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    Warning Will Robinson!

    Feel free to post comments, rants, or even personal attacks. It simply shows your wish for taunting if you do the latter.

    You can say anything you want here. But if you get stupid I reserve the right to point it out, call you lots of inventive names and laugh like hell.

    Blog Archive

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    In no particular order):
    Note: "right" either means this blogger is correct or that they lean right. I know what I mean by it. How do you take it?

    The Other Side Of The Street

    New York Liberals that aren't all that bad
    (for NY Libs)
    The name say it all
    (Pissed Liberals)
    Luna Kitten
    See? I told you I had a liberal friend!!!

    Iraqi Blogs

    101st Fighting Keyboardists

    The Wide Awakes

    As I write this I am less than two days away from going “home”. Home, in this case, is Arkansas, a place I have been to only once, and that time was for for work, never even suspecting that when I was there I was less than an hour away from my biological father. A man I had only talked to once in my life, when I was eight, and only on the phone.

    I had rarely thought of finding my father in all the preceding years of my life, and only decided to after my son was born and I decided to find my roots.

    The events surrounding the separation of a father and son are as much cultural as they were rooted in the promiscuity of teenagers, irresponsibility and a changing America, not to mention the people involved that are my grandparents. They came from a different time, and I can’t hold anything even resembling resentment towards them, and in fact, I never have.

    The grandparents I grew up with, the wonderful people that helped raise me, I have always loved beyond any words. My grandfather still lives. My grandmother passed away a few years ago, long before my son was born, and it has always pained me that he will never know her personally, as she gave me a lot of what I am now. My grandfather was always there, glad to let me help him with projects and have a sip of his beer, teaching me about engineering, common sense and instilling in me a wonder of the world that thrives in me today.

    My grandma gave me compassion and responsibility and a sure knowledge that anyone that didn’t want to be my friend was the one missing out and not the other way around. It is she that instilled in me a certainty and a solid belief in myself. Some call it ego…..I call it a gift. She also taught me in no uncertain terms that there are rewards and penalties in life for what you do and don’t do. If I raked the leaves I got paid and had money for the store, and if I chose to climb the trees and play with my friends, I didn’t. I still got a little something (grandma’s will be grandma’s) but it wasn’t the neat new cap gun or a new bag of plastic soldiers that I truly wanted but rather I would get to choose the ice cream we would have for dessert.

    I spent my time between my house and my grandparents growing up, with mom leaving when I was about 12. The fact that she had kids so young, and ended up having 5 of us within 8 years had a lot to do with her leaving. I ended up leaving home at 16, (a trait that goes back far on my grandfather’s side I have learned), and ended up with my mother at the racetrack, where she taught me horses. My mother is an excellent horsewoman, and I learned a lot, enough, in fact, that I myself am an excellent horseman, with a love of horses in general and racing in particular that courses through me and makes me yearn for those quiet mornings in the barns when I was 16 and life was easy.

    Life hasn’t been so carefree the last few years, and in fact my grandma warned me that it wouldn’t be so easy forever. She was right. But as life rolls on, and one thing after another is presented to me and overcome, I realize that the challenges are only what you make of them.

    In high school a test that seemed like the end of the world is nothing compared to raising a son. So going home and meeting family I have never met, and really didn’t know anything about 6 short years ago, may seem a bit daunting now, today. But I will deal with it as it comes.

    My dad and I are great friends, and so much alike in bearing, demeanor and attitudes that I am sure those that know him so well will be astounded that I wasn’t raised by him. My dad did a great job raising his kids, (two brothers and a sister PLUS two step brother I have on that side), and the word “step” means nothing to me….I am the oldest of 15 siblings, most of them steps, but all of them my family.

    I met my dad and mom, (his wife Jan), along with two of my brothers last year. That is a story for another time. I am going home to meet my grandfather, who suffers from illness, and the rest of the family on my dad’s side of the family.

    So the trepidation I feel about going “home” to meet grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and a brother and sister will probably stay with me for a few days.

    While I am sure that I will be accepted, if I am not then I know that at the end of the day it is they that would be remiss in their decision, and not I.
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