Monday, the Fourth of July. Fireworks. Barbecue. This is usually a pretty good day. Nothing to match my pre-teenage years living just north of Seattle when fireworks were legal and the Fourth of July was one long series of little explosions that followed me around as I wandered through the neighborhood, punk in hand.
The Fourth of July took on another meaning during Vietnam. Were you for it or were you against it? There wasn't much sympathy for the troops when they came home. At least with Iraq we understand, right or wrong, our soldiers deserve our support. Fighting a good war is bad enough, fighting what you perceive to be a bad war means everyone is damaged.
I've wondered how we manage to do this stuff. A sloppy-assed smile on the face of a two cans short of a six-pack journaler is no big deal, turn the page. A sloppy-assed smile on the face of a President flying on less than four cylinders is something else. How did he happen? I don't think it's just because he's a dumb fuck. Think about Jack Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson. The first one was a beginner, yes, but the second one was an old hand, both of them were razor sharp and they still led us into Vietnam. A strange world, is it not? Iraq? Vietnam? It was undoubtedly just as strange when I was that kid shooting firecrackers during something called the Korean conflict.
But you're wiser now, right?
Absolutely. I'm a fountain of knowledge.