Big Brother

BIG BROTHER
I never understood how you could make a person
Sitting in the passenger seat feel so cool
Since the battleship grey ’77 Nova to you family van
Now a wife and three editions to carry on “cool”
Until then you’re a dad a father and a husband
Successful and beautiful

journal entry

Aug 10, 2010

After hearing that a fellow vet's breif case was stolen my mother sprung into action and found one she wasn't using.
Mr. Robertson was the vet. He carried his breif case everywhere with him, but nobody knew why.
However, I didn't go to Mcguire today for group therapy. Maybe Mr. Robertson will get his new used breif case Thursday.
Since I didn't go to the veterans hospital, I woke up late, drank my coffee, and smoked cigarettes.
I also went on facebook with an idea for a friend- an old friend from high school and beyond.
The friend entered himself in a grappling tournament. He had posted pictures.
He also sings in a punk band. The picture gave me the idea that his band should cover street fighting man by the rolling stones.
I tried chatting with him on facebook, but he never responded.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding reception. I saw a bunch of old freinds there as well.
I was with my mom and decided not to drink, out of respect for my friend.
I didn't drink because my friend and I had an argument about me drinking on my medication.I don't remember how exactly the argument went, but I guess he was mad and just decided to not talk to me anymore.
My other friend's had a similar response not because of my drinking. If anything they were to busy to return my phone calls.
Alone isn't always so bad.
I was at a chinese restaurant with my mom, and after the mealwhen we got our fortune cookies, mine said, I need to make new friends. I don't know where to start.
Anyway today I had some arans to run. They weren't the mndame kind, and it gave me something to do.
My aunt was coming to town. My mom and my aunt are twins and they had a birthday last Saturday.
I bought my mom a gift certificate for a facial at Ulta. For my Aunt got a gift certificate at Lowe's so she could buy knock out roses for her yard. I also bought a fifth of Dewar's (scotch) that is her's and her's alone.
I love going to the ABC's store. I get so excited that my heart can't be caged by my ribs. It feels like it wants to break the cage and drink some scotch. I usually have to contain those emotions, because if I don't it would be possible to get into a car crash. Scotch is beautiful.
Before the scotch I went to the drugstore to by a birthday card for my aunt.
After all that I went to carpool to get my car washed. It needed it.
I bought my car from my parents for four thousand dollars. This was after I got out of the hospital, when my illness wasn't cured, but with the help of medication it could be contained.
The car is a 1997 Toyata Camry. Even though I am saving up for a new car, Iplan on driving the camry untill the engine falls out of it.
At carpool I of course made eye contact with the pretty young thing behind the register. I paid, and she gave me spring rain to make my car smell good.
I was carrying Mr. Robertson's briefcase which contained the bottle of scotch for my aunt and a cheaper bottle for myself. It also had the birthday card in it.
I then realized why people carry briefcases. Carrying a breifcase makes you feel important, and I figure that is why Mr. Robertson does it.
I also carried it because I thought it would be better to carry those things instead of leaving them in the car where a youngster could steal them. If I was that age I would probably do it. Gran it scotch is an aquired taste but if it is in the view of a youngster there's a chance it could be stolen.
I love my car. As it was coming out of the first phase of the wash, one word came to mind-SEXY.
I am surprise they didn't call me up to get it started for them. The key s bent, and it takes some extra tender loving care to get it started. I thought I was like the Fonz. Only I could get that car started. But they proved me wrong at carpool.
My car was finally ready so I drove home in success.

HOW I LEARNED TO PEE THE RIGHT WAY

Second grade is an influential year in any man’s life, and I am no exception. Because I was no longer a first grader who was just learning the “how to’s” of school, I wanted to be considered one of the upper classmen who knew the ropes of elementary school.
On trips to the boys’ restroom, I was still pushing my shorts or long pants down to my ankles whenever I went to the restroom urinals. I hated restriction. One day I was standing at a urinal with my pants puddled around my ankles when a fifth grader started laughing at me. I thought I was doing “it” the normal way, but what that more sophisticated fifth grader saw was something else. He saw a little kid peeing while his bare butt was there for the whole world to see.
In my elementary school boy’s mind I began to analyze this uncomfortable situation. I watched as this older, more experienced upperclassman went to the urinal next to the one I had just used. To my utter surprise, he did not pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles. He simply unzipped, unbuttoned, pulled out, and released.
“What in the world,” I thought. I wondered how he did this without getting pee all over his shorts. When I had finished, I pulled my shorts back up, washed my hands, and went back to class, but I had come to a very important conclusion that would be with me for the rest of my life. I came to the conclusion that I should try this new approach when I had to go again at school.
That same day, I put my plan into action. If I was going to try this new stance it was going to be in the privacy of my own home. As soon as I got home, I drank a lot of apple juice, fruit punch, and water. After flooding myself with liquids, I watched TV until the urge hit, and when it finally did, I went to the bathroom. I put my feet shoulder’s length apart; I unbutton, unzipped, and pulled out (as far out as I could at that age). While I was releasing, I felt awesome. I was peeing on the fifth grade level. I was ready for the big kids’ world--the boy’s bathroom at school.
The next day, as teacher called for a bathroom break. The boys went in their direction and the girls, well, they went in their direction.
In the boys’ bathroom, I was at the urinal and looked around to see if anyone else was using the same technique I had just learned. Of course, at that age, I had not learned the lesson that boys don’t look around. Just like pulling pants down around the ankles—looking around isn’t proper bathroom etiquette. I watched as my fellow classmates unzipped their pants. Would they pull them down next? Was I the only one? Not anymore! I had learned how to pee!

Letter from basic training

Mom and Dad,

You have probably heard from Philip by now about my BRM (Basic Rifle Maintenance) qualification, if not, now you know. I am a qualified mark smith, and I passed to white phase which is the next stage of training.
We just had the infiltration course. This course requires a lot of low crawling which feels like barbed wire to the scrapes on my arms.
One way to crawl is the low crawl. This is when one side of your helmet and face is in the dirt, and you throw your hands out while you lie on your stomach, and use your firing leg or your right knee to push you forward. There is a problem that often occurs. While low crawling the soldiers tends to veer off to the left this makes his journey seem longer. To straighten out, the soldier has to tug on his left cargo pocket with his left hand, and slide his head up so he can see where he should be. I have to do this a lot.
There are two infiltration courses. One is day time. One is night time. To get ready for the day we first have to learn how to cover someone.
Your battle buddy would yell out, “Cover me while I’m moving!”
You yell, “I got you covered!”
Your battle buddy would then yell, “Weapon on safe, Movin,” as he would run to an obstruction lying between him and the “enemy.”
The same thing is done over and over, and the roles, as well as, what is said are changed.
Before the real thing we went through the mock one. It has rained the last couple of days so the course had puddles sprayed sporadically throughout, and the terrain was muddy.
Here is some background information. A couple of days ago we had a SST test. This test is information taken from out of the soldier manual so we can be tested on. Some of the things we were orally tested on was military time, rifle maintance, rank structure etc. Another one was addressing an officer. The officer was actually a drill sergeant. I knew how to do this even though in a real setting I do my best to avoid an officer. But I step with my right foot and not my left. This was while he was talking the usual drill sergeant trash.
“Oh not this guy. Just go ahead and sit down.”
I went ahead sat down like I thought he told me to do with a grin. He saw the grin as a smile and promptly plotted revenge.
This particular drill sergeant pointed me out of the handful of soldiers still waiting in line.
“Jepson, fall in over here.”
He, of course, wanted me to fall in a line that most of us were trying to avoid. The reason we were trying to avoid it was because there was a puddle in the middle of it. We were already freezing wet and caked in peat moss.
I started crawling while freezing and hacking up the residue from what I thought was my sinus infection. The ground ripped the skin away from my elbows. I reminded myself I wasn’t the only one with burning elbows.
“Ahhh It’s Jepson!” The drill sergeant yelled as another one came over. Both of them weren’t even in charge of the platoon I was in.
“Why are you so slow Jepson?”
My glasses were smeared with the mud. My knees felt bruised and disfigured while my elbows lost feeling.
“Your battle buddies have left you, Jepson. You are moving as slow as a turd!”
I kept moving and hacking, hacking and moving.
When I was finally able to stand back up again, I noticed how behind I really was. I had to rush to get in step with the rest of my platoon as they prepared for the day infiltration course.
This “sinus infection” was making me unlawfully slow.
We had all of these contraptions attached to us and our rifle. They were leftovers from the old school possibly Vietnam. We were forced to wear old training equipment that would normally be used for a laser tag kind of live combat situation. We weren’t using it for laser tag though. It was used as extra dead weight that we had to carry. Our rifle had the transmitter attached to it, and a red box at the end of the barrel.
Each squad in our platoon was then matched with another squad so the platoon would be split up.
This was where our fun started. We were at the bottom of a hill, and were suppose to storm up it like in a real combat situation. We all had fun with it as we lay in the prone unsupported position, decorating our BDU’s and helmet with mud and leaves on the ground. Most of the helmets looked like a floral decoration you would see at an old lady’s house. We were all really in to it.
Every once in awhile we were waiting in line someone would yell, “Let’s take the hill!” or “Viet not!”
This was in the midst of war recordings being played from speakers attached to the trees. The recordings were screams and explosions making the battle more realistic.
Our mission was to always make sure our buddies are covered as we advanced up the hill, elbows burning, knees bruised with no feeling after pressing against roots and tiny pebbles on the ground.
At the peak, “they” were firing at us. “They” were volunteers who the drill sergeants decided on to make this situation more real. “They” could only fire blanks, and we returned with the same.
I let my battle buddy finish or go ahead of me. When we finally came to the end of the course, he ran out of the course which left me alone with blanks. There was someone a couple of yards in front of me firing. I let some others go in front of me, as I fired back at the stranger wearing the same camouflage I was wearing. After a couple aimed shots to his head and torso, I stood up and walked to the finish line. I turned the corner and took out my magazine. I noticed who I was shooting at. It was Von, who is the squad leader. My jaw dropped, I felt terrible, and I couldn’t believe how swept away I became. I was swept away towards something that was obviously fake.
I just kept staring at him, and he laughed.
The drill sergeant said, “You would probably be one of the once…” That’s all he said. I had no idea what he meant by that.
I started walking back from the artificial war as I heard the squad leader tell someone else, “That’s loyalty.”
Back in formation, there was no afternoon chow, and still a full day ahead of us, but at least the sun was heating things up a little bit. I was still cold.
Next we got on some buses and went to the night infiltration course. The instructor informed us about the barb wire, the live rounds that will be fired over our heads as we complete the course, and the flares being shot at us.
These instructions ended in a warning, “Keep your ass down and stay away from the flares!” Easily digested.
The instructor then went on a tirade. The tirade began as the instructor told the story about the hostage situation in Iraq. You remember with the medics. Wasn’t her name Jessica or something like that? The instructor didn’t have the highest opinion of her. During her capture her and her crew never fired one shot off. They had their rifles, but they never tried to escape. They just surrendered. The instructor slammed a sandwich board down that had the description of the event. He then told us that a lot of soldiers in combat arms were killed during the rescue. She sold her story for a million dollars.
Cav scouts are combat arms, and that sounded like a recon mission. No regrets here, as they say in the Calvary- “If you ain’t cav, you ain’t shit.”
At this point of the day, I was hacking up some blood, sneezing ever so often, and feeling miserable. I was so tired I had forgotten how to give up.
We went through the night course with the lights starting to dim signaling the end of the day. This was a practice run, and I was lucky enough to find the puddle so the sand would collect to me in clumps. I was the last one through the puddle, under the barb wire, low crawling etc. but not the only one on the course.
There were three drill sergeants making sure I was still sliding closer to the end.
This was only a practice run, and we still had to go that night.
“Put your face in the ground!” A drill sergeant yelled.
Sand was creating its own layer on the lens of my glasses. It felt like sandpaper was literary dragging across my elbows, chest, and knees. I still slid closer to a concrete wall which was the end of the course. I rolled off and ran to the boundary where the sand and dirt met.
The drill sergeant followed. They surrounded me like great whites surrounding a surfer.
“Why the hell did you join the Army?!” One yelled.
Some others yelled their obscenities and profanities in my face. All I could do was stand at ease hoping that my knees wouldn’t give.
Luckily my lenses were smeared with a watery residue so I didn’t have to actually see who were causing me to become angrier by the second.
Next was chow, I ate my food shivering and hoping a lightening bolt would strike me dead right then and there. No such luck. I had to do the course again.
The light gave way and the darkness took control in waves. It was time for us to go through it again.
There were rules added to this trip though. We could only move when it was dark which sounded easy since the sun had gone down. This is while tracer rounds would be fired. They lit up the sky like orange fire crackers. There was also the same war recordings were being played, duds would also be shot off into the sky, and flares thrown.
When the flares touched the ground, we were supposed to stop low crawling. When the temporary illumination burns out is when you find out how close you are to the end of the course. When the flares go out you start low crawling again.
It was the same course, but this time I wasn’t last. I happened to beat a member of my old platoon.
My strength was beyond me, and everything around me reminded me of the freezing cold. The sinus infection felt like the war now.
The buses came to take us back to the barracks. Everything was coming out red.
Myself and another soldier had to stay back and grab the gear that was forgotten by our platoon. When we finally got on, we were on 3rd platoon’s bus instead of fourth.
The bus driver played music from a new rock radio station. The one’s who knew sang along. I tried to keep my head up so I could stay awake.
We finally arrived back to the barracks. We turned in our gear and tried to confine all the mud and sand on our equipment to one area. We swept what we could, and finally took a short cold shower, because the hot water for some reason was turned off. Lastly we are slowly yet willingly went to sleep.
I may have gotten pneumonia. My voice was fading to a hoarse, then to a whisper, and I was still spitting up blood. So I went to sick call thinking my muscles needed to go AWOL.
The morning was a blur. The doctor gave me bed rest, and it made me feel worse. I felt guilty, because other people in the troop deserve the same thing.
Here’s the bad news, bed rest wasn’t back at the barracks, and instead, it was in the troop commander’s office building. We slept on cots right beside our first sergeant and Captain.
Normally this would be nerve bending, but luckily we were so sick and slightly daze from the night before that I had no trouble getting to sleep.
The next day I went back for a check up, and I was feeling better. They took some blood and I immediately went back to training.
I think I told you this over the phone last week. The blood test said I am anemic.
This isn’t a concern of mine, because at every meal, I’ve made sure to eat a banana. I personally would like to explore this issue to see if this will be a problem for me later in life.
As for now we have just come back from throwing a grenade. The brochure said we would throw two, but we only threw one.
It was an M-33 highly explosive. This thing could probably do a lot a damage to a car. We all had a lot of fun.
My Halloween was spent in the gas chamber. This was a major event in basic, because it didn’t matter how strong or how smart your are. The tear gas turned everyone into an arms flapping, featherless baby chick with glazed over donut eyes coughing up every inch of his insides. However, my sinus condition seemed better than it had in days. I could breathe clearly without an obstruction in my nose or throat.
Next we started our 8K road march.
Road marches happened to be one of my favorite things to do. Especially this one, we got to see a new area of For Knox. Most of the time we had been confined to the area around our barracks, but this was like a field trip. We hiked up Misery and hiked down Agony with our distance intervals almost perfect.
Tomorrow we can talk on the phone for a half-hour. This is our reward for doing so well on the grenade course.

Please write back, and remember to save the letters.

Jason

DADDY CAME HOME FROM WAR















I was so happy to see my daddy. People inside the airport clapped their hands for my daddy and the soldiers around him.
Daddy gave me a great big hug and mommy got a kiss on the cheek. I was so happy that we were all together again.
Days went by and daddy sometimes wanted to be alone or sometimes he even cried. Daddy had changed
Mommy and I didn’t know what to do.
Mommy and I always gave him a big hug. Daddy would tell us that he was glad to be back home.
One day we went grocery shopping. I could see that my daddy seemed nervous and shakened. He told my mommy that he wanted to wait in the car.
Mommy kissed him and said, “Okay.”
Mommy and me got the groceries and the nice man who worked at the grocery store helped us take them to our car.
When we got home daddy helped us bring the groceries inside our house.
After that daddy hugged mommy and me, and told us that he was going to the veterans hospital tomorrow.
The veterans hospital is a place where soldiers go after they been in the service.
Daddy got up early in the morning, and I watched Tv
While daddy was away our neighbors came over. They asked about my daddy. Mommy told me to go out and play. I went out to play.
Daddy finally came back home. I held his hand and we went inside.
My daddy looked at mommy and said, “It is PTSD.”
Mommy came over and hugged daddy.
“What’s PTSD?” I asked.
Daddy looked at me and smiled. “Post traumatic Stress.”
I looked at my daddy. “What is post traumatic stress?”
“It is when you experience something bad and your head doesn’t know how to take it.” Daddy answered.
“Is it like when I got my stitches or when I skinned my knee?”
Daddy smiled. “It is something a lot worse then getting stitches or skinning your knee.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Daddy padded me on the head. “Don’t worry about that now. What matters now is that I love you.”
Daddy and I hugged.

FOR THE BEST
There was no smile from my mother as she poured another glass of lemonade. She had a lot on her mind the baby was coming any day now. I could tell. But still no one came to visit, and she hadn’t even start to knit wool socks for the new addition to the family.
I remembered what it was like when my little sister was born and my feet barely touched the floor at the breakfast table. Grandma’s number was beside the phone for me to call when there was a rush to the hospital. I would walk into the kitchen on a Sunday morning and see my mother and father embracing one another. I walked up to them and stretched my arms out as far as they could go to hold them both as I stood on my tipy-toes.
Now she stayed inside all day as if she was hiding. My father barely looked at her when he came home from work. He gave me a nod and cracked a smile to me, and he would spend the time before suppertime in the woodshed. He would sit on his handmade stool leaning in one direction in the corner while his hands covered his eyes like he was refusing to cry.
During supper I would make these monstrous towers of mash potatoes hoping one of them would raise their voice at me and send me to my room without any desert. My sister would look at me in admiration. I would then begin to tickle her and she would exaggerate her giggles demanding the same attention I was.
“Boy! Take your sister to the front yard and stay away from the river - don’t come in until the sun comes down.” My father scowled then tried to cover it up with a,”please.”
I picked up my sister from the highchair, and started walking outside. My mother stared at us in a trance slightly rocking back and forth with her hands on her belly.
“What’s wrong with momma?” My sister asked.
“Nothing she’s fine,” I said.
We played until the sun went down and the lightening bugs came out. There were more of them tonight then last. I walked up the front porch steps and looked back when I didn’t hear another set of footsteps close behind. My sister was trying to catch one. It was her favorite thing to do at night.
“Got one,” she yelled in excitement.
“Come on. We are supposed to go inside.”
Still holding the lightening bug she started running towards the front door her legs got the best of her as she fell to the ground. She slowly got back up with a concerned look on her face as she opened up her hand. The light that once flew freely in the darkness was now just sticky florescent glue. She looked at me preparing herself for a scolding.
“It’s okay,” I said as I smeared what was left of the flying illumination from her hand.
“Don’t let momma see that you have grass stain on your school dress.” I told her.
We went through the front door my little sister went straight to her room-avoiding momma.
There was a single lamp, behind the sofa where my parents were sitting; showing a silhouette of my parents crouched together on the wall. My father was caressing my mother’s hand staring down at her stomach containing another one of us. My mother was staring at the miniature rocking chair my sister could still sit comfortably in. The phone was off the hook and the busy signal was being ignored.
“It’s for the best,” my father whispered over and over…
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s time for bed,” my father said, “brush your teeth I’ll tuck you in.”
I did what I was told not understanding what was going on with my parents. I stayed in bed staring up at the ceiling waiting for my father. My sister was in the bed next to me, and she was already asleep. My father entered the bedroom and surveyed the two beds holding his creations. He went to the window with the view of the river near our house.
“Papa…Papa are we going fishing this year?” I asked.
He cracked the window so a cool breeze could come in then he sat beside me.
“Yeah. Who loves you boy?" Papa asked rubbing his eyes.
“You, momma, and Jesus.”
He padded me on the chest, went to my sister’s bed and just looked at her as he covered her small body with the sheet. Then he left.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up to the shrieks of my mother. Suddenly, there was silence and a set of footsteps creeping down the stairs. I put on my shoes and my robe and tip toed out of my room seeing my father carrying my mother out the front door. I walked softly down the steps to the front door and waited. Staring out the window near the door I saw my mother was holding a rod in her mouth preventing her to scream, and to bite down on. My father carried her to his old rusty tractor. They boarded, my mother on my father’s lap as my father drove away in the direction of the river. I followed occasionally hiding behind a tree out of sight of my father’s eyes.
He stopped at the edge of the river. I stood behind a dying tree watching. My father picked up my mother again, stepped out of the tractor, and entered the river using a tree that was down from the last storm as a guide. My mother’s face was red, her eyes revealed a devastating pain, and her tears rolled off her cheek into the river. My father was talking to my mother rubbing her head, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My mother spread her legs and pushed. I stood there behind the dying tree hearing my mother grunt and moan as she pushed for the longest time. My father held her against the tree that was disconnected from the ground. The newborn package, finally, came unwillingly.
I started to come out of my hiding place to see my new baby brother or sister. My walk became petrified, when my father took the creation with both hands and shoved it under the water. I remained frozen. They still didn’t see me.
My mother took both fist and started hitting my father shrieking, “ No… Don’t! Don’t!”
The determined look on my father’s face ignored my mother’s pleas his elbows were still locked. Then he let his hands up and started crying as one of us drifted away with the current.

COMBAT
There have been several battles I have fought as a child. A battle for a child is what helps form their personality rather it is a victory or a loss. Some battles can be a small as sitting still during church, but other can be so big that the person will think of them for the rest of their lives. Need more in this introductory paragraph
I was in kindergarten living in a subdivision outside of Charleston West Virginia. In my neighborhood there were woods to play hide and go seek. Occasionally we played war. One day we weren’t in the woods we found a tree house in one of our friend’s back yard.
In those days I played with my brother, and I’ll neighbor across the street. I don’t remember what exactly we were doing in the tree house. I guess we were just messing around like kids do. Suddenly the neighborhood bully heard us. I don’t remember his name but I remember he had blond hair. On this particular day he had his bee bee gun which was a in the shape of a rifle. My brother and I weren’t allowed to have a bee bee gun.
He started loading it up. Then he started shooting at us in the tree house. The bee bees would either ricochet inside or hit the roof and bounced off. The three of us were ducks on a pond. I started crying hysterically. I think we all did. He kept shooting at us.
I looked up at my older brother with tears in my eyes.
“Are we going to die?” I asked innocently.
My brother wiped the tears out of his eyes, and whispered.
“When he loads again that is when we will run for it.”
We waited as he ran out of bee bees. Then he stopped shooting.
We stepped down the ladder and jumped out of the tree house running for our lives.
We didn’t surrender. We did, however, retreat.
Next in the fifth grade I was at Cherry Hill. It was called Cherry Hill even though nobody ever saw cherries on it. Sometimes underagers went their to drink and smoke cigarettes. Sometimes that was where kids would fight their nemisis of the school day which usually drew a crowd. The hill was usually used for sledding in the winter, but that day in Roanoke Virginia it was spring.
I was with a friend of mine, however my thoughts were distracted. A couple days before my speech therapist said I would never talk like the other kids. I was sure how I could tell anybody because I didn’t think they would understand.
My friend and I just had gone to 7-11 and our mouths were full of candy. The 7-11 was in my neighborhood which was considered to be a rich neighborhood. However when you first entered the houses weren’t as big as the once further up the street.
A kid came out with his brand new bike. It was a Schwinn, and it looked expensive. My parents bought me a Huffy, and it didn’t matter who I was with they usually brought it to my attention that my bike wasn’t as good as their bike.
That was how the rich kid made his presence known. I said a few words the wrong way (because of my speech impediment) and He started to mock me, and make fun of me.
It proved I would never talk like the other kids. I didn’t know what happened but I think the mocking on that day and all the other days mounted up. The words I couldn’t say festered inside me. Imagine wanting to say something but you can’t because you know either someone would not understand or they will mock you. Because of my speech impediament I was a quiet kid by choice even though I had usually had a lot to say. Eventually I took the rich kid’s bike and sent it riding down the hill without a passenger.
I was in awe at the bike when it went further than you would expect a bike to go without someone on it. Finally it hit a bump and went sailing in the air, and then came crashing down.
The rich kid went running down the hill. He dropped to his knees crying over the bike.
I actually started giggling. My friend asked me or whoever was listening.
“What is he doing? It is just a bike.”