Good for Tommy, shame on the self-glorifying Sherm
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Posted On: 08/25/2017 12:23:44 PM
Good for Tommy, shame on the self-glorifying Sherman and Grant.
Sounds like Tommy learned how to be a good Librul despite his 'surroundings'. That's always the way it is.
I never heard from my ma and dad the kind of shit I heard from some of my friends. I didn't join in that bigoted banter, and I didn't smoke either.
Didn't ostracize me, rather garnered respect from friends who couldn't help themselves, but probably wished they were a little more like me.
I wasn't a saint, I just wasn't interested in things I didn't learn from school and from my parents.
I had my share of fights with hillbillies in the neighborhood. Their accents and their use of the 'N' word were enough to set me off,
And my obvious disdain, spiced up with some rude invective, were enough to set them off. I won more often than I lost. But the fact that I always fought meant that I never had to fight them again.
Grudging respect from the transplanted 'rebs'. "Y'all don't want to fight that Yankee, He's as fierce as us'n. Hell, he's our honorary Reb!"
I did become friends with a couple of them. I asked one if he wanted to join the USMCR with me. Nah he said, "I want to enlist for a two year hitch, get it over with. You'll be going to meeting for six years and I'll be out."
KIA in Vietnam on Hill 861, 1967.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hill_Fights
He received a posthumous Silver Star for 'valour under fire'.
The funeral back in Chicago was the worst day of my life.
I remembered our battles, our reconciliation and his decision.
And I always wondered if I should have gone with him, served with him, If I could've done something to save him.
Second guessing is a fool's game, but nobody doesn't play it.
Sounds like Tommy learned how to be a good Librul despite his 'surroundings'. That's always the way it is.
I never heard from my ma and dad the kind of shit I heard from some of my friends. I didn't join in that bigoted banter, and I didn't smoke either.
Didn't ostracize me, rather garnered respect from friends who couldn't help themselves, but probably wished they were a little more like me.
I wasn't a saint, I just wasn't interested in things I didn't learn from school and from my parents.
I had my share of fights with hillbillies in the neighborhood. Their accents and their use of the 'N' word were enough to set me off,
And my obvious disdain, spiced up with some rude invective, were enough to set them off. I won more often than I lost. But the fact that I always fought meant that I never had to fight them again.
Grudging respect from the transplanted 'rebs'. "Y'all don't want to fight that Yankee, He's as fierce as us'n. Hell, he's our honorary Reb!"
I did become friends with a couple of them. I asked one if he wanted to join the USMCR with me. Nah he said, "I want to enlist for a two year hitch, get it over with. You'll be going to meeting for six years and I'll be out."
KIA in Vietnam on Hill 861, 1967.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hill_Fights
He received a posthumous Silver Star for 'valour under fire'.
The funeral back in Chicago was the worst day of my life.
I remembered our battles, our reconciliation and his decision.
And I always wondered if I should have gone with him, served with him, If I could've done something to save him.
Second guessing is a fool's game, but nobody doesn't play it.
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