a man. You are an American man. You are looked at as the most capable, best opportuned person in world. For heaven's sake act like a man.
American males are becoming more and more irresponsible, and immature. I see men wearing skinny jeans, mistreating women, and walking out on their children everyday. To be quite frank, that pisses me off. I'm not saying that every man has to work on a concrete team and deer hunt, but he should have some self respect.
I see men dressing like women. I have recently noticed more and more men wearing jeans so tight, that they cannot be pulled up to fit over their hips. I'm all for free style, and self expression. But please do it in a way that doesn't make you look like an idiot.
I also see men with pants so baggy, that the belt loops are down below their buttocks. That doesn't look cool, it looks stupid. When your pants hang so low that you can't walk straight and are forced to waddle around, you know its time for a change. I don't care how cool your boxers look, I don't want to see them.
I know of a couple of guys who have made children with girls, and do not talk to them anymore. Nor do they help support the baby with money, or even efforts. That is ridiculous. Absolute garbage. I don't care how much you may hate the mother, you slept with her, you got her pregnant, now you need to sack up and take care of the child as well as the mother. I couldn't fathom why you wouldn't want to be around.
What ever happened to cliches like manning up, taking it like a man, or being a man about it. You are a man. You are an American man. You are looked at as the most capable, best opportuned person in world. For heaven's sake act like a man.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Yesterday North Korea bombed South Korea. To most of us, it doesn't mean much. But to me, and my Marines in 2/24 Golf CO, I'm predicting a field trip. No word has been passed, as this just happened yesterday, but I'd bet my best dollar that the United States Marines, followed by the United Nations will be taking a trip to North Korea. It is the duty of Marines, as well as Americans to fight for those oppressed. I have a biased opinion on this matter. I say lets go get some. I know every other Marine wants to do the same thing. I believe the president wants to as well. The question is, will the american public back another war?
It is my belief that wars, help boost the economy. It creates jobs, there are people lined up trying to getting the military. All branches of the military turn people away everyday. Most of them for things like tattoos, or underage drinking tickets. Those people then get pushed to the wayside, not wanting to go to school, unable to join up. These people then fall into the working class, and often into below the poverty line.
Lets do it, lets take it to North Korea, because weather you know it or not, we have tier one military operatives in the country already. MARSOC has been there for years. Its just a matter of being announced, or active.
It is my belief that wars, help boost the economy. It creates jobs, there are people lined up trying to getting the military. All branches of the military turn people away everyday. Most of them for things like tattoos, or underage drinking tickets. Those people then get pushed to the wayside, not wanting to go to school, unable to join up. These people then fall into the working class, and often into below the poverty line.
Lets do it, lets take it to North Korea, because weather you know it or not, we have tier one military operatives in the country already. MARSOC has been there for years. Its just a matter of being announced, or active.
Monday, November 15, 2010
WTC is killing me..
I'm going to address several issues I have with Western Technical College.
Number one, I buy a $90 parking pass from the school, and I don't even have anywhere to park. That is ridiculous. Its completely ridiculous that I should have to buy one anyway. Include it in my tuition, god knows I pay enough to come here.
Number two, Printing fees. The school probably gets paper and ink for free or extremely discounted. They charge me a dime per printed page? That is absolutely horrendous. If I didn't have to print anything out, I wouldn't. But my teachers make me, in order to stay in their classes. Thats stupid, again include it in my tuition.
Number three, food. Cheese curds in the cafeteria, that probably cost $1.00 to make, sell for nearly $5.00. If that isn't the definition of inflation, please tell me what is. I ought to open my own restraint on campus and charge a fair price for food. Again, I have a feeling that our college gets their food rather discounted, or on some special kind of government program.
Number four. What would it take to get the library to extend its hours? If they did, they could have more students on a work study program, creating jobs, and cheaper education for students. Most students that I know work right after class. Usually until 9 or 10pm. Then they go home to do their homework, because the library is closed. We all know that its very hard to concentrate on homework, in the distracting comforts of your own home.
Number five. Toilet paper. It is a necessity, and bowel movements are a part of nature. So, why do we have to be supplied with one-ply, rough-n-ready TP? Why can't WTC splurge a little bit on some more comforting toilet paper? It wouldn't be that hard to switch, and the student moral would shoot through the roof.
Obviously these are my opinions, and I haven't done any research to support them. But I have been blessed with intuition.
Number one, I buy a $90 parking pass from the school, and I don't even have anywhere to park. That is ridiculous. Its completely ridiculous that I should have to buy one anyway. Include it in my tuition, god knows I pay enough to come here.
Number two, Printing fees. The school probably gets paper and ink for free or extremely discounted. They charge me a dime per printed page? That is absolutely horrendous. If I didn't have to print anything out, I wouldn't. But my teachers make me, in order to stay in their classes. Thats stupid, again include it in my tuition.
Number three, food. Cheese curds in the cafeteria, that probably cost $1.00 to make, sell for nearly $5.00. If that isn't the definition of inflation, please tell me what is. I ought to open my own restraint on campus and charge a fair price for food. Again, I have a feeling that our college gets their food rather discounted, or on some special kind of government program.
Number four. What would it take to get the library to extend its hours? If they did, they could have more students on a work study program, creating jobs, and cheaper education for students. Most students that I know work right after class. Usually until 9 or 10pm. Then they go home to do their homework, because the library is closed. We all know that its very hard to concentrate on homework, in the distracting comforts of your own home.
Number five. Toilet paper. It is a necessity, and bowel movements are a part of nature. So, why do we have to be supplied with one-ply, rough-n-ready TP? Why can't WTC splurge a little bit on some more comforting toilet paper? It wouldn't be that hard to switch, and the student moral would shoot through the roof.
Obviously these are my opinions, and I haven't done any research to support them. But I have been blessed with intuition.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
narrative, finalized
If you were to look at my left hand, you would notice an unsightly scar. It is a pink creased line in the shape of a lightning bolt, or maybe even a “T”. Its more than just an ugly scar, it’s a story. It was a life changing event for me.
Rewind now to a month after my senior year, and high school graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as myself. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon skipping under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts, hooting and hollering, to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, carfully as not to rip the skin that was now connecting my finger to the rest of me. I quickly wrapped my dangling finger in the shirt, before putting it under my armpit. I kept it tightly squeezed in my underarm to keep a good amount pressure applied, as this prevents bleeding. I grabbed a buddy, and ran the mile and a half obstacle course back to the house.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to make a joke around my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was snoozing on the couch, and in the sun, like an outstretched cat. I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other. To understand the rest of the evening’s events, you would almost have to know me on a personal level. Otherwise you might just think I’m crazy. After leaving the emergency room in an arm cast, and arriving home, I went back to the woods, to link up with my friends. Much to my disappointment my return to the woods was not a pleasant one. - I had brought one cigar, for myself. I am not a usual smoker, but I wanted to have one while enjoying nature.
My friends had smoked it. All that remained was a rubbed out- stepped on-dirt covered butt. I was almost in tears. We didn’t remain in the woods long though. Frog legs, a delicacy in some places, ended our night. My pal Matthew decided to boil one in beer, and eat it. This was nearly the end of him. He was quick to begin vomiting. Apparently, under cooked, beer boil frog legs, can cause food poisoning. Weird, huh?
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and all about my upcoming surgery. He made it clear to me that being in a cast, missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done.
I didn’t see this injury as a life changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next 3 months in a full arm cast, and attend physical therapy. What the doctors really meant was, that they wanted me to sit idly by, and watch my dreams sink away.
The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a college athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not miss a step. I simply told Mr. Ernst how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I chose a new goal, right then, right there. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
It wasn’t the glorious dream I been having about football. Hell, it wasn’t even close. Football was pretty, with shining lights reflecting off from the helmets, girls lined up to cheer you on, fans in the stands shouting your name, hoping you do well. No the marines were different. It is dirty, and foul. At times seeming like a punishment, that I had chosen to endure. Though, the completion of each day brought about a sense of success, and bond to the other Marines that even football could not compare to. In the end it, it wasn’t my boyhood dream filled, it was my new adult dream, made a reality.
Rewind now to a month after my senior year, and high school graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as myself. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon skipping under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts, hooting and hollering, to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, carfully as not to rip the skin that was now connecting my finger to the rest of me. I quickly wrapped my dangling finger in the shirt, before putting it under my armpit. I kept it tightly squeezed in my underarm to keep a good amount pressure applied, as this prevents bleeding. I grabbed a buddy, and ran the mile and a half obstacle course back to the house.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to make a joke around my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was snoozing on the couch, and in the sun, like an outstretched cat. I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other. To understand the rest of the evening’s events, you would almost have to know me on a personal level. Otherwise you might just think I’m crazy. After leaving the emergency room in an arm cast, and arriving home, I went back to the woods, to link up with my friends. Much to my disappointment my return to the woods was not a pleasant one. - I had brought one cigar, for myself. I am not a usual smoker, but I wanted to have one while enjoying nature.
My friends had smoked it. All that remained was a rubbed out- stepped on-dirt covered butt. I was almost in tears. We didn’t remain in the woods long though. Frog legs, a delicacy in some places, ended our night. My pal Matthew decided to boil one in beer, and eat it. This was nearly the end of him. He was quick to begin vomiting. Apparently, under cooked, beer boil frog legs, can cause food poisoning. Weird, huh?
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and all about my upcoming surgery. He made it clear to me that being in a cast, missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done.
I didn’t see this injury as a life changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next 3 months in a full arm cast, and attend physical therapy. What the doctors really meant was, that they wanted me to sit idly by, and watch my dreams sink away.
The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a college athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not miss a step. I simply told Mr. Ernst how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I chose a new goal, right then, right there. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
It wasn’t the glorious dream I been having about football. Hell, it wasn’t even close. Football was pretty, with shining lights reflecting off from the helmets, girls lined up to cheer you on, fans in the stands shouting your name, hoping you do well. No the marines were different. It is dirty, and foul. At times seeming like a punishment, that I had chosen to endure. Though, the completion of each day brought about a sense of success, and bond to the other Marines that even football could not compare to. In the end it, it wasn’t my boyhood dream filled, it was my new adult dream, made a reality.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
American Media Trends
Tomorrow marks the 235 birthday of my United States Marine Corps. That makes the Corps older than the united states themselves! The Marines have a rich, tradition riddled heritage. Started in 1775 November 10th, at Tun Tavern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
But you didn't know that. America doesn't know that. I turned on the radio today, and all I heard about was Conan O'Brien new show, and the NFL. I think that their are more important things for our country to take from our media than the first lady accidentally getting a handshake. Men die everyday for one another in Afghanistan, but the news will not tell their stories of honor. Men have won the medal of honor, the navy cross, other various awards, and it isn't radio time worthy? that's bullshit. It really makes me mad. Is it that people don't care about our Military? I don't know what to think about any of it.
This man is up for the medal of honor for his actions in Afghanistan in 2009. But I'll bet you never heard his name before. Here is his story..
“Meyer was recommended for his actions on Sept. 8, 2009, near the village of Ganjgal in Kunar province. He charged into a kill zone on foot and alone to find three missing Marines and a Navy corpsman who had been pinned down under enemy fire for hours by about 150 well-armed insurgents. Already wounded by shrapnel before braving enemy fire, he found them dead and stripped of their gear and weapons, and carried them out of the kill zone with the help of Afghan soldiers, according to military documents obtained by Marine Corps Times.” (Marine Corps times online, para 5)
Is it that the news reporters are afraid to talk about the war, for fear of depicting it in a negative manner?
Thursday veterans can go and get a free meal at a few restaurants here in town, for veterans day. One day a year? Come on now. I as a restaurant owner, could not accept money from a man who lost his leg in a war for my country.
I just think that America needs to look at what is really important, and what isn't before they start putting things on the news.
But you didn't know that. America doesn't know that. I turned on the radio today, and all I heard about was Conan O'Brien new show, and the NFL. I think that their are more important things for our country to take from our media than the first lady accidentally getting a handshake. Men die everyday for one another in Afghanistan, but the news will not tell their stories of honor. Men have won the medal of honor, the navy cross, other various awards, and it isn't radio time worthy? that's bullshit. It really makes me mad. Is it that people don't care about our Military? I don't know what to think about any of it.
This man is up for the medal of honor for his actions in Afghanistan in 2009. But I'll bet you never heard his name before. Here is his story..
“Meyer was recommended for his actions on Sept. 8, 2009, near the village of Ganjgal in Kunar province. He charged into a kill zone on foot and alone to find three missing Marines and a Navy corpsman who had been pinned down under enemy fire for hours by about 150 well-armed insurgents. Already wounded by shrapnel before braving enemy fire, he found them dead and stripped of their gear and weapons, and carried them out of the kill zone with the help of Afghan soldiers, according to military documents obtained by Marine Corps Times.” (Marine Corps times online, para 5)
Is it that the news reporters are afraid to talk about the war, for fear of depicting it in a negative manner?
Thursday veterans can go and get a free meal at a few restaurants here in town, for veterans day. One day a year? Come on now. I as a restaurant owner, could not accept money from a man who lost his leg in a war for my country.
I just think that America needs to look at what is really important, and what isn't before they start putting things on the news.
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