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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Tuesday, March 18, 2008

    Who Am I?

    I write this, because that seems to be the question on everyone's mind who comes here, squinting, with their hands over their eyes, peeking through their fingers to read...

    First off, I'm a husband. First and foremost. A happy one, and damned lucky and glad to be yoked the way I am. We are as different as two puzzle pieces that just happen to be able to fit together.

    Secondly, I'm a Father. No, not one of those molesters in black dresses, a real father, of two sweet young children, whom I would cheerfully kill and/or die for. Anybody on earth, except for the wife. My older kids? I love them dearly, but they are adults, and thus on their own. Though if any of them called me and said 'bring lawyers, guns and money Dad, come get me out of this', I would reenact the Terminator scene where he takes out the police station.

    Which brings us to me. A commenter on Vox's blog imagined me as Lord Humungus from Mad Max. Where do people get these ideas? Silly. Number one, that word means 'diminutive person', and I only weigh 215, and stand at just about exactly six foot tall, and have a 44R chest. Number two, I love big veiny guys. Just nip those fat veins with small cuts, with the tip of your blade, and let all their hydraulic fluid run out.

    I have no idea where people get this idea that I am some kind of badass. I'm what, 52 years old now? About to turn 53 very soon. April. My hair is nearly all gray now, except for the birthmark on my scalp, the size of a fifty cent piece, that has always grown out silver.

    I have been sick, recently, and I am growing older and more feeble by the day. I can still move across the room and catch a glass of milk Nat just knocked off the table before it spills. But I'm likely to get a cramp from that.

    My hands are rock steady, and I can still see the front sight of my pistols, which is all you really need. I can no longer jump up backwards and land with both feet on a parking meter. A useless trick, really, except as it teaches directional awareness. You generally do not want to be impaled with a parking meter up your ass. Oh, and I could do it drunk, too. Those were the days.

    The wife and I got married 17 years ago. She was 27, I was 35. Best year of my life. Worst year of my life. We were told she could never have kids. She had two. She's out with them now. Her parents are now dead, mine are alive. I have four adult children from a previous marriage, and one of them has made me a grandpa.

    I have no money, but I am a rich man. I can die now, happy.