|Veterans Day, or What The Fuck Are We Doing Again With This Shit.
||[Nov. 11th, 2016|11:58 am]
Expatriated Zulu and Charming Negress
My dad was a WW2 veteran. Purple Heart, Silver Star, lost a hand at the Bulge. Lifelong untreated PTSD. Night terrors. Saw some shit on a scale of the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan. Self-medicated with screwdrivers. I think having to learn to write with his non-dominant hand fucked up his brain, too. |
On the GI Bill he got two Masters degrees from NYU. The first person to earn two concurrently. I dunno how long that record stood. The diplomas stayed rolled up in their tubes in a drawer. I don't know where he kept his medals. He never displayed any accomplishments.
He wasn't a great father. But I know he loved me. And I know his marriage to me mudder was miserable and a mistake he could not extricate himself from for many reasons.
He was also on the McCarthy list.
He worked as a high school teacher, and later as a vice principal. One day in the teacher's lounge as his fellow faculty were getting their nicotine fixes and ranting on about the Red Scare and Them Dirty Commies and who knows what-all else bullshit white suburban people wet their pants over in The Time America Was So Fucking Great, he opined thusly:
"eh, people should be allowed to think what they want."
That night the FBI was at our fucking house. NB: I wasn't alive at this time, this is from my sister, who as a little girl answered the door to find a couple of G-men asking for her Daddy. LITERALLY because he made a comment against THOUGHT POLICING.
And now Newt Gingrich wants to revive HUAC once Drumpf names him to whatever cronyist cabinet position he's been slated for.
The fuck did you do, America? The fuck did we do?
Aren't we better than this?
I'm glad my dad is dead. I'm glad he doesn't have to see this horror.