Perhaps I should title this post: My Confusion. Here we have two completely opposing thoughts that have busied my morning. Oh, the waste-of-time.
There is a certain amount of desperation in the air these days. I can feel it from my homeland to this side of the pond. Thick it is, and only slightly different from that which I ran from. But like the word “hero” now the word “crisis” must be abused. Obviously there are many who are falling through the cracks these days – but where do they fall is all I ponder as the heroes and the crisis dance? It doesn’t matter if someone stands up and tries to explain anything that is going on. Perhaps that’s due to the fact that it’s been so…
PERFECTLY IN THE MAKING.
It reminds me of an old man I once knew. He was missing two fingers. When asked he said that the fingers were taken from him and ever since he wished he would have not given them up so easily. Then he added that their loss did find vengeance. He admitted it was all due to a stupid mistake on his part. A very stupid mistake. And then he added:
“And these days we give up so much and we do it so with so little apprehension. Mistakes aren’t what they used to be. Isn’t that right young fellow?”
The truth is, he lost those fingers just after he hit the ground and found himself buried under his parachute. That’s one of the things you learn when you are drafted as a paratrooper.
“Don’t get buried under the parachute!”
I think he said that he landed somewhere in Belgium. It wasn’t very windy but a gust must have caught him. It was the early spring of ‘45. Two jump-mates tried to help him and one fell before he could even clear away the parachute. The other man took a bullet, as well, but it was only a flesh wound. At that point he had no idea that he was bleeding. In fact, about fifty yards away from his landing site he hit the ground and recalled his training and, along with all his comrades, prepared to fire his government issued rifle. As he began to find a target in the midst of the hell-fire that ensued from the invasion he noticed the two missing fingers that failed to cup the bottom of the forestock of his rifle.
“The fingers must have been shot away,” he said. “That’s the only thing I could figure out about how it happened.” And then he said: “A crisis situation can really influence how you judge things. Luckily my training kicked in and I got over my mistake. Of course, I caused the death of a mate and almost lost another. But later I was told that it was a gust of wind and it blew me way off course. The Krauts would have got me clean if it weren’t for being covered by the parachute. Anyway. I wrapped those two slaughtered fingers in a rip of my undershirt and went about my duty. Now let me tell what it’s like to kill three Krauts…”
Yes, indeed, confusion is rampant this morn. And so…
Rant on,
-tgs-
