Theme Week 9

From Cover to Cover

From being forced to cross the Atlantic Ocean under the cover of stars
to volunteering for a mission above every ocean to the stars.

From being stared at on an auction block and having the family sold and separated
to ten years running, in the most watched block, as a priceless model of the family unit.

From working for peanuts and fertilizing somebody's land with the blood that runs off of the back
to owning the land, working the peanut, and transfusing the blood back.

From being robbed of a spoken language, losing a religion, a culture, a god
to influencing: the language spoken in cultures, songs in religion, and the pathway to God.

From losing a hand and a foot or a leg for not being fast enough to get far enough away from “the man”
to using the hands, legs and the feet in running farther and faster than the average man.

From the king, of a nation, beaten into a personal slave and called names like coon, spook, and “Boy”
to a boy named King who would grow up to “win over” a nation for the equal freedoms of every person.

From generations that had to take the last names of past presidents
to being the name that can give a future generation its first president.

Theme Week 8 Impact

Sgt Jordan volunteered to be the "A" driver today and I would assume the "B" driver role on the mission.
"This is going to be an easy one today."
"Fa real" I said, "One trip up and one trip back, piece of cake. I can't wait to get this drive over with and get out of this heat."
The mission was easy, Our platoon was scheduled to convoy in Kuwait. We had orders to move to Camp Doha and load concrete barriers on our flatbed M931 tractor trailers. After securing the load of barriers we would travel back to base camp, Camp Arifjan.

Sitting in the passenger seat of that truck was very uncomfortable, especially in 135 degree heat. I was strapped into position tighter than the shoelace on my army boots. My uniform that day was a 3ft machine gun, Kevlar Helmet on my head, tinted desert goggles that would fog up with every breath of my nostrils, and a 45lb protective vest that couldn't stop a staple at point blank range. I could see myself in the truck side-view mirror, I looked like a ghetto ninja turtle. I hated having to wear all of that gear everytime that we had to convoy. It's true that we were in the middle of war during Operation Iraqi Freedom and wearing that equipment was essential to keeping a soldier alive should we become engaged in combat. That was the problem though, It was September and our unit has been in Kuwait since April. There was a better chance of someone seeing their shadow in the shade then there was of our platoon seeing any action. I looked over at Sgt Jordan as he was driving and could tell that he was equally uncomfortable, his mustache and chin strap soaked with sweat.

Our vehicles travel 8 deep in a tight convoy on the "7 Ring Road Highway" in Kuwait. We were moving at snail's pace because two lanes over to the left was a convoy of marine vehicles. In the middle lanes and on our right there was a tremendous amount of local traffic. From a bird's eye view the scenery must have looked like an assembly line of sardines heading to the cannery. The way that the locals of that country drove seemed almost insane. There was a posted speed limit that nobody observed. Those folks were in a hurry, you could see their children playing around unbuckled as the cars would speed past our convoy. Some of the Kuwaitie teenagers, on motorcycles, would cruise by the convoys giving us the finger, and at times coming so close to the trucks that they were in jeopardy of being shot. I hated that place, I just wanted to do the mission and get back to the tent so I could complain to my journal about being in a country where we are fighting for people that hate the United States.

I asked Sgt. Jordan, "Who's that ahead of us?"
"I think it's Michaud and Ruebeck, " he responded.
"Well when they get back, they need to inspect their vehicle" I said.

I had noticed, during the stop and go traffic, that the brake lights on the truck in front of us were not working properly. I would look to the left to see if the marine convoy was having better traveling mercy than we were; I also did my job by looking in front and to the right at the local traffic. I wanted to go to sleep on the ride but my integrity wouldn't let me so I just kept getting pissed at that country for all of my uncomfortability.

"WHAT WAS THAT!?"
"OH SNAP! I THINK THERE SOMETHING IN THE ROAD," I shouted back.
Something seemed to have been tossed in the road next to the marine convoy. Cars and military vehicles were swerving and stopping suddenly. There was a lot of screeching and I postured myself with my weapon ready for anything. I looked at Sgt Jordan and then in front and at that moment time seemed to stop. I was in an adrenaline induced state of alertness that made everything appear to be in slow motion. It was the same effect that was used in "The Six Million Dollar Man," to show him running fast the video was slowed down. In that state, I noticed that truck, with the faulty brake lights, in front of us was not moving and my truck still was. I could see Sgt Jordan mouthing cuss words and the words "HOLD ON" but the sound did not make it as fast as the visuals did. We were going to crash into the vehicle ahead of us, at a high rate of speed. With everything in slow motion I thought to myself, "there is no way that we are going to survive." I had settled within me that these are my last moments of time. In my head, I played out the scenario that I would probably be thrown through the windshield and crushed to death, or ejected from the seat to land in the traffic on the right of me and ran over by the local traffic. My family and friends faces were all I could see next. I braced for the impact by grabbing a thin bar in front me, while trying to get in the best fetal position possible in all of that gear. I was going to die.

Then there was just noise. CRAAAAASH!!!!!!! The sound of two army trucks, 10 tons apiece, colliding. Everything sped back up, I heard noise and felt my head hit the windshield at the same time that the seatbelt snapped. I was bounced back into my seat and thrown, knees first, into the steel dashboard. I was thinking to myself, "that's it, my knees have to be broke." There was more noise, screeching and metal, and cuss words. Just that quick, the noise stopped, the rattling stopped and I could here breathing. It was my breathing, and my goggles were foggy.
"Weav! Are you alright buddy?"
"Yeah, what about you Dale...you o.k.?"
I was alive, I couldn't believe it. How was that possible? "Oh my goodness," I said as I hopped out of the truck. Sgt Jordan was trembling and I noticed the soldiers in my platoon gathered around the truck in front of us. The fifth wheel was sheered off. The impact of the vehicles was so strong that the steel bolts holding the fifth wheel, of the truck in front, were sliced clean. Were Michaud and Ruebeck injured or worse, were they killed? Some of our soldiers were in position pulling security as the team leaders and convoy commanders got together to assess the damage and the situation. Miraculously, Michaud and Ruebeck, Sgt Jordan and I were alive. I had the right sense about me and thanked God at that moment.

We did finish the mission that day. Dale and I switched roles and I drove on the way back to base. My knees were hurting so the next day I went to the medical tent. I didn't recieve an x-ray or a physical, just 800 mg of motrin.

Four years after that accident I still suffer from knee pain. When we got back to U.S. a year later, x-rays revealed that my knee caps were shattered and some of the pieces did not grow back together. I had surgery and am looking towards more surgery. I am thankful for surviving that accident, but there is a part of me that feels guilty. It is as if death is trying to make me feel conviction for avoiding it. I thought that I was going to die, my life didn't flash before my eyes, it went in slow motion. I continue to have nightmares about that day, that moment in Kuwait.

I know I am home now, but my pain and my dreams are keeping me in Kuwait.

Theme Week 7 Bruh Man

Bruh Man

Who is it that driving what appears to be a miniature mobile home or what most of us call a grocery cart? The appearance of him is reminiscent of what's chasing people in their childhood dreams; a shadowy figure that just keeps on moving seemingly in slow motion. No matter how slow he moves, he can be seen all over the city. This is that old dude sitting in the back of the project hallway. He is going through the trash, past the food and the empty crack vials just to find something to wrap up in; perhaps some clothes scraps of little children. Nobody walks past him to get to their apartment, they would rather take the fire escape because it is unclear whether he can be trusted.

This is the same dude with the scraggly beard in the back of the bus. “It's Fraaayesh...They sho is” He says, as he is observed talking to the remaining pieces of someones grinder sandwhich. It doesn't matter whether he has food stamps, bottles and cans or one hundred dollars; He is getting kicked out of the store. Just to eat he crashed the cookouts, family reunions and even funerals. Brotha is just sitting there telling a story in his own language. It sounds like he is speaking E-Z Wider dipped in Heineken and when that starts to make sense he puts a quayloode accent to it.

He can be spotted from far away just by looking for the military surplus jacket that he wears over some of the clothes that get “borrowed” from the Goodwill Store dumpster. Is that jacket really green or is so dirty that it is beginning to seed. He has arthritis, a lazy eye, slipped discs in his back.

Open toe shoes are in style for many but for brotha man they are all that is left his once spit shined general issue. Underneath that do-rag/ winter wool hat is there hair or not? Is it just stuffed with the thoughts of life's wisdom like the scarecrow that Michael Jackson played in “The Wiz”?

One earing or shining wax in his ear; He's musty and apparently he don't care about staying in the warmth of a shelter because he won't wash for any agency. He's always hollering at the police, “YAW AIN'T SHIT!” The cops won't touch him, they can't touch him because they know him. Everyone in this city knows who he is. Some would say that he is an angel in disguise and some with a guilty conscience would fear that he is Jesus come to earth. He is not an angel or Jesus, but he is a messenger from the almighty sent to weigh the hearts of humanity. He at one time was a savior, in a sense, for the world.

This is “Bruh Man” and this is his song:

He tries to GET MONEY and the VA won't fund him

He came back from overseas and society shunned him.

You support your troops but get mad when he poops in public

He joined the army after 9-11 when everyone loved it.

Living off the land and dining in garbage cans

Who ever thought their little boy would grow up to be that kind of man.

Enjoy your day and please don't feel bad

But think about the US citizens whose mind is still in Baghdad.

Theme Week 7 Thinking about Gwen

Thinking About Gwen

It's 2a.m and I am lying awake not able to sleep because I am thinking about Gwen. I realize that I would rather stay awake thinking of her than go to sleep and dream about anything else. When I close my eyes my memory's light illuminates the pictures, that she causes my heartbeats to create.

We were introduced to each other during a telephone conversation between mutual friends. The plan was for Gwen and I to get to know each other so that our friends could be alone that weekend, without catering to the tag-a-long best friend. Her telephone voice was amazing. She sounded like the music in the beginning of a love song. Listening to hear was hypnotizing. I was reaching for anything that would keep the conversation going. That Wednesday night phone call went so well that we agreed to meet the next day at the Library Park. On Thursday, as I was waiting to meet Gwen, I chose to sit on the bench in Library Park that overlooks downtown. You could see all of downtown with the Naugatuck River in the background. The view was postcard perfect, but what my eyes would experience next would leave me breathless.

As I turned my head to the left to see the the Library clock I saw Gwen for the first time; A beautiful black woman, a queen. Everything seemed to slow down, like a scene from the movies, as she walked towards me. Her hair was long and naturally curly; It bounced softly with her every step. She had beautiful eyebrows, and her hazel eyes reminded me of the start of something new. She seemed to be looking at me and in me at the same time. Gwen was smiling as the distance between us decreased. Seeing her smile like that made me want to always be the reason for it. The sun dress that she was wearing had flower prints and flowed with her movements perfectly. At that moment she became the Planet's greatest decoration. I thought to myself that the Earth rotates to show Gwen's beauty to the rest of the universe. I stood up as she approached. Her arms opened, her smile widened and in a step that could have been choreographed we hugged each other. Time actually stopped as my senses came alive to her touch. Her complexion was mahogany and her skin was soft to the touch. Oh my goodness she smelled so good just like cocoa butter. While we were hugging my eyes were closed and I could hear that song, “This must be Heaven” by Brainstorm, playing in my head. Just like the transition from the verse to the chorus, our hug flowed into to the kind of kiss that seasoned couples share. I could taste her peach lip gloss. There were so many unspoken promises that we made while we kissed that day.

Gwen and I held hands as we walked into the future. She became the girl of my life's purpose. My heart not only belongs to her but it was designed specifically to receive the love that only she can give. She is the first and the last real love that I will ever know. I am awake and her 8 X 10 is on the stand by the bed. I love looking at that picture of her, but I am so glad that I get to be with the real thing. I'll be a good husband and let her sleep.

Theme Week 6 Place Setting "Back to Harry's"

Today my wife Evelyn and I dropped the little ones of at my brother's so that they can play with their cousins. After visiting for a bit, and saying goodbye to the kids, She and I drove to one of our favorite playgrounds. It was an opportunity for us to go and visit that place where we shared our first kiss. We arrived at our destination and looked at each other with gleaming eyes and a grin that only best friends can interpret.

(snickering)"Would you just look at this place; it's disgusting. How long do we have to be here Marlon?",My wife said.
I replied, "Hahaha, Oh, just for a minute Evelyn. Can you believe this is where met; at the junkyard?"
Harry's Junkyard is a dump. It has a look to make the projects seem like Disneyland. The smell is just awful here, like the inside of a doghouse, the bathroom after Uncle Ivan walked out of it, and it has that old tool box scent. There will be no postcards of Waterbury, CT. with a picture of this place on it.

Looking around at Harry's Junkyard, it's hard to imagine this was the safest place in the 80's that a kid growing up on Laurel St. could go. No crackhouses there, Nobody getting shot or hustled. There was just lot's of junk; rusty nails,rat bones, old car parts, and soggy furniture. This was a true bio-hazard but the perfect playground for a kid. Just like an episode from "Fat Albert", all of us neighborhood kids would come to this place, this stage and act out every cartoon and movie that was popular at the time. We built transformers from old carriages and bike parts. My cousin Sidney, who is a carpenter now, learned his trade here by building buggies from discarded wood and big wheel pieces. Those buggies had collard green cans for head lights. When I looked to the left and the right I could see some of the same heaps of trash that was there when we were little. My mom's old broom handle is still propped up inside of that Chevy Nova car frame. Evelyn, my wife, was the prettiest girl in school back then. She still is foxy but everyone remembers her as that tomboy, who would snatch her dad's tools and bring them to the junkyard. One tool would always end up getting left there and she would beat up the person that forgot to give it back.

Oh yes, Harry's Junkyard was the only amusement park that we could afford to visit. I would pass this place everyday for fifteen years; on my way to middle school, high school and on my way to work. It really is an eyesore on the route but I have thought often about coming back and just looking...just looking around. I have children of my own and I would never let them play anywhere close to this place. As much as everyone avoids Harry's Junkyard now, it was easy to convince Evelyn to come where with me and reminisce. I did think that showing up here was going to be a mistake, because I didn't want the smell to get on my clothes or in my car. I figured I was having a mid life crisis moment and that the whole idea was just silly. All of that changed as Evelyn and I stood together holding hands and laughing our heads off because of the memories of this old theater, playground, disgusting old junkyard.