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This is ICANSAYIT. We Say What We're Not Supposed To Say, For You.

IT CAN'T JUST BE ME.
OUR COUNTRY HAS GONE NUTS.
WE MAY BE THE GREATEST NATION ON EARTH WITH FREEDOM.
BUT OUR EDUCATION, INTELLIGENCE, AND COMMON SENSE
NOW RESEMBLE A RICH, THIRD WORLD COUNTRY OF IDIOTS.

Most people leave this Earth before they are able to say or do what they wanted. In my late seventies now. Following almost thirty years as a retired Navy veteran. Trying to find ways to finally fully express myself, and share the wisdom of my life experiences. I became one of the people who refused to keep telling myself I am afraid of a computer; fearful I might do something wrong, and destroy it. But I refused to allow that to happen by diving headfirst into the computer World, to become more than just an old man typing on a keyboard. I do have the navy to thank for that. In 1979, I returned to active duty as a new Radioman. Six months in San Diego, California taught me…(as many of my instructors reminded me at 33 years old) ”You can teach old dogs new tricks”. To prove it. By the time three days of eight hours sitting at a typewriter keyboard at Radioman A School. I proved the old dog theory wasn’t true as I actually learned to type. Learning where all the letter, and number keys were became a magical happening for a young, thirty-three year old, with prior service in the nineteen- sixties as a Signalman. I was able to type at speeds never done before with just two fingers, as both of my hands were doing the successful things I needed to graduate. There I was becoming a more advanced communicator inside; no longer using Signal Flags, Semaphore, or Flashing Light with Morse Code outside in the heat, and cold of a steel deck high above the rest of the ship. My new workspace had become what most ships called “Radio Central”, or the “Radio Room”, where I was first called “Sparks” by an older Warrant Officer who had served many years earlier in the 2nd World War. Jump ahead now to the year 1990. A year following my experience as what the Navy called “PLANK OWNERS”. Being the member of a newly commissioned ship as an original crew member which presents an indescribable sense of pride, and family attachment to know one is part of such a great naval tradition. By August of 1990. I was transferred to another Norfolk based ship under Temporary Assignment to augment the ship with a required, additional Radioman/Teletype repairmen, prior to our deployment to the Persian Gulf, for operation Desert Storm, and Operation Desert Shield. As spending so much time on my feet began to take a toll on me physically while at sea; crossing the Atlantic, into the Mediterranean, thru the Suez Canal into the Red Sea, then entering the Straits of Hormuz into the Persian Gulf from late August, into January of nineteen-ninety one. During my physical fitness test; done on the flight deck of the ship I had been assigned. It’s a steel deck, and I discovered, like many others. Very hard on an older body like mine, in my forties. That one day on the flight deck, in the heat of Dubai. Turned out to be one of the last days I was able to do my job as a teletype repairman. Following dinner on the ship’s mess decks; crowded with other sailors and Marines who had been assigned to the ship for the cruise. I found it harder to simply pick up my tray with my left hand after eating. It was then. As I stood up to move. I felt a strange weakness in my legs as it seemed much harder to just take a step forward. The left side of my body was becoming lighter, and almost felt as if taking another step with my left leg, would almost feel useless if I tried to put my weight on it. To make a long story short here. When I tried to get out of my rack (a bunk to civilians). I had little feeling in my foot, my leg, and nearly my entire left side, except for feeling the strange pains of simply touching the hair on my arm...it actually hurt. Despite the pain, and the loss of feeling. I made my way up several decks to where I worked in Radio Central, and the small TTY Repair shop where a fellow sailor saw how I was forcing myself to stand, uncomfortably. So he escorted me to Medical, or SICK BAY as the navy calls it. Then I discovered what the meaning of “Clothes make the man” actually means, when I chose to travel in civiian clothes, rather than in uniform.