Friday, September 18, 2009

This is just a little kid, enjoying a frozen pop and a picture of me trying a hookah pipe. Apple, I think.

Living in the conex, like we do in our little neighborhood, is like living in a trailer park. Except ours are stacked and made of steel. I just hope they can take a hit, just in case. Activity has picked up again since the election results are out. Seems half the population here is not happy with the President. Kinda like back home, I guess. Just that we’re more civilized about the actions of our politicians. Or in-action. Whatever, it’s not polite to talk about religion, politics or money at dinner, right?
Anyway, I used to live in a mobile home back when I was in the Army…uh oh, it’s that time again…wavy lines…smoke…flashback….
It was 1980 or 81 and we were living in trailer park outside Ft. Bragg, I think it was on Yadkin Rd. Me, Dave and my sister, (that’s another story, and not mine to tell), shared a two bedroom bungalow in beautiful Fayetteville, NC. One night we were relaxing watching TV, and I think I was polishing my boots, like a good paratrooper does. Through the window over the television we saw the explosion at the same time that we heard it. Dave and I rushed out of the trailer to find the one next to ours in flames. We rushed to their door to make sure everyone was out and about the time we confirmed it was clear, we heard a car racing towards us. Then the sound of pop, pop, pop. As the car raced past, we saw the muzzle flashes coming from inside the car and we yelled for my sister to get down, because the homes were close together and the shots seemed to be wild. I picked up a stick and ran after the car,(what was I thinking), Dave went to check on my sister. The car took off and after making sure everyone was ok, we started spraying our trailer with the hose till the fire guys got there. We found several holes that went through our kitchen and one that went right over the pillow on my bed. Ended up creasing my helmet liner. We later learned that it was a custody dispute and the estranged father had thrown a Molotov cocktail through his family’s front window, then drove back by, firing numerous rounds from a .22 cal rifle. He then drove north to the Washington DC area, checked into a hotel and ended it with that same rifle. My sister moved back home and Dave and I moved back to the barracks.
Anyway, I hope this box I’m in can take a hit.


  1. Sounds like you are about as safe as '81...

  2. Are you crazy? You don't go chasin' cars that have people with guns in 'em. Did you get a buzz of that hookah, by the way? If not then you should quit smoking, it's bad for you.