My Mother's Name Was Victoria . The Colt 45 Revolver.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The second world war , and what happened in dad's life, or in his environment affected him. For many long years he sat on the corner of his bed, and talked either just enough to move his lips, or to say things all night out loud.
It was like a growing presence in our minds. My older brother could not handle it well , or the constant talking. It was worst than some kind of water torture to us in a slow, and terrible way,
I knew it would always build up to something bad. This is why I hate wars, or violence because I was born in a home with a potential for it . Mom became a great part of our fighting . Every day, year after year, mom and dad fought non stop . I don't like to say these things about my mother, and father , but they just got a bad break in life. The cards were dealt against them, and to many other people that wanted to be happy. I have to mention this because wars cause these things to happen. Wars do horrible things to good people. The people we actually think are our enemies in times of war are not always our enemies. The leaders cause wars.
Take Saddam Hussein for example, or Bin Laden. Their ideas caused death , and destruction to our environment. Bad politics will cause wars. Inefficient governments cause wars. I don't know all the answers, but I know some of the problems. I do not blame our government leaders for wars that we become involved in. We usually get involved in wars in an effort to bring them to, and end, or to free entrapped people from terrible injustices. The problems lie in the not so easy methods of trying to eradicate inefficient leaders, or put to, and end radically politically adverse ones, or extremists that are hay wire in their mentalities.
Soldiers, families, people, war machines. Tools of death ,and destruction are the pawns involved in wars. Hitler, Saddam , and Bin Laden were no good. It took a world of energy to put ,and end to them, and think about the people they put in harms way, or the people they caused to die.
We were fighting before the nights would end. We would all yell at poor old dad telling him to shut the hell up so we could get some sleep. Mom was just as horrible as us. Dad's talking would drive us up the walls. It would drive you absolutely nuts. He would start out with a gradual mumble, and then work himself into a frenzy where he would crack up, and rush into the living room cursing us all to hell with pure hate in his eyes. Everything about that unmerciful lousy cruel murderous war was in his eyes.
Mom ,and dad fought every day of their lives, and of our lives. Mom had to run over him every day to keep him down, and to keep him quiet in order to keep his high horses from targeting us. But you just don't throw you're father away. As horrible as it all was, we loved him. I hated what the war did to him.
We were beyond tears. We were advanced in our destroyed lives like those souls in camps. Our little family was not like the Jewish souls that were like lambs sent to be slaughtered , but we understood mental agony to some degree.
When I was a boy I read about Ann Frank . She knew what agony was like. She lived it in her own kind of terrible prison .
I never hated anyone in my life on this planet accept for that screwball that destroyed his own country. At the age of nine years I could have been a serious enemy of Hitler had I been in the same room with him with a gun, for doing what he did to my father, or to any of America's Army, Marines, Navy, or Air Force dads , and moms . I could not stand that creature because he destroyed every hope I ever had of seeing Heaven. Imagine saving the world with just one bullet in the right place. Would it have been worth my soul to have had that opportunity ? Somehow I don't think God would have punished me so badly , or held it too much against me , to condemn me to hell for wanting Hitler dead. Anyhow such a deed could never be done anyway . He was the most powerful enemy of all the world , and heavily guarded. I believe there was one serious attempt made to end his life, but it failed in Europe, and I think everyone who tried to take out Hitler was executed.
You're not supposed to hate anything, or anyone on earth. Your supposed to see beauty always from in you're heart. Hate robs you're soul of love. As a deputy I rarely ever put my hand on my revolver. I preferred to talk to people that used guns with a hope that they would lay down their weapons. I was blessed to save some lives, and in one case and entire family by using words. This does not work all the time, but it did for me. The gunman was armed with over a dozen rifles on his kitchen table, and he had a revolver . I am very sure God blessed that day for me. The man surrendered to me. He handed me the revolver that he could have used on me. The man had shot his ex wife and her boy friend with a shotgun. He could have shot me very easily. I walked right up to his house, and became and open target to show him that I meant him no harm. I had to do that in order to save the lives of that man's children. Maybe he was sick like my father. The shooter was terribly depressed , and suicidal. He thought that he had nothing to lose.
I had to show him that hope still existed for him. The shooter gave me a revolver. He could have killed me so easily. I had to brake the rules , and face the man. I told him that no one would mis treat him, and that he would have his right to good legal council. My partner, and I brought the children to their grandmother's house.
I was a serious minded quiet little boy. I was quiet in anything like a family reunion where there was a get together. While everyone else had fun, I was quiet, and really reserved, and very shy, and actually kind of troubled. Our home was just shattered sometimes . I knew my daddy was sick, but still I loved him so so very much. I loved everyone. I loved my daddy, and all I wanted to do was to see him happy , but that war took that away from us in so many ways.
Dad had a good heart, but you have to realize that he was ,and instrument of the United States Army. He was a trained combat soldier. Part of him was programmed to fight in the jungles with bayonets, and knives yet a part of dad was so different than the machine in him.
I could see he fought a war of his own trying to keep at bay the fighter instincts that he had been trained to use.
Mom was so mad that she busted the back door window of our home, and fired a 45 Colt revolver at him. I don't think she was really trying to kill him . Anyhow he was too busy trying to dodge her bullets .
I heard dad say, " Victoria ! Put the gun away before someone get's hurt."
A foolish uncle loaned my mother the revolver for safety reasons. We gave it right back to him.