Friday, March 28, 2014
I hit my thumb with a rubber mallet yesterday. I wasn't thinking about the pain, I was thinking about whether the neighbor was watching me from her window. Pain isn't a whole lot more than an up-armored convoy to a little embarrassment for most of us. So when the man says that he stepped on an IED and all he thought about was his troops, I can be skeptical and wonder if that's true. But you know what? I still have two feet to put in my mouth, and can trip over both of my legs as adroitly as I can my tongue. All of which means I couldn't care one whit what this soldier was thinking when a bomb took his leg off. I don't want him to bother me with it, and I have no interest in asking.
Because in order to find out what it was - in order to find out whether this paratrooper shit, prayed, or apologized to a passing mongrel after a quarter of his leg came apart, someone had to go track him down in a combat zone.
Me? I'm afraid to pick up that mallet again.
Posted by Unknown at 2:07 PM