The Investment

“My lord duke,” said one of his attendants, “Is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully? Why tarry we here?”

“Catesby,” returned the duke, “Here is the battle, not elsewhere. The rest are but feigned onslaughts. Here must we vanquish.”

The burning thighs that moguls create. The incomparable views of unending snow-covered ranges. The smell of chilled mountain air. The ticklish feel of snow flakes as they land on the back of my exposed neck. These memories sustained me while I was deployed in Iraq, now some ten years ago.

I hit the slopes once a year these days. I find more time to answer the Rocky Mountain’s call during the summer months.

“Anything to make sure these MOTHERFUCKERS don’t ruin OUR mountains!” I’d console myself, during the more searching moments of combat.

You civilians will never understand. You won’t. You’ll try and you’ll claim you’ve tried, but you won’t. The best you can do to show you’re listening is get over yourself. You didn’t fight, you didn’t sacrifice, so your words will never be as powerful. Deal with it.

We veterans, we made an investment when we raised our hand. That’s the best way I can try to explain to you why this whole gun control debate has me so fired up; why everything has me so fired up. Third bathroom, women on top, godless churches, only-teleprompter-reading presidents followed by incapable-of-reading presidents, Mohammedanism in the West, and every other thing making headlines these days.

I invested eight years of my life in the Constitution of the United States of America. I didn’t invest in my family. I didn’t invest in my country. I didn’t invest in my friends. I didn’t invest in my government. I certainly didn’t invest in some mortal leader. I invested in the highest principles of law, short of divine law, we occupants of earth have ever created. (To be clear, if you disagree with my lofty assessment of the document, it doesn’t mean your lesser assessment stands a chance of being right–it means you’re not listening. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN!)

If you want to picture a crying baby in the midst of selfish temper-tantrum upon discovering someone took his ball, you probably wouldn’t be that far off from how I feel. Except there is no baby. There is no missing ball. And there are no tears.

Instead, there is one man–perhaps standing among millions–and the reality that baby boomers are so tough and so full of righteous indignation that they are backing scared high school students against the Constitution of the United States of America, giving these mourning teenagers the microphone and encouraging them to piss on everything that I fought for, everything–in fact the only thing–for which I invested eight years of my life.

And now you stop, you stop the conversation? When you run into someone who disagrees? Give me a break. You’re on the way out. At least you could admit that you left your trash.

“My lord duke,” said one of his attendants, “Is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully? Why tarry we here?”

“Catesby,” returned the duke, “Here is the battle, not elsewhere. The rest are but feigned onslaughts. Here must we vanquish.”

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2 comments

  1. Alex

    This more closely aligns with your last post -there is no gun debate. A mental health debate, absolutely. A “parenting” debate or lack thereof, you betcha.

    I prefer not to give an ignorant debate on guns any air, it doesn’t deserve such.

    For now though, I’m late for work. A well thought out response will have to wait as well.

    Liked by 1 person

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