Mall Visit

Like the annual physical, my annual visit to the local mall came due last week. Upon leaving the parking lot, I genuinely felt like I had been in another state if not a foreign country. It had nothing to do with nationalities. You see, we are country around here. Some people try to be something else but when it comes down to it, they're country. But you go into the mall and it is like dress up day and 'fool your friends' day.

For one thing, people are territorial. They have their direction and destination and you better not be in their path. For another, there are those who never buy anything, they just walk around, the guys looking tough and the women putting themselves on display like an advertisement or something. Their faces are frozen their manner is stiff and it looks like the night of the living dead. Spooky.

Then you go into a store, where do they get those styles? Do people really wear them anyplace besides the mall. And the sizes, it is like shopping in the land of the giants. "We have one pair in that style and we lost the sole off one shoe." "Those are seasonal, come back in the fall." Don't people wear work boots in the summer?

I once walked through Harlem, (got lost on the subway), it was okay. Back then I didn't know we all hated each other. I just thought people were people. But I admit, I felt a little out of place being one of only two white people there. We didn't get mugged or robbed and people smiled at us. Anyway, there is no comparison to the alienation I felt in the mall. One oasis of reality came when we stopped at the Chic-fa-la (if I even got close to spelling it right). The people were down home and went out of their way to be nice to us. Food was good too. We had the salad with chicken tenders. Um.

Finally let me say, if the people went to as much effort to please the customers as they do in rubbernecking to see if you stole something, it would be a much more profitable place. Some local people for marketing ideas might help too. I fully expected a squad of uniforms to jump out of every hiding place. I felt like confessing to something but we paid for everything we got, probably even the bags although it was not on the receipt. For all those watching eyes who think every country boy or girl in denim are thieves, I would like to say 'I am not a thief.' I got money. As Jeff Foxworthy said, (I paraphrase because no one can do it like Jeff) 'I got checks so I can't be out of money.'

I said y'all, yep, howdy and I reckon, to myself all the way home just to get back at myself.

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Boot Camp

Forty-two years ago, a young man arrived at Parris Island on a greyhound bus. The bus was crowded and he had to stand up most of the way from Atlanta. The driver only made one comment 'You are about to meet the nicest man you ever met'. Shame on him. Smokey Bear hollered in his face for the next eight weeks. Yellow footprints were his friend for the first week. New names were assigned to him, many cannot be repeated. One name was house-mouse which meant he cleaned the drill instructors 'hut' (room). Lady, hog, mama's boy, ... you get the general idea. Those drill instructors looked alike to the young man for a long time, then their individual personalities emerged. None could hear good. They kept saying "I can't hear you." The senior DI, the meanest, was a black belt and featherweight boxer and a war hero for swimming a river and dragging his lieutenant with him. Both of them were wounded. The shortest seemed to always have a red face and always hollered at the top of his voice. The biggest was a little on the fat-belly side and liked coffee. The fourth seemed to think he was a little too dignified for the job. That one slapped the young man after he stepped forward to claim his Bible that went missing on the first day. The whole platoon leaned toward the incident and struggled to stay at attention. You could punch a guy all day and it was alright but slap a man for having a Bible crossed the line. The kid/man shot expert the first day on the range and won a little respect from DIs and jealousy from the squad leaders. The house-mouse left after graduation with the keys to the DIs hut in his pocket. Sweet revenge!

People say the young man changed after serving overseas and in various rather high profile jobs for an enlisted man, i.e. well places. How can war not change a person? What makes an old man still want to hit the dirt when the neighbor shots a gun? Why does he still lay awake at night, when everyone else sleeps, recounting and hoping and yes praying? Why does he fight back a tear when he sees the country he served change so much for the worse and people can't see the difference? Why is it so important that we stay who we are? The answer is our children and grandchildren deserve to see and enjoy the nation we had in our lifetime. Our men and women who serve, know, and hope (I think)that the country they serve to protect will be the same country they return to, to live out their lives.

We are in a time when it is 'what's in it for me'. We hear everyday how men have cheated the nation, citizens and each other. A building that has been eaten by termites from the inside is not a building that can stand much of a storm. We have to cut out the dead wood, repair damage and prevent future damage. Wrong is not right even in high circles of society.

It is not disrespect for our nation to question when it heads down the wrong road. It is love.