looking at the present from the past

As I look about, I see my country devolving, wondering how much farther can WE THE PEOPLE allow such to continue. In open view, two willful political parties overtly obtaining power through deception, while the government undermines its own responsibility to achieve autarchy (absolute power), while strangling those who willingly surrender for perceived safety. A mind-boggling sentence and ultimate result, as the government destroys all that our nations Framer’s provided. It’s unbelievably astounding to watch, nor a difficult founding concept to understand; either the people retain power, or government achieves its motive. Sadly, when one has no idea of precepts, or the power they hold, then the government’s subversion is made easier by people who blindly believe what is being sold. A Bible verse explains the process:

What is twisted cannot be straightened; what is lacking cannot be counted. (Ecclesiastes 1:15)

In my life, part of my world twisted the day mom passed. I never expected it, especially when roughly an hour prior, we’d been talking, cajoling, and laughing; memories I will never forget, nor can I remember her having been so carefree before. Oh, she’d laugh, but was more a stoic person in life. Her world was service: to her faith, her church, children, country, and before their divorce, her husband, my father. She was first generation American, her parents having immigrated from Calitri, Italy through Ellis Island, becoming Americans, proud to be part of the nation.

Except, in youth, mom’s world changed with the advent of the Depression. Before, they fared well financially, but things, like life, have a way of being erased in the blink of an eye. The family lost everything, having to scratch out a living to survive. Her world became a world of subservient work, scrubbing floors with a brush on her hands and knees, then giving the dimes she made to her mother to help support family. The government gave them nothing, no support. They were on their own to survive. Mom would spend the rest of her life with the memories not etched, but burned into her, never to repeat what she endured in youth.

Now dad, he’s the antithesis of mom. He was a fighter pilot, a warrior, ready to lay down his life for his country. And on three separate occasions he put it all there, flying three combat tours, one in Korea, two in Vietnam. In addition, he trained incessantly, proving he could fly, survive, and willingly kill when Uncle Sam ordered. His youth, quite like moms. First generation American, although his parents, Yucatecan (father), Puerto Rican (mother), and poor, even before the Depression hit. His dad worked outside the house, while his mom sold eggs from chickens they raised. He so desperately wanted to run, when he turned seventeen, he dropped out of high school, joined the Marine Corps, and fled the family farm. His life forever changed from the moment he raised his right hand, especially when he made that other choice.

His desire to fly from youth had been overshadowed by his unwillingness to graduate high school, or go to college, including all the standard hoopla to accompany. Except, before Korea, the Air Force was born, and needed pilots. Dad was foolish enough to think he could qualify to fly. Long story short, he did, so he became, and succeeded through shear tenacity and hard work, a fighter pilot.

Now, because of his and my governments choices, my youth was spent growing up in tumultuous times, the Vietnam era. As to how the system worked, my world was sheltered, living in a cocoon, where bucolic, serene, and orderly were ordered, except for base flightlines. They were loud, controlled, and always in motion, where jets departed, landed, and taxied continually, to repeat a process from which I was shielded.

My world was fenced, keeping those outside from entering, unlike prison, where those inside are kept from exiting. While I played cowboy and Indians, dad played kill or be killed, and trained to strafe targets with guns; bomb the life out of an enemy; or use napalm, burning any vestige of what a human body may have been before the jellied gasoline covered them and the conflagration consumed everything it touched. There were other forms of destruction he carried on his wings, but the mainstay good stuff outside of rockets was guns, bombs, and napalm. A lot of death for the expenditure.

At days end while training, dad would come home, life would be “normal” until tomorrow, when the process repeated, or Uncle Sam beckoned. Which he did, a lot, as dad was usually away for weeks, months, and at times, a year. Home was then left completely to mom, as government really wasn’t concerned about family, just dad the warrior. Although, anytime during the process had he been killed, mom would have had thirty days to get gone for the next family. The military was family, just not what one thinks when family is supposed to be there in personal times of need.

Growing up, I didn’t do well in school, a daydreamer. In truth, I barely made it past every grade I attended, more likely needing to be held back, but the teachers, knowing a transfer, and the family moving, was right around the corner, always passed me to the next victim. Mom, on the other hand, always taught. I learned about government through her. Jesus Christ ran everything, and if I wasn’t careful, he was going to get me. I was never “got,” so I always thought I’d learned well. Man was I wrong.

It took an eternity, but I finally learned American government, and discovered the antithesis of what is presented, pontificated, and claimed by those who request the power to alter what they have every intent of changing, but more truthfully, taking away. I also wonder if my parents were wrong in their thoughts of the greatness of our government, although not the country. I miss mom desperately, but I’m also glad she’s not here to witness the destruction of a nation she sacrificed for. Dad, I’m glad we can talk, debate, and argue, working to change each other’s opinion on the political topics of the day. I do believe though, the people, not knowing or understanding intent, has this nation where it is, with one looming question; can it survive? So, remember, the key to government obtaining power is obfuscation! The key to WE THE PEOPLE keeping the country intact is knowledge of intent and a desire to keep what others died to give.