Land of the III

I wasn't raised to be racist, hate the government, treat women as objects, or expect anyone else to take care of me.

Especially not to have someone else take care of me. I was about five years old when my dad built a fallout shelter, which we stocked with cured and canned meat and vegetables that my mom put up. Our family of eight could have survived for six months in that thing. We never had too, but we could. Our neighbors probably would have laughed at us in rural Michigan if they'd known, but they didn't. Our family, I was the youngest, built it ourselves, stocked it ourselves and kept our mouth shut about our 'goings on'. (Its called OPSEC, people!)

We raised cows, chickens, pigs, horses, goats, and had a garden that was about an acre all together. Plus three acres of corn back behind our ten acres of woods. With thirty acres altogether, we had plenty of room to make our farmstead self sufficient, but Dad worked a 40 hour week and made what was damn good money back then as an X-ray technician for a company that made jet engine parts. Plus his military pension. All four boys in our family eventually followed his footsteps and joined different branches of the service, and one sister. The other sister married into the military. Some of us went to college, some of us didn't. Yet, even with the means to financially care for his family, we learned to take care of ourselves if the money stopped flowing. Both my parents grew up around the end of the Great Depression, and were taught right by THEIR parents.

The farm is gone now. After all of us youngun's had growed, there weren't enough hands to keep it running, and my folks sold it off. I haven't lived there in thirty three years.

But growing up as I did, I was taught to believe in God, expect the government to take care of the US, and depend on myself to take care of me and mine. I learned bullets were cheaper than beef, and you were happier when you did fer yourself; But always stay friendly with the neighbors. We had a 'party line' phone for those who remember what those were. Everyone down our dirt road shared a phone line, and you had to pick up and listen before dialing in case one of the neighbors was using the line. And if they were, you HUNG THE FUCK UP! Back then folks didn't spy on other folks.
(well, the Gov probably did, but they didn't have the accessibility they have now.....)

We had 'migrant workers' that would move in in the summer to work the orchards and fields, then go back to (usually) Mexico during the winter. They worked their asses off, and the farmers took taxes out of their wages like anyone else.

I grew up in the woods, traipsing fields, riding horses all the way to hell and gone, sleeping out in the open with a campfire if I felt like it, and respecting women and old folks. My mom made sure both the girls knew how to cook, clean, sew, can, take care of a household. All of us boys learned to shovel manure, feed the livestock, butcher, hunt, do a man's work for being paid, AND how to cook, clean, sew, can, and take care of a household. To this day I still sew my clothes on occasion, and can cook good honest food with the best of em. Store bought OR roadkill. And if my neighbors need a hand, all they need do is ask.

I have always maintained that when the shit hits the fan, even in a small way, its the redneck hick in the overalls you can count on. Nobody owes us a living. Nobody needs to take responsibility for us. Even being disabled now, when the Gov ever acknowledges it, I plan to rebuild my stock of material goods in order to keep my wife and I going for awhile. And my kids if they get here. And my grandkids. And any neighbor willing to work WITH me to keep it all together, is welcome to a fair share. NO HANDOUTS though.

I never gave two shits about Oprah. TV personalities and sports pro's never impressed me much. But I feel I have been justified in my opinion of the "suits versus overalls' status by the actions of her and another 'celebrity' in the news lately.

If "the Oprah" doesn't get what she wants, she's likely to throw a fit, stamp her feet, yell, scream, and call racist. Typical suit. And this from a woman who I hear grew up abused, in poverty, and black, and is now one of the riches women in the world. She could have bought the ENTIRE store that recently 'denied' her access to an alligator skin bag. (She's the PETA 2008 woman of the year, btw...) and then fired ALL the workers.

Jase Robertson, on the other hand, was DECIDEDLY profiled. He went to check into a ritzy hotel in New York, and got shown the door. Jase is one of the stars on Duck Dynasty for those who don't recognize the name. He has a long beard and dresses like a hick. HOWEVER, he made a joke about "Facial Profiling" (witty!) and walked around the block, then checked in anyway. He laughs about it.

See, Jase has no pretense of being anything other than who he is. He doesn't think he is owed a living, though good luck, timing, and the will of America to have one more 'reality' TV show to sate their government circus appetites, have made him a star and a celebrity. But he was raised to be responsible for himself. If that M-f wants an alligator handbag, (for the misses, of course!), Sumbitch will go out, get his own damn gator skin, tan it, and use an awl and some leather thongs to stitch it his own damn self.

And I maintain my premise that if a person were to have an accident, or even a simple flat tire, it would be the biker, the redneck, the cowboy, or regular military enlisted who would be the first to pull over and help. Zimmerman comes to mind. He helped a family out of a truck after an accident. Somehow, I can't see trayvon martin giving a shit. Not when there's 'drank' to be made. And isn't "Idol" on tonight?

How many 'suits' would pull over to change a tire for a damsel in distress? Damn few. They don't have the time nor the inclination when there is a dollar to be made. Of course, if you offer them enough money, they'll be sure to hire someone to help.

When the time comes, I'll stand. Its how I was raised. God Bless America. Land of the III and home of the brave.