This might be percieved as a little controversial at points. You might not like everything you read here, but if you Neo-Hippie, new age, left wing Fat-cats truly support open-mindedness, You need to hear all sides of a thing.
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What this upbringing afforded me more than anything, was love.
I love this nation, I love traveling, I love falling asleep in my bed and waking up on the road. But more than anything, I love my Family.
I spent more time with my family before I was 10 than most people do before they die. There is a special connection I have with my family. Much of my childhood was spent in the back of an ‘83 Dodge Ram Charger, driving from one state I had grown to call home, to a new one.
All three kids (of the time, there are now five) and my Parents, 24 hours a day, in a truck or hotel room. Always together, always learning and sharing experiences. There was no DVD player in the truck, No headphones, or Cell phones; When problems arose, you worked them out, what other choice did you have? We were taught good values, Morals, Respect, and as a bonus, how to drive.
Our travels would occasionally lead us to the home of My Grandparents on my father’s side.
My grandfather lived in the middle of a forest, on a Mountain, on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state.
“Grandpa’s mountain” was my only real home. Wherever we went, Grandpa’s mountain would still be there.
Whenever we would to visit, I would sit and listen to Grandpa’s war stories, help with the maintenance of the land, and play games like Solomon-Grundy in the forest.
It was home.
Solomon-Grundy is a game which my grandfather created; To play the game, First, everybody seeks out a comfortable walking stick, they carve and decorate it to their liking, and everybody darts into the woods in a separate direction. You then stalk through the woods until you see somebody else, at which time you sneak up close, shout “SOLOMON-GRUNDY” and then you beat on each other with sticks until one of you gets knocked out, tuckered out, or injured enough to go wait on the porch where grandma would be talking with mom.
The victor on the other hand, would go back to the game. The last man standing was the champion.
There were a number of life lessons taught playing this game, not the least of which was you have to be tough.
Whenever we weren’t traveling, I was always outside. No matter what state I was in that day, when we stopped, I was playing in creeks, playing in Parks, Making new friends, and sometimes, making new enemies. I wasn’t a particularly disagreeable kid, but I was an awkward kid.
However, Learning how to fight is part of growing up, and for the most part, I got along alright.
I was raised “in the old ways.”
I would run off all day long, I scraped my knees, burned myself on camp fires, fell out of trees, got dirty, got bloody noses and split lips in fights, swam in dirty canals and played in mud! And at the end of the day, I came home, got into the bath, went to bed, and did it all again the next day, because that is what growing up was.
Now days a parent would have their child taken from them if they didn’t know where they were all day. If they had bloody noses and torn clothes. In my old man’s day, nobody thought twice about a seven year old kid buying candy on his own, with torn jeans and scabs all over. That’s how it was for him; that’s how it was for me.
I’m still alive, and I’m doing alright.
Wherever we were, Come sunday, we always managed to find a church. We gave thanks to God for what we had. We were greatfull for our family, for the Work, that our truck was still running, and for our experiences.
The children were greatful for the sacrafice, and rightousness of our parents.
We were raised with gratitude in our hearts. Gratitude to our parents, and gratitude to God.
I can remember when I was four years old, I got my first pocket knife. It was a “Real Boy Scout Knife” It was blue and had the Boy Scout wolf on it. Dad gave it to me and taught me the right and safe way to open and close it. The safe techniques for sharpening, cutting and carving, and that I WOULDN’T ever use it in a Fight. Not that I SHOULDN’T, That I Wouldn’t!! Period. And I never did.
At Age Five I got my first B.B. Gun. A Red Rider; That’s right, a REAL Red Rider.
Dad gave it to me, and taught me a few things. How to load it, Cock it, clean it, the safe way to shoot, and that I would NEVER point it at ANYBODY.
I tell you these stories to illustrate a few points; First the ages at which I received these gifts from my father: 4, and 5. my father taught me to be responsible at an early age. Did I cut myself with that knife? I’m sure I probably did, but Not so badly I remember, or have scars from it. Did I ever catch a ricochet from that B.B. Gun? Once, One and only one time.
Now, here’s the real question: did I ever cut or shoot anybody else? The answer, as you have probably guessed already, is NO. My father had given me a gift. A gift I understood was not like a toy, but a responsibility. And how did I realize that? Discipline. You can find that in the "patriot-dictionary” under Love.
The other reason I relay these tales of my youth is to illustrate that even from a young age, I was not fed the “Guns are evil, and only used to kill people” Garbage that so many people seem to believe today. In reality 76% of people in the U.S. believe it is their individual, constitutional, right.
My father carried a .357 under the seat of our Dodge, a .380 in the center column, and rifles in the trailer. We kids knew that they were there, we knew how they worked, we knew how to use them, and we never TOUCHED them. We didn’t want to. It never even crossed our minds. We knew they weren’t toys, and we knew that they could be dangerous.
Watching my parents work hard, and drag their family all over the world to support us, was also a learning experience. I was raised with a strong work ethic; which is something that I’ve carried with me all my life; from working crap jobs, to my schooling. I have always seen the good in working hard. One of my favorite things in life is getting into a shower and having Black water pour off of me. I love the feeling of a hard days work.
My Parents encouraged me to be a Boy Scout. From the age of five I was in Tiger Scouts, at age eight I was in Cub Scouts, at Twelve I was made a Boy Scout.
My folks helped and encouraged me all throughout my Scouting career. Whether buying me a tent, helping me review the Scout oath and law, or teaching me the skills necessary to achieve all that I could.
They recognized that the Boy Scouts were an important growing experience.
I never made eagle. I made First class with multiple eagle palms and a completed Eagle Project. But I was a very weak swimmer, and couldn’t be made an eagle before I turned 18. Had I trained harder, I probably could’ve improved my skills as a swimmer, but I waited to long, and my deadline came up. My Father tried to tell me. He encouraged me, and drove me to the local swimming pool to train. But I was convinced that I had plenty of time, and would be able to master the skill with time to spare.
I look back on this as my only regret in life. But regret teaches us discipline, and encourages us to work harder in the future.
Parents: Love your children; Raise them with love, discipline, and independance. Love them, don't coddle them. What you teach your children is what they will remember, and follow throughout their lives. Raise them with good morals, strong ethic, and a love of their fellow man, and God.
If you do this, you will end up with good, hard working, generous, tough, proud Americans.
