From: mydeuceandwillys@aol.com
Date: Wed Jun 21 2006 - 14:57:26 PDT
Great post, I do think strongly , she could have been poiltly reminded
that this vehicle represent s to you and many others the sacrifices of
all those women and men, <women first here> who gave so much just so
you and i can have our own opinions and as i truly respect yours i just
ask that u take a minute to see it through my eyes, These vehicles
built and driven by our grandfathers, fathers, mothers, sons and
daughters are a lasting tribute to all of there efforts, and i feel it
every time i get in, and not to mention when the retired veterens who
see it in such nice shape are so proud to share there story s with me
and those around these vehicles, So you see mam, this vehicle is not
about war it is about freedom and those who earned it for us, Randy out
-----Original Message-----
From: Chance Wolf <bigbadwolf@telus.net>
To: Military Vehicles Mailing List <mil-veh@mil-veh.org>
Sent: Wed, 21 Jun 2006 00:31:08 -0700
Subject: Re: [MV] OT "America: From Freedom to Fascism."
----- Original Message -----
From: "Darrell Ramsell" <daram@comcast.net>
To: "Military Vehicles Mailing List" <mil-veh@mil-veh.org>
Sent: Tuesday, June 20, 2006 10:40 PM
Subject: Re: [MV] OT "America: From Freedom to Fascism."
correct crap.
>
> A while back I took my son to the local farmers market in my HMMWV (
he
was
> 2-1/2 then). I managed to get a parking spot right near the entry
point.
> Of course I got a lot of looks. I got even more looks when I opened
my
rear
> hatch and whipped out a baby stroller. As I took my son out some lady
said.
> "Is it safe for him to ride in that?"
I've had those too, and still have not figured out what planet they hail
from. I used to have my M37 parked out in front where I used to live -
next
to the roadway in suburbia - and when I'm underneath it one day checking
something or other, a pair of legs which end in shorts stop silently
just in
visual range. I stopped, waited, and when the Legs didn't move on -
got out
from under to investigate.
"Is..this...yours?" asks she, licking an ice-cream cone.
"Yes," says I, so far politely.
"Well, I don't really think you should be able to have stuff like this,"
says she, licking the ice-cream.
"Really. And why's that?"
"Well," says she, "my son should be able to walk to school every morning
without having to pass this and be reminded of War."
At some point in every conversation you realize you're not speaking
anything
close to the same language and just turn away in disgust in the absence
of a
suitable translator. That's where I was with this woman. The two
opposing
sides of the chasm are just so far apart you can't imagine any bridge
known
to man spanning the gap - so why bother? I have no idea what parental
crucible formed such an...individual...but I dearly hope it went
straight to
the scrapyard directly afterward. This 'hummer' story is about as close
to
my own experience I've come across so far. Thanks for letting me know
certain types of disconnected cluelessness are more than a provincial
plague.
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