Rusty wrote:You live in a hospital?
rydi wrote:either due to mental illness or just some sort of assisted living facility.
have you seen buba hotep btw?
Rusty wrote:No, not yet. Well, I would request that your character be at liberty to go wherever he needs to go, if your character can do that then by all means.
**********************Background Info**************************Thael wrote:If you had seen bubba hotep you would know his character could go whenever he needed to go... problem was not going as it were... didnt he use depends??
Journal for English Composition
Jim Brown
So. Not sure what to write in this. You said you wanted us to talk about ourselves and our lives, so I guess I’ll start from the beginning.
I was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1928. Back then segregation was still in full swing, and life wasn’t always easy for us because we were poor, but things weren’t all bad. Our family was close, and we always had enough to eat, even through the depression years, because our father had a secure job as a groundskeeper for the one of the wealthy landowners in the area.
When the war started up I was too young to fight. But I knew from the comics I read, and from the radio, that it was a fight that needed to be fought, and one I wanted to help win, and when my older brother Jack signed on, I knew I couldn’t just wait around at home. I went in, lied about my age, and signed up when I was 15 and a half.
The military was different back then. Harder, nothing like what you see today. But then again, so was the world. Wars nowadays aren’t fought in trenches with bayonets, they’re fought in the air. But anyway, I found that despite the challenge and the pain and the horrible things I saw, the military was a good place for me. My brother left after the war. He married his highschool sweetheart, settled down back in Atlanta, and found a position on the estate with our father. He worked that job for the rest of his life, right up to the day he died, just like our father.
I ended up traveling all over the world with the military. I didn’t get back home much, and frankly, I didn’t really like going. In the military, I was treated with more respect, even though the units were still separate back then, and I had something more to do than just work a lawn for some rich white man, like my brother and father did. I suppose back then that I resented them a bit, for being so willing to settle, though now I look back and I suppose I can understand why they did what they did. Especially when I look at my marriage.
But yes, I stayed with the military. I was in Korea, and by the time Veitnam was just starting, I thought about leaving. By then however, I had already spent so much time away from the military that I couldn’t really imagine life away from it. So I went. By that time the military was fully integrated, and my rank and experience entitled me to a position of authority. I mention it only because for me, the civil rights movement hit me most when I looked at my unit, and my boys, black and white, fighting side by side, just trying to stay alive. It was a horrible war, but that is one of the gems I was able to take from it.
Anyway. Vietnam was hard. We saw a lot of things we’d rather not have, and when we went home we were treated like villains. It ruined a lot of good men, not just in body, but in mind. But I like to think that as many men as it ruined, it also built a few up. I have a lot of friends that I still keep in touch with from those days, and even a few from back in Korea.
Let’s see. There’s Bill Clayton, a good old boy from Texas. We got along well, and when things were going bad, you could always depend on him to be cool and calm. He has a nice ranch outside of Dallas. His wife died a few years back, but he stays busy with his kids and the animals and such. Or so he tells me when he writes.
There’s Randal Calvin, from up in the Northeast, Main maybe. We still talk on the phone. He was crazy from the day I met him. He ended up being a professor at some fancy East coast university. Married three times, and divorced just as many. Still acts like he was a kid. Fun to be around, but you can only take so much of him before you just need some time to rest.
There’s Captain Reese, who was my CO back in Korea. He went into intelligence after he went civilian, works as a military advisor for the CIA now. He was always a smart man, but he just didn’t relate well to people. Probably why we hit it off. We still go out for drinks every once in a while, since he lives out here.
Probably my best friend from those days is General Eric Reynolds. He was just a kid when we first met back in the Vietnam War, but he’s turned into a fine man, and mentoring him is among the few things that make me proud of my life. We still talk often, but less and less these days, since he’s in the middle of this Iraq business, coordinating ground efforts.
Oh, and I can’t forget Lt. Dan. A good man, and a good officer, but always a bit off. I was afraid he wouldn’t make it through losing his legs, but apparently he managed to make his peace. He’s married to a nice little Vietnamese woman, and I think he owns a shrimping company. He’s invited me to come stay with him at his mansion in Alabama, but I just haven’t made it down there yet. I suppose I should stop putting it off, since I’m not getting any younger.
It’s a shame there aren’t more of my old friends left. A lot of them got sick after the war, a lot of them died, and a lot of them I just lost contact with. A lot of people just tried to forget the war happened at all. Me, I just tried to find some way of fitting in with society again. I stayed in the service after the war, but I decided that I wanted to live my life before it got away from me. I met a good woman, Elise, my now ex-wife, had child, and tried to live out the American dream. But apparently I wasn’t very good at it. When I was still in the military, it distracted me from my family, and Elise always complained about not seeing me. And when they forced me to retire in ’74, I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I lost a lot of jobs, and the economy was bad. I just wasn’t sure what to do, and I suppose I wasn’t exactly right in the head. Elise was more than happy to let me find my way, and she was always patient about the jobs, but I was so frustrated with myself that I ended up ruining our marriage. If I could go back and change something, well, I would go back and slap the shit out of myself for being a damned fool. But what’s done is done.
She raised our boy well. William is married now, and they have a few children. I don’t really see Will much. He resents that I wasn’t there for him, even though that’s the way his mother wanted it. But he’s been bringing the grandkids around more lately. Nice. Guess he’s afraid that I’m going to be punching out soon. Here's a picture of Elise, Will, and his family.
Well, that brings us up to now. I’m not healthy. Maybe all those wars caught up with me, maybe it’s all the drinking and smoking and fatty foods. No one’s really sure what exactly is wrong with me, and those damned V.A. hospitals give about the same quality service as McDonald’s. I live in an assisted living center, ashamed of myself, visited occasionally by a kid that doesn’t like me, grandkids that don’t know me, and the nursing staff. Friends write or call once, maybe twice, a week. I take classes at the college on my GI Bill money, not because I think I’ll do anything with them, but because I don’t want my brain to rot, and I want to get out. And I suppose out of a perverse determination to finish something I should have done years ago, even it’s too late for it to matter. Here's a few pictures of me for posterity. I hope that these pitures fulfill the creativity requirements.
There. Three pages of journal. And since I was “emotionally open,” “sincere,” and “introspective” like you asked, this damned well better get an A, because if I had to write all this whiney crap for your touchy-feely, over-educated, under-experienced, pansy ass for nothing, I will be very tempted to hurt you.
Now, you have a nice spring break, put down your books, and go live a little.
-Jim Brown