a two-track-trail of design and intent
A thought-provoking perspective for thought: When I transitioned from elementary to junior high, I’d never participated in any sport. From baseball, football, to soccer, nary a team had I been a part of outside of the school classroom or physical education structure. Although, at the time, living in the California (Mojave) desert, I spent as much of my free time possible in the world of jackrabbits, horned toads, rattlesnakes and other creatures. So, when I started junior high, I decided to run cross-country, my first team sport, allowing me more of the desert time I so cherished. And I promise, one cannot express the serenity of running two-track-trails through the late afternoon desert environs when out of the midst a jackrabbit would bolt and I’d dart, trying to catch it knowing full well I never could. Plus, I was in a group of other runners, alone to myself, partaking in a team sport. A world of being detached while comingled with like-minded individuals. Plus, on the day-to-day side, it was also the first time I’d be bussed to school, attending an off-base campus. For an eleven-year-old kid entering 7th grade, these were exciting times.
Now, Dad on the other hand, was a team player. He’d climbed the “corporate ladder,” becoming a squadron commander and excelled at training new pilots or other transitioning pilots to become aggressive fighter-pilots. He understood their lives in combat depended on his ability to train or coax out of his IPs (instructor pilots) their desire to train as aggressively as he flew, producing exceptional warriors. Tet had taken place in January 1968, so Vietnam politically wasn’t going so well. And Vietnam was in every aspect a political war. And while the war was taking its toll on the country, on base, after work hours, each squadron had a softball team. In 1969, the first year he held the position, the players, hell-bent on proving they were the best, won the base championship. For whatever reason, I still hold the two signed softballs from that final night game cementing their place in the annals of the base’s history.
Well, on both the work and play sides, the squadron was so good, the Air Force, out of all the CCTS (combat crew training squadrons), picked it to transition the Israelis into the F4 Phantom when LBJ sold Israel the fighting platform. And if one remotely studies history, from every angle of attack, this was no small feat. So, to coincide with Dad’s life, my start in junior high was 1970, and squadron commanders held their positions for two-years. Dad’s end was forthcoming at year’s end of the same year of my start. Who knew: not me. That was until PCS (permanent change of station) orders presented in January 1971, and I was pulled out of school. One day I was in class, the next, I was gone, along with my days of running cross country. Except, to coincide with my end in the desert, years later the base itself transitioned, the government having shuttered operations. Although, historically, none of it matters as life always moves forward, whether good or bad and the world evolves while old continually transitions into new. Every bit of the base history either forgotten or in the memories of those still living, aside from the ruins still standing.
Now, orders could be for anywhere: overseas, inside CONUS (continental United States), even the same State. At the time we had a 1968 Pontiac Catalina station wagon, and the family moved to Texas. To add some irony; I was always relegated to the back seat, looking back, watching the world get smaller as the miles clicked off on the car’s odometer. My life in the shadows of always moving every few years, never knowing when, but understanding “would” when it appeared. It was a way of life I thought everyone lived. One where I became a product of the environment I lived in. So, having been part of the transitioning cycle every few years, I’d retreated into a world of solitude, being aloof to everything going on around me. Although, culturally speaking, I’d also been introduced to a world very few experience even one part of in a lifetime of experiences. Although, for me, in eleven short years, I’d lived multiples of worldly experiences, with even more to come.
Only, during those years, I was raised American … of catholic descent. And while Mom cooked culturally, being Italian, but first generation American, Dad lived Air Force, but spoke Spanish. Again, he also being first generation American. Only, our last name was spoken English: Solis, pronounced soul-less. And maybe the pronunciation fit being a product of the environment: America. And so my life went until I graduated high school. Plus, by the time I graduated, between junior and high school alone, I’d attend six different schools.
And life worked the same, right up to the moment it didn’t. Like my youth, I still moved multiples of times and wound up settled in Virginia. Plus, being the dumbass I was, it took me until I was in my mid-thirties before the rheostat switch (brain) started to cogitate. An example being with one event that transpired, I made a deal with myself: If I found something I wanted to purchase, I’d wait three days. If the impulse still beckoned, I’d go back. What I found: I stopped buying and started saving and my bank account grew. So, I made more deals with myself, and life continued to improve. Now, going backwards, from the moment I turned eighteen, I voted. But environments being what they were, I believed one side was always right, never bothering to look at the opposite side until I did. I discovered it’s not always one-sided, similar to the two-track-trails I ran in cross country. Sometimes there’s a mound in the middle and one must be able to see both sides before making a decision. What I’ve found: Most don’t. They’re locked into being a product of their environment, unwilling to see the other side no matter how wrong they might be.
Well, I got married and we had a son, while the rheostat still turned. And Barbara, she pushed me to embrace my heritage being American of Mexican/Italian descent and dropping the soul-less to Solis (accent mark on the i). Then one day Dad dropped in my hand a pocket Constitution. Then a few years later: The Federalist Papers. The rheostat turned even more, changing me into the product of my new environment. The old having transitioned to the new desire to learn and change. And, not being cliché, what I learned: America was supposed to be a country of intent, not the nation of a design being shoved down our throats today. So, to cognitively formulate: With events taking place, how can anybody be right when everybody’s wrong? Our nation wasn’t intended to be torn apart by two parties with one degree of separation pushing to further divide the people to an undefined end.
So, as each day passes and the country regresses further, I wonder: Are there more people today supposedly moving forward while looking backwards watching the country get smaller? Or are they so ensconced in party, that party is their only environment with the product being touted a single-track-trail. Or, are there like-minded citizens who believe this country can be what the Framers intended. If not, the result will be a completely divided nation that cannot stand. In other words: Buyer beware.
To close, in life, there are multiples of choices with only a few right answers. One being a world exactly like, but the antithesis of, my youth. Where politics are no longer a four-letter word, but an opportunity for truth and positive change. One where we can all with good intent run cross country on two-track-trails together. So, make a deal with yourself. The country works if one understands the intent of the design, not a design of an intent. Plus, shouldn’t Congress make the same deal I did and stop spending, as well as learning what they’re voting for. Us too; learn what we’re voting for and transition before the country is transitioned to a point of no return. And the longer we remain dumbasses, the worse things are going to get. So, find your American soul, it’s written in the Constitution: WE THE PEOPLE. It’s not party dependent, nor a bad thing, but for good!