RE: Where are the black friends?
October 10, 2016 at 3:43 pm
(This post was last modified: October 10, 2016 at 3:54 pm by The Grand Nudger.)
Heheh, ikr. My grandfather has loved me more than he hated a darker man, easily, for all of his life. He raised me like I was his son because I was th first male child in my family in two generations (he himself only had one brother, who died when he was very, very young). He had to deal with the fact that I was surrounded by jews, and hispanics, and worse....that every girl I brought home was nemed Rebecca, Isabella, Angel.
He knew, ofc, that he wasn't...... exactly, "white" himself. I like to think that my siblings and I had a softening effect, that his friendship with his token black had a softening effect. I know, though, that this isn't true. When I was a -very- small child, he handed me a coke bottle full of gasoline from the pup tank on our evinrude..., lit with a piece of flannel from his shirt...and had me toss it, from our prow, into the catboat of some darkies who were fishing "his" spot....smack dab in the middle of a 400 acre lake. I think they were the only other boat on the lake that morning. If there was anyone else there, I can't...for the life of me, remember seeing them.
(lol, I'm honestly considering recording this shit, so yall can hear this in my quiet, country, baritone. I'm trying to get my grandparents to tell these stories on record before they die too...it' s a dream of mine, to write fact that people will automatically assume to be fiction, because it's both horrible and undeniably, joyously.... human. My well runs uncommonly deep, and I have my racist grandparents to thank for it.)
He knew, ofc, that he wasn't...... exactly, "white" himself. I like to think that my siblings and I had a softening effect, that his friendship with his token black had a softening effect. I know, though, that this isn't true. When I was a -very- small child, he handed me a coke bottle full of gasoline from the pup tank on our evinrude..., lit with a piece of flannel from his shirt...and had me toss it, from our prow, into the catboat of some darkies who were fishing "his" spot....smack dab in the middle of a 400 acre lake. I think they were the only other boat on the lake that morning. If there was anyone else there, I can't...for the life of me, remember seeing them.
(lol, I'm honestly considering recording this shit, so yall can hear this in my quiet, country, baritone. I'm trying to get my grandparents to tell these stories on record before they die too...it' s a dream of mine, to write fact that people will automatically assume to be fiction, because it's both horrible and undeniably, joyously.... human. My well runs uncommonly deep, and I have my racist grandparents to thank for it.)
I am the Infantry. I am my country’s strength in war, her deterrent in peace. I am the heart of the fight… wherever, whenever. I carry America’s faith and honor against her enemies. I am the Queen of Battle. I am what my country expects me to be, the best trained Soldier in the world. In the race for victory, I am swift, determined, and courageous, armed with a fierce will to win. Never will I fail my country’s trust. Always I fight on…through the foe, to the objective, to triumph overall. If necessary, I will fight to my death. By my steadfast courage, I have won more than 200 years of freedom. I yield not to weakness, to hunger, to cowardice, to fatigue, to superior odds, For I am mentally tough, physically strong, and morally straight. I forsake not, my country, my mission, my comrades, my sacred duty. I am relentless. I am always there, now and forever. I AM THE INFANTRY! FOLLOW ME!
