Old in a couple of regards. One, we have known each other a very long time, over 20 years. Old also in terms of plain old age. He’s 70+. We met each other today while we were walking. I was walking Hunter. He was just walking. Incidentally, Hunter’s 9th birthday is on the 14th, 2 days from today.
I had some serious thoughts after seeing my friend. I have not gone into anything really very deep or self-revealing in this blog; this blog that I’ve been writing since February. When I was in Middle and High School I would have referred to my approach to the blog in this way as chicken-shit.
I have to find some way to resolve this and begin to write about the things that really matter to me. There is virtually no other venue in which I can “come clean.”
For example, I’ve attracted the attention of the FBI at least twice. Once, because I was good friends with a known druggie. Once, because I was a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War and moved up to the Canadian border and didn’t inform the draft board of my new address. I learned about these things from my father and when I went into the Air Force as a chaplain.
These are mere facts. What is not said here is what was going on inside my mind when all of this was happening. About the loneliness at night in the cabin along the Canadian border when I dodged the draft. How frightening it was for a boy from the city to live alone in the wilderness. What it was like to work with crude, uneducated men in the woods, the woods that I only knew about from Gentle Ben. The experience of riding a horse for the first time and participating, in a very amateurish way, in a roundup; a real roundup and rodeo to corral and brand the cattle. I learned so much from these “crude, uneducated men.”
Writing about the real, honest, and at times frightening experiences in the woods will take a sort of self-revelation that will be difficult for me. But the truth of the matter is I don’t know you, the reader (if anyone actually reads this dribble.) So, why should it be so hard to write about. I suppose writing about any of the stuff that impacted my soul is risky, even risky to myself. I may uncover things I don’t want to think about.
So, here it goes, the second birthday of this blog.