The Crazy Old Man

I’ve been asked to say who I am by people who have approved me to post my dithering on this blog. Well, I’m not going to tell you who I am. I’ll give you some hints.

I’m old enough to remember when lying was considered a reason to stop having anything to do with a person. I’m old enough to remember when slandering a good man for your own personal gain was considered unacceptable behavior. I’m old enough to remember when you were expected to be respectful to everyone – unless they did something that directly and personally and deliberately infringed on your rights or those of your family. In that case you were expected to respond in a way that let them know what they had done so they could apologize.

Kicking an ass was acceptable when the situation called for it. I once was sent by my dad to deal with someone picking on my six-year old brother. I gave him a black eye.

I’m that old.

I’m a Montesano native. My grandfather owned land here. My great-grandmother, an immigrant from Germany, lived her last few years here. My mother was of German descent. Because she grew up German during WWII, she was ‘white trash.’ My Dad was also white trash because his parents were German and Italian. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

I graduated from Monte High.

I busted my ass, cheated the system, broke a lot of rules, and made something of myself. What did I make of myself? There are people on both coasts and in between who use information and wisdom they got from me. Major cities practice emergency response techniques that I taught.

I don’t associate myself with any political parties. If you pick a team, you’re not allowed to disagree with anyone on the team about anything. I can’t live with that. If you identify as an independent, they have expectations too. Screw that. So I’m just me. If you have a particular point of view, there’s a very good chance I’m going to piss you off. If I piss you off, one of us will have a problem with that. One of us won’t care. The only time picking a team is something other than pure stupidity is if there is a ball involved.

If you think you know who I am, and you care, “Yay, you.” If you take your ballot to the nearest kiosk and submit your vote, nobody will care or respond.

The radical underground only stays underground if its members know when to shut the hell up.


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