If I'm not Adopted I want to be....

I remember at a very young age I was with my mom and some siblings in our red and white 1955 Ford Station Wagon around 39th and Q street. I think my dad was in Cunningham's having a drink. I asked my mom if I was adopted and she laughed and said no. But I thought I was adopted. I didn't feel like I fit in even at this young age with my family. I then decided I wanted to be adopted and by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. They adopted kids and maybe they would adopt me. I was going to send them a letter and ask them if the would adopt me. Crazy huh. Well, I'm in my sixties and still don't feel like I fit in, anywhere really. My views seem to be so opposite of my family, friends of the family, etc. And not helping it at all is my not ever being the real Mickey. I feel as if I have been everything but that and that brings great sadness. I think I've tried to be what people wanted or fit into the slot people thought I should be in and in doing that I have lost my identity or what would have been. So, who is the real Mickey? He is a good Catholic boy who prays all the time but doesn't feel you have to be in church to do it or bring attention to just how good a Catholic you are. He is painfully shy. He loves people, all people. One who really doesn't care if they are hispanic, black, gay, straight, Jewish, Baptist, etc. and believes the person inside is the person that matters. He believes in equal rights - the same equal rights for everyone. He believe in gay marriage - after all, it's only love and why can't people love whomever they want. In the end he'd rather be remembered as a good person and he did his best rather than the car he drove or the money in the bank. He believes a kiss is a kiss regardless of whether or not it is with a woman or a man except one has razor stubble and the other doesn't. He is extremely proud that he served in the Army and that it took him a long time to accept and realize it. He is a Vietnam Veteran and one who is so quilty that he lived and others who had more to offer the world were killed in action. He is also extremely proud of his service in Vietnam and what he did while over there and hopes that in some way he was able to touch someone's life. He is always for the underdog. He knows how mean and cruel people can be to others and has been on the bad end of it and knows how painful it is. He has crossed paths with people in his life and regardless how briefly he will always remember them such as the Ambulance drivers who picked him up from the MP shack and took him to Ton Son Knut air base and asked an MP to make sure he got on the plane to go home because he decided he could not go back to the World and leave my family who he loved. That same MP who kept an eye on him and as he walked up the stairs to leave smiled and wished him well. The MP who picked him up when he turned himself in from AWOL and who smiled and said he didn't think he'd be any trouble and didn't handcuff him. To the two guys he met in processing at Ft. Carson who saved him by their friendship and kindness. The same for Lt. Moudy and Sgt. Dawes, etc. Steve, when both away from home could become friends and share with each other the sexual abuse they encountered at a young age and establish a special bond that would last forever regardless whether or not they ever met again. You know, I make mistakes everyday but I hope I'm making them less and less and learning from them and becoming a better person and feel so sorry for those I may have hurt, not have been fair to, etc. I guess this is just a short list of who I am. After all, it's been 64 years in the making. But in the end I guess I'm Ok regardless of what others may think of my values or my views and it's time to let the real Mickey come out and greet the World.

Being Lonely

It's strange that you can be surrounded by people you know and family and be lonely but can be with strangers or just a real friend and feel like you have it all and feel happiness.

The quiet on the helipad at night.

Nights were scary as a kid and I suspect they were scary for most kids and I really hated collecting on dark streets an night as a paperboy. At times now I really like the night. My duty schedule was 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. It was very dark on the Helipad as the choppers brought in the casualties. The choppers did have the nose spotlight on coming in until landing and then it was shut off. They only had a very dim light on in the chopper that was turned on while taking out he wounded. There never seemed to be any noise as I waited on the helipad for the Huey to land. It was eerily quit standing there wondering what would be on the chopper. Would the wounded be on litters or just laying in the chopper? How bad would their injuries be. Will we be able to get them into the ER quickly, etc. And then I'd hear the distinctive Huey chopper noise in the distance getting louder and louder. I remember those nights and the quiet at times when I'm outside at night. I don't hear anything and am lost in my thoughts waiting for the sounds of the incoming chopper, the chopper pad, the choppers and most importantly the casualties.....always thinking of them wondering, always wondering if they made it, their families and always....always thinking of them not wanting them to be forgotten.

Norm

In 1971-1973 I was stationed at Ft. Carson. I was a mess coming back from Vietnam and now realize just how much a mess I really was. In an earlier post I wrote about meeting a couple guys while in-processing and how it really saved me at that time. About six months later I just really lost it and got into some trouble. At this time I was assigned to the training room. I had not been there long before this rough, gruff, young, GI came in just out of Boot Camp. I think his first words were "I didn't let them cut my hair off. There are guidelines and I told the Drill Sargent that I was not going to let them cut it off." Or something to that effect. I thought wow, I sure don't want to be around this guy. Well, as I have said in other posts, it's odd how you meet people and friendships are formed. I guess it's that your all away from friends and family and now those you serve with are now your family. Anyway, Norm and I became friends very fast and we spent all our off-duty time together. I found him to be funny, kind and caring. He always wanted to go to this mall to see this parrot at a pet shop. He would always say "That's some bird." He spoke of Modesto where he came from and how much he loved it and could not wait until he returned after his tour was completed. My small circle of GI's I hung around with all lived farther than Omaha from Colorado Springs. Over my time at Ft. Carson me and the small circle of GI's made many trips there for the weekend. We'd leave on a Friday night and get to Omaha on Saturday a.m. We'd then leave Sunday morning and get back to Ft. Carson on Sunday night. Kind of stupid as the speed limit was 55 and there was a gas shortage and it was hard to find late at night even along the interstate. Regardless, we made many trips, sometimes a couple weeks in a row. Norm was always on those trips and although the guys would split up with some of my brothers in Omaha, Norm and I always hung out together. One time we were riding around on a Friday night and Norm said "Let's go to Omaha." And with that, he headed for the interstate and off we went. (He happened to be driving my car.) I was so blessed and fortunate that he came into my life at that time. It helped keep me somewhat sane. A Sargent, also in the training room had reservations about him but this changed and he too found him a nice guy. Norm and I even helped the Sargent and his family pack up and get ready to move to a new Ft. The last time I saw Norm was about a week or two after I returned to NE after getting out of the service. He and another guy came back to spend the weekend in Omaha. I was so excited to see him. Norm was pretty adamant that moving back to NE and living at home would be a terrible idea. When he came back we had an argument and were shouting at each other in the basement of my family home. During this time another guy tried to calm us down and them my mom came down and asked me to read a label. She went upstairs and Norm started crying. He said moving back home and living with my family was going to kill me. They left the next day and I never saw and don't think I spoke to him again. You know, he was right. I had the opportunity to work with an organization in CO Springs and should have taken the job. Norm was right. Although it did not kill me it came close to it. I never forgot Norm and have always regretted not taking his advice, and why didn't try to contact him to contact him after he went back, etc. I tried a little over the last couple of years to search him out. Now it appears I have found him but it is too late. He apparently passed away at 29. I feel so devastated that I never got to see or speak with him again and that he is no longer here. It seems all I have done this weekend is think of him and cry. I wrote a letter to his sister and hope I hear back from her. I'm looking for something, perhaps some closure or to in some way say goodbye. I wish I could have told him he was right and just how much I cared for him. Hopefully there is a Heaven and I'll get that chance and be able to hang out with him again. I have always missed you Norm.