American heroes. My late Uncle was a combat wounded Vietnam veteran Marine. I’ve got a lot of stories, but I’ll save those for another time. I will say, he was, and still is, a hero of mine. I was blessed to get to spend a lot of time with him when he came home from overseas, terrorizing trout from Colorado to Idaho.
Happy Birthday, Marines. Devil Dogs. Badasses. I’m not one of you, but I’m damned thankful for you.
God Bless what’s left of America.
Today is mine. 59-years ago, in a land far away, I hit the ground butt-naked and screaming. I was born in California, so that could explain both, the naked and the screaming. But, it was different back then. California was a little goofy, but not completely off the rails insane like it is today. The weather’s still good, so they do have that.
I’m in Florida now, where I’ve been for over 30-years. We left California when I was around 8, and moved to Louisiana. In hindsight, I don’t think anyone knew what a communist hell-hole California would become back then. I count myself fortunate that I didn’t have to grow up there.
Birthdays, to me, are kind of like getting new tires. Brand-new when you’re born, and then over the years (the miles), the tread gradually unwinds. A roll of toilet paper is kind of the same thing, but for the sake of keeping this sanitary, we’ll stick with tires. At some point, down the road, after many, many miles (we hope), there’s a blowout, and you’re outta here. Having a choice, I’d like to go in my sleep. I came in naked and screaming. I’d like to go out with a little less drama.
Statistically, I should have another 20-years. Give or take. I choose to take.
I’ve been crazy blessed, and I’m ridiculously thankful.