Gunfighter: A Modern Warrior's Life

Home Again

Our Vacation is at an end... if you are reading this on Sunday, please pray for us as we make our way to our home in Virginia from sunny Florida.  I promise to blog all about it once we get back to Prince William County.

Addendum:  Safe arrival at home last night, after a long 12 hour drive.  It's good to be home!

A Little Love For All of You

Hitler's War - A Book Review

Dear Dr. Turtledove,

I have been reading your books with great joy for nearly twenty years.  The first book of yours that I read was the wonderful "Guns of The South".  That started my journey through your work that, up until fairly recently I have enjoyed immensely.  Since 1992, I have taken one of your novels (whichever is most recent at the time) on vacation when my wife and I would travel to someplace away from our busy lives,and spend days having the time to read quietly... whether it was on the sandy white beaches of Montego Bay Jamaica (which is where I read the first two Worldwar novels), or Disney World, where I just finished reading "Htiler's War".  Your books were always a great avenue for my interest in history as well as the fanciful, and well-researched and thought-out alternatives of the way things could have been.

I wish that I could say that I loved you most recent effort, but that would be dishonest.  To be blunt, sir, this story, while starting at an interesting point, was formulaic to the point of being repetitive crap.  Your point-of-view characters all sound identical to each other, and identical to so many other characters in your other novels. 

I always had the impression that you used the similarities of your characters as a vehicle to illustrate the sameness of humanity, no matter our religion, nationality, or social status, but it has come to the point of tedium.

In this particular novel, the characters were so thin, they may as well been made of tissue paper.  The plot, which should have been interesting, is plodding.  The arc of the story was hollow.  I realize that this will turn into another long series in which you take three or four volumes to tell the tale, but I shan't be reading the rest.  I shan't finish because I don't think that you care.  Either you don't care about getting this story told, or your publisher just wants to drag things out... which would explain the ending of "Hitler's War".

I am fully aware, Dr. Turtledove, that you are a professional writer, and as such, you need to write regularly to make a living.  I appreciate that, but I wish I had the impression that you were at least making something of an effort to entertain your fans.

In the past several years, you have retold the American Civil War in several different ways.  Likewise the Second World War ad nauseum.  Perhaps it is time to write about something else. 

Cordially,

Gunfighter

What Is a Warrior?

You know me, right? Good ol' Gunfighter… your pal who tells that odd funny story, loves to talk about his family, good time guy who is more passionate about progressive politics than he is about Rugby.

I've blabbed to pretty much all who will listen, about my thoughts on just about everything… but today, I'm going to tell you about my core beliefs. You probably already know much of what makes me tick, but I am going to give you the whole enchilada today.

I'm a Warrior.  Battle is not only my trade, it is my profession.  I am trained to it. I am indoctrinated in it. It is why I draw breath every day.

Do you know what that means? I'll tell you what it doesn't mean… it doesn't mean that I spend my days looking for a fight. It doesn't mean that I welcome or relish violence. It doesn't mean that I am an unthinking berserker that would just as soon shoot you as talk to you. No. Not at all. I'd like to talk… and probably will ramble on a bit… but I am writing this without a script, and am unlikely to edit it. Buckle up. I'd like to talk about my own personal warrior ethos.

In my world, everyone feels safer when a warrior is around, because a warrior is honor-bound to help those that might not be able to help themselves so much. In my view, a warrior opposes injustice, whether it is physical or moral injustice, a warrior doesn't stand silent. In my view, a warrior avoids conflict, but having entered a conflict, is unswerving in achieving his goal. A warrior is kind. A warrior is tender. A warrior is God's man above all things. A warrior seeks guidance and wisdom from those around him, and will share those things with others when asked of him. A warrior is aware of his own mortality. A warrior is the friend and guardian of all children, not just his own. A warrior is unselfish. A warrior is victorious over pain, discomfort, and the elements. A warrior respects nature. A warrior despises corruption. A warrior is well-read. A warrior can never be accused of being lazy or not hard-working.

Like most warriors, I have my own role models who have shaped the warrior that I have become. Some of those models were military men. Men who fought with honor, skill and intrepidity like Audie Murphy, Salah ad-Din; "Mad" Anthony Wayne, Nathaniel Greene, George Washington, John Ripley, and the Entire 54^th Massachusetts volunteer Infantry regiment; Miyamoto Musashi; and Jean De La Valette.

Some of those warriors were fictitious, Brave Horatious, The Captain of The Gate; Lazarus Long; Richard Sharpe; Stephen Maturin; and Jack Aubrey; John Dean; William "Wild Bill" Fogarty; and Captain Ted Lenahan.

Not all of my role models were warriors or soldiers. Some of those models were scholars, people who taught me the importance of knowledge and of history, and of the joy of learning for learning's sake:  My wife, Susan; Mrs Ruth Deusinger (she was my high-school history teacher, and she was the BEST); John Murphy; Thomas Tsirikos; Ron Martino; and Joseph Caliguire.

Still other role models were members of my family: My mother's mother, a tireless servant of God, and nurturer of a troubled boy who became, to all reports, a decent man, despite the odds; my mother's father, a professional linguist and educator, from whom I inherited the gift of languages.

Many of my role models were men and women of faith: Martin Luther; Saints Cyril & Methodius; Saint Martin of Tours; Saint Martin DePorres; Martin Luther King; Saint Paul The Apostle; and of course, Jesus of Nazareth whom we call The Christ.

I strive, and fail, daily, to emulate what is good in all of these people, and others, believing that if I can, I will be the warrior that I am called to be: The defender of truth, justice, children, women, knowledge, and of the faith.

As one of those role models once said: "Here I stand, I can do no other. God help me, Amen."

Guest Blogger: Charrette - Finding Myself At The Movies

Today's guest blogger is Charrette, who joins us from Divergent Pathways.  Charrete is an artist, wife, and mother, and a woman of deep faith, who loves... well, she loves so many things... read her blog and see what I mean.

When I asked Charrete to do a guest post while I am on vacation, I told her that I would like her to write about "things that you believe in".  I know that sounds vague, but I told her to "free form at will"  Here is her post.

 

Despite all appearance, this is not a movie review.

I saw the film “Julie and Julia” tonight, with my husband. To say I was excited about seeing it would be an understatement. I am in awe of Meryl Streep, I enjoy Amy Adams too, and I love to cook. So I was practically guaranteed a light, fun, delicious evening at the cinema.

What I did NOT expect? Was that it would make me cry. And cry. And cry. I felt like my heart and soul had been flailed open the way Julia Child herself would debone a duck.  Because I didn't realize this movie is about much more than cooking. It’s about Friendship. And Love. And (are you ready for this?) Blogging.  But even these three things wouldn’t, shouldn’t make me cry on a typical Friday night. There was something else about this film that touched me on a very deep emotional level, something I almost can’t describe. I think it was the primal need it showcased to find ourselves...to locate our innermost self and find a vehicle for expressing it.  I immediately thought of specific friends who, at specific times in my life, have helped me find a part of myself. Cari helped me rediscover my love for the great outdoors, and especially mountain trails. Anne has helped me (through blogging) to rediscover my love of writing, awakened with a nearly transforming vengeance. Jeanne helped me awaken my inner mother. And Marie lent me a slice of her own sure-footed sense of identity, teaching me over most of a lifetime to love and appreciate my unique strengths. We all share a great love for scripture and far-reaching eternal truths.

I am convinced that God himself sent me these friends, to minister to me when I needed them most. To help me remember who I really am...a creative spirit with eternal roots and a familial connection to God that runs vast and deep.

The scriptures tell us that in order to find ourselves we must first be willing to lose ourselves. I think He was referring to selflessness and service. But in a way, He was also saying we have to GIVE OF OURSELVES in order to find ourselves. It happens in cooking. We invest time and effort and even a little creativity. To nourish those we love. And it ends up being like therapy...as we chop vegetables and revel in the colors and textures, then engage in meaningful conversation with our family and friends as we surround the table.

It happens in friendship. We share a little of ourselves with each other...divide the sorrows and multiply the joys. We listen, we love, we serve, and somehow it all comes back to us...bigger and better than when it left.

And it happens in blogging. Sometimes we’re able to share parts of ourselves here that we couldn’t possibly find an outlet for anyplace else. And kindred spirits respond. We find such validation here. We discover amazing things about ourselves in the process, and discover wonderful new friendships with people in such remote locations our paths likely would never have crossed.

But the most important way we give of ourselves is by submitting our lives, our gifts, our whole selves to His will. We lose ourselves -- our selfish, natural inclinations -- so He can find us. And reshape us. One of His modern-day prophets, Ezra Taft Benson, said:“Men and women who turn their lives over to God will find that he can make a lot more out of their lives than they can. He will deepen their joys, expand their vision, quicken their minds, strengthen their muscles, lift their spirits, multiply their blessings, increase their opportunities, comfort their souls, raise up friends, and pour out peace. Whoever will lose his life to God will find he has eternal life.”

Thanks so much for this, Charrette.  I knew that I was going to be able to give my readers something great as soon as you told me that you would be my guest.  You have touched the heart of what blogging means to me and so many other people.

A Personal Revelation

When I posted, yesterday, about my military service, I revealed something of myself, that many of my readers have never seen.  As a result, some people have com to know me better.  I think that this is a good thing.

Today, I am going to take that theme a little bit further.

I am going to tell you about a grievous sin that I am guilty of.  It’s something that I grapple with on a daily basis as temptation is thrown in my face.  I am trying to be strong, but I fear that it may already be too late.  No, I’m not talking about my well-documented love affair with Rachel Maddow… I’m talking about something a little closer to home.  I’m talking about envy.

Envy.

It’s a terrible thing, envy.  It can poison the best of your intentions.  Envy can destroy relationships, ruin trust, and be the wreck of honest and good ambition.

In this instance, the subject of my envy is all of you people out there with iphones!

That’s right. 

I want an iphone. 

There, I said it. 

You people that can email and Blog, and Facebook, and Twitter, and all sorts of things, really irritate me… not because you are bad people, mind you.  You know who you are… you have iphones and I still have tons of mad Gunfighter-love for you (and Gunfighter love is good!  I give great hugs, don’t I?), but I want one of those freakin’ phones, too.

Sure, when I got promoted, recently, my job gave me a Blackberry… and that’s cool, but it’s a secure Blackberry, which means that our network administrator, the dirty so-and-so has disabled the video camera.  We are also prohibited from using the Internet with it.  All of which I can understand, but leaves me wanting a bit more capability.

I’ve never really been an envious guy.  I enjoy my lot in life.  My wife pays attention to me… most days.  My children love me.  I am respected by my colleagues.  I don’t even care about having the latest model cars (although I wish cash for clunkers would last until I get back from vacation, I need a new car).  Am I a bad person because I want (and Mrs. Gunfighter wants) a swanky new phone(s)?

In my late night wanderings, I have found that I can buy a refurbished iphone G3 for only 79 bucks, direct from AT&T, which really beats the crap out of $299 for the new 3GS phones.  After all, I don’t really need the video thing.

So.  Help me out, folks.  Gunfighter needs an iphone.  Should I go with the refurb, or not bother?

Help a brother out!

Fatherhood Friday: Veteran's Appreciation

I'm still on vacation, and I have more guest posters lined up for you to read, but I wanted to tell you about something that happened to me at SeaWorld Orlando, yesterday.

We spent a fine day in the park, having a good time interacting with Dolphins, looking at the sharks, Otters, and Sea Lions.  SoccerGirl and I went on the Journey to Atlantis roller coaster/water flume ride (I freakin' hate those things, but what's a dad to do, eh?), and she go to touch the Manta Rays in their shallow tanks "Aren't you going to touch them, daddy?"  "um... no, babe, but you go right ahead".

We had a great time as we always do.

Then it was time for the Shamu killer whale show.  We scooted (yes, scooted.  I only scoot when I am on vacation) over to Shamu stadium and got great seats, with Mrs. Gunfighter and myself sitting in a higher section and SoccerGirl somewhere in the second-row "Splash Zone"... because the only thing better than acrobatic sea-going predators, is getting soaking wet because of  acrobatic sea-going predators.

The show started right on time with all of the usual fanfare, but something about the show bothered me today, and that is what I want to talk about.

At the beginning of the show, there is a segment in which Anheuser Busch (the company that owns the SeaWorld/Busch Gardens parks) salutes American veterans, and asks all veterans of the US armed forces (and those of the UK and any of our allies) to stand up and be recognized.  When they did this, I, and all of the other veterans received a lengthy round of applause. 

It made me uncomfortable.

It always makes me uncomfortable.

It doesn’t make me uncomfortable because I am ashamed of my service.  Quite the contrary.  I am proud to have served in our armed forces, and I am proud of my continued service to this day.  No… it was something else.  I still can’t quite put my finger on it as I sit here typing, nine hours after the show.  I think what was/is bothering me is the nearly exalted status of our veterans.

Look, I joined the service as a 17 year old that really needed to get the hell out of Union, New Jersey, because college wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t stay home anymore.  I had to leave, and Uncle Sam gave me an out, and a direction.  As patriotic as I was then (and now), my main motivation was to get away from home… and for so many other young people across America, Uncle Sam gave me a home, and a purpose.

I was a fairly bright kid.  You wouldn’t know it to look at my SAT score, but the fact remains.  When I took the entry battery of tests, I could have done nearly anything that was available.  Instead, I told them that I wanted to do dangerous stuff involving guns, that may well have lead to getting my ass shot off.  Maybe I wasn’t so bright after all.

I spent the next eight years doing what Uncle Sam, in the guise of my sergeants, told me to do.  In turn, I became one of those sergeants who got to tell the younger fellow what to do (and I was a grizzled old guy by then… I think I was just shy of 20 when I was made a sergeant).

We ran.  We did obstacle courses.  We swam (Marines are amphibious, remember?).  We trained to be able to shoot people as far as 500 yards away, with an unmodified rifle.  We shot up things using machineguns, rifles, mortars, and anti-tank missiles.  When we got tired of that, we practiced using our bayonets to kill people at close range.  We learned to read maps so that we could navigate from one place to another in order to kill people when we got there… or to guide artillery, or air support.  We learned to make range sketches, so we wouldn’t forget where we planted mines.  We learned how to find mines by lying on the ground, and probing for them with our bayonets. 

We spent a lot of time, in those Cold War days, practicing to identify Soviet-made combat vehicles (The T-80, T-72, BMP, BTR-60, GAZ, and the BDRM, to name a few).  We practiced assaulting defended beaches via landing craft, small boats, and helicopters.

We did all sorts of cool stuff like that.  We also spent a lot of time having fun.  When I was in the service, I saw the world.  I saw the far-east.  I saw the middle-east.  I saw Western Europe… and that part called East Berlin.  I have been in at least 18 countries (or something like that).  I have been tattooed, been in bar fights, been ferociously drunk, and wooed women in at least three different languages.

I was good at my job.  I was a highly disciplined killing machine.  Oh, don’t get all squishy on me… that’s the purpose of our armed forces.  Never forget that.  All of the people who enter the service to learn a skill are all there to support those of us that do the killing.  Anyway, I was good at my job.

I loved the discipline.  I loved the traditions.  I loved being totally lethal.  I loved my comrades… but in all of those years, I was always very aware of what my status was:  I was nothing more than a bullet sponge for our society.

Most of us were lower-middle to working class to poor kids who, if they weren’t wearing a uniform, would have been on the dole. We knew it.  We came from Sandusky, Ohio; Mable, Minnesota; Ottumwa, Iowa; Harlem, New York, and lots of other places that held no promise for us. Indeed, many of us were from nowhere… we were from whatever military hospital we happened to be near when or mother’s were pregnant and our dads were serving in, or just returning from, Vietnam.

I won’t try to tell you what the motivation was for everyone who served when I did, but one thing I can tell you is that I never heard anyone say (not even the officers):  “We are here to protect American freedom”.  Most of us were there for each other.

All of which brings me, at long last, to my point.

Spare me your thanks.  I wasn’t doing it for you.  I was doing it for me, but you are welcome, just the same.

Freedom Isn't "Free"

I started writing this at the end of July.  I thought that posting it now might be a good idea.

In the lunch room down the hall from my office, I had a discussion, just 10 minutes ago, with two colleagues, and the subject was a news report on the Obama administration's anti-terror policies. 

After the story ended, one of the guys says "the American people have to understand that freedom isn't free!".  He went on to tell us that people wouldn not only have to give up some measure of privacy and liberty to be safe if that's what the government needed to do.

I'll bet you know what happened next.  If you don't, let me tell you that the other guy in the room, whom I have worked with for over ten years, certainly knew what was coming... he sensible backed away from the table.

Not being one to step away from a brewing donnybrook, I opened my mouth ans said (ok, if the f-bomb bothers you, you should close your eyes, here):  "Wait a minute.  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

I proceeded to light him up like a Christmas tree, and told him that he was a proto-fascist who shouldn't be entrusted with a security clearance, let alone a badge or a gun.  Those were the nicest things that I said to him before I told him to stay the fuck away from me.

Things are getting bad, folks

Mel Brooks & The Loss of Virginity

Today's guest blogger is... well, she'll tell you who she is at the start of her post.  What I can tell you, that you may not know, is that this young woman is usually one of the first people to read my blog every day.  She comments when she has something to say, and is silent when she doesn't.

Today she is going to tell us something special about her life.

Hello there people! I'm Lilacspecs and I write over at Lilac Colored Glasses, my single daycare worker-gone engaged expatriate in Belgium blog. Yes, that's a mouthful but it's nothing compared to speaking Dutch.

So, yeah, that's me in a very small nutshell. Anyway, I'm posting over here during The Gunfighter's vacation and I was basically given free reign to talk about whatever I wanted, so long as it doesn't offend you or tout Republicans. So I thought about that for a bit and decided to tell y'all a story that I've been wanting to write, but I sort of can't on my blog because my parents and my future mother and sister-in-law  read my blog. And what is it that I've chosen to tell you about today?

The day I lost my virginity!

Woohoo!

The year was 1999 and it was summertime. June, to be exact. I had my first "serious" boyfriend (we'll call him Bub) and we'd been talking about having sex and had made some attempts (read confused and frustrated groping in the backseat of my car because it was summer and our parents were always home) but we hadn't been even close to successful. See, my boyfriend had two problems. The first was a hernia from wrestling that we didn't know about at the time but it was preventing him from staying in a necessary condition for sex for longer than a minute or two. And also, I was older and he definitely was psyching himself out.

So anyway, graduation had come and gone, as had my 18th birthday and my mother started teaching summer session at the university where she worked. Bub's mom had dropped him off at my house and we were up in my room watching Dracula, Dead and Loving It. when things started getting more...intimate. And no, to this day I have no clue what it was about a Mel Brooks comedy that sparked the amorousness, but things progressed and to our mutual surprise, Bub finally maintained himself long enough to put on a condom.

Now, a later discussion indicated that Bub saw his moment of entry as something grand and epic; something straight out of a coming of age movie but mixed with the nobility of a Civil War flick. A cross between Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Glory...only starring Bub instead of Matthew Broderick.

I experienced things more as "oh...okay, I think it's in." Then I held on for dear life because I was on top and Bub apparently thought that "bucking bronco" was the tempo I would prefer, and then finally, when it was over I remember thinking, "So...we're done now?"

I had heard from all of my friends that it would hurt and I'd bleed and it would be this scary experience, but it wasn't. I mean, it wasn't, like, fireworks and opera singers or anything, but it was comfortable and sweet and it cemented our relationship much faster and stronger than normal, in my opinion.

Anyway, we took a shower and Bub's mom picked him up a little while later and I went and finished watching the movie. Later that day, after my mom came home from work, I went to her office to ask a question or something and as I turned to leave she said,

 

"Bub was over here today, right?"

 

"Yeah, why?"

 

"You did it, didn't you?"

 

"Um...how do you know?"

 

"You're walking like you just went horseback riding. And you know what today is, don't you?"

 

"No, what do you mean?"

 

"It's June 9th. You lost your virginity on 69!"

 

So...there you have it. I lost my virginity during a Mel Brooks movie to a 15 year old guy right after I turned 18. And I'll always remember the date because my mother  made a reference to 69ing and my new sex life all in one sentence.

Hopefully this doesn't offend any of you and I'm pretty sure I'm not touting Republicanism as I had premarital sex that was possibly illegal in the state of Pennsylvania while wearing a condom that I learned how to use in my sex education classes taught in public school. Oh yeah, and I'm an expat, so most Republicans probably see me as un-American anyway. If I've met the criteria appropriately I guess you'll be reading this at some point in he near future and if so, please feel free to stop by Lilac Colored Glasses to say hello. I always like to see new visitors.

Thanks, Lilac!  I won't even start to talk about my loss of virginity... but, your story was every bit as funny as mine!

 

I'm on Vacation!

I'm on vacation!... but you already knew that.

I love summer!

I love the heat!

I love the colors!

I love all of soccergirl's activities (I live vicariously through them).

I am overjoyed by the fact that my child can go to Scout camp, day camp, lots of swimming, doing fun things that she enjoys.  I also love the fact that she gets to do a lot of the things that Mrs GF and I couldn't do as children (me because we were poor, and Mrs GF because her mother is a loon).  One of the best things about summer is that because of my work schedule (which is awesome), my youngest and I get to spend lots of time together.

Anyway, I love summer... even when it is hotter than h***, as it frequently is in Virginia.

The funny thing for me is that I love the end of summer best.  Because the end of summer is vacation time.  We spent three nights on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and then we spent a day in St. Augustine, Fl. (we are history geeks, we want to see the Spanish forts), and are now in Orlando.  We have been looking forward to this all year, and are truly enjoying our togetherness.

Togetherness.  That is what this is all about.  We get to spend nearly three weeks with just the three of us.  No distractions.  No Blackberry practically melting for my attention, no unexpected late work days.  Just us.

How cool is that?

That is how I like my summer.  Every minute from the day school got out has been prologue to our summer trip, and we are loving it.  You know what else is really cool?  One of my regular readers is going to be in Orlando while we are here, and we plan to meet... so once that happens expect some good blogging as a result... unless, of course, she thinks that I am some sort of creep (which I'm not... mostly).

See you in September

While Gunfighter isn't on vacation, he can be found teaching Sunday school, coaching soccer, and teaching people better ways to shoot other people.

While he IS on vacation, you can find him perusing hisotrical sites from the Revolutionary period, or running around at Disney World wearing Mickey Mouse ears.