It's been said that truth can be stranger than fiction.
This unusual thread may be proof that old saying is true.
Rather than going into detail of how this complex true story came about, I'm going to just highlight the pertinent facts of how my project came to be.
1971, I'm 12 years old, raised in a large family of ten kids by very strict Mormon parents who don't fool around in terms of discipline, the belt is applied to the butts of wayward sons quite liberally.
The Vietnam war is raging at that time on every news channel. My older brother is of draft age and pro-war red white and blue, communism can't be allowed to spread. He was vehemently arguing that view of the war with my father in the family living room that day as I watched them paying close attention as the argument between them grew more heated.
My father was a devout Mormon, but totally anti-war, saying the war only benefitted politicians, generals and arms manufacturers. That the people of Asia or any other country had a perfect right to live and run their countries any way they wanted to. That the US should lead by example, not coercion at the barrel of a gun.
My father's calm demeanor as he cooly argued his point of view with my older brother that day only served to infuriate him to the point that he started yelling at my father with veins bulging before running out the front door, hopping in his Camaro and burning rubber down to the nearest armed forces recruiting depot, and signing up in the USAF, into which he was promptly accepted.
After my brother left the house in a huff that day, my father calmly asked me to turn on the TV so he could watch the day's news as he always did. As I watched the news with him that day, it depicted a South Vietnamese officer putting a gun to the head of a North Vietnamese prisoner and blowing his brains out, right on our TV set.
The combination of my brother's heated argument with my dad, and the war execution I had just seen on TV had an overwhelming emotional affect on me as I quietly slid out of the house that day so my father wouldn't see my tears and think me unmanly.
Once away from the house I began running until I reached an open field, where I fell to the dirt on my stomach sobbing. I was totally conflicted between love of my brother and his loyalty to our govt's view of the war, and my father's calm wise Christ-like view of the war, peace, forgiveness and turning the other cheek upon violence. So as a twelve year old innocent virgin child, I made my first totally sincere prayer to God that day lying on my belly in the dust of that deserted field. I swore I'd devote my whole life to finding a way to bring peace to this world, stop these wars between people, fathers and sons, if only He'd give me just a little guidance, a clue as to how such a feat might be accomplished. I said that I knew He only helped those of us with the gumption to help themselves, and that I would do my very best if only He'd give me a clue, amen.
Admittedly it was a rather pathetic naive prayer by a genuinely sincere conflicted child, but it stuck with me and I didn't forget it. It became rather a fantasy game inside my mind as to how I could make good upon my childhood prayer that day in 1971.
Years flew by. My brother became a Korean interpreter for the USAF, stationed in Okinawa and other points around the world. He served his country, did his duty and time, was duly and honorably discharged. But he'd changed his views on the war during that time served, and now believed my dad had been far closer to the truth about the war than he had when he joined up that day in 71.
Upon his discharge he joined myself and four other brothers in the tree service company I had founded in 1973 after trimming a palm in our frontyard successfully with a limblopper and a dirtbike tiedown strap through my levi's belt loops to hold me in the tree. When nearby neighbors asked if I'd also do their palm trees, I soon had older brothers with driver's licenses and trucks join me to share in the fun and cash profits.
But soon the split to the older brothers became far larger than that of the younger brothers, the youngest being me, and the brotherly company fractured apart in 1977. Two brothers went to LA and started their own tree company, two found regular jobs, the airforce brother who we'd discovered was a homosexual since his service stint, naturally went to San Francisco and got a regular job.
That left me, one truck, chainsaws and climbing gear, to found another new tree company which I named Shire Tree Service after the Tolkien Trilogy I'd just finished reading.
Hiring childhood friends to help me, I did well enough to buy an extremely powerful streetbike called a KZ900 Kawasaki to get around on giving tree estimates. Though now 18 years old, I still specialized in palm tree trimming and removal almost exclusively.
Little known to me at the time, God was about to enter my life in a subtle but firm manner. Fortunately I was wearing a full coverage Bell helmet when a 17 year old girl turned left in front me in a Cougar RX7 and I hit her head on doing 45-50 mph on my KZ900, flew over the whole mess landing very far away on my head and back with both my legs shattered from leaving the bike and bending the handlebars upward into bull's horns and ripping the handle grips and throttle assembly off the bike. The girl was fine, I was a mess, but alive on my back over 100 feet beyong the point of impact, in almost perfectly straight line from my bike, stuck quite firmly into the XR7's grill and radiator with my bike's rear wheel off the ground, and its engine torn from its mounts rearwards.
Months later with my leg casts off, but still hobbling about with a cane, I was in bed with my girlfriend, with her on top because of my legs, making love, when her phone rang in her bedroom. Reaching over me she answered it, then giggled as she handed it to me mouthing "it's your mother". Mum was calling me to ask if I was recovered enough to fly up to Frisco and take over my brother's job while he took an electronics course in Chicago for a month? I hesitated because of my brother's homosexuality, but when mum chastized me about getting off my butt and doing something useful rather than spending so much idle time with my girlfriend, I agreed to do it, hung up the phone, and reveled a little longer in the idle time I had left to me.
So it was off to San Francisco on my first jet ride, and an event that would change my whole life, and give me the means to keep my promise to God in 1971.
(No posts please until after my next chapter)
Jomoco
This unusual thread may be proof that old saying is true.
Rather than going into detail of how this complex true story came about, I'm going to just highlight the pertinent facts of how my project came to be.
1971, I'm 12 years old, raised in a large family of ten kids by very strict Mormon parents who don't fool around in terms of discipline, the belt is applied to the butts of wayward sons quite liberally.
The Vietnam war is raging at that time on every news channel. My older brother is of draft age and pro-war red white and blue, communism can't be allowed to spread. He was vehemently arguing that view of the war with my father in the family living room that day as I watched them paying close attention as the argument between them grew more heated.
My father was a devout Mormon, but totally anti-war, saying the war only benefitted politicians, generals and arms manufacturers. That the people of Asia or any other country had a perfect right to live and run their countries any way they wanted to. That the US should lead by example, not coercion at the barrel of a gun.
My father's calm demeanor as he cooly argued his point of view with my older brother that day only served to infuriate him to the point that he started yelling at my father with veins bulging before running out the front door, hopping in his Camaro and burning rubber down to the nearest armed forces recruiting depot, and signing up in the USAF, into which he was promptly accepted.
After my brother left the house in a huff that day, my father calmly asked me to turn on the TV so he could watch the day's news as he always did. As I watched the news with him that day, it depicted a South Vietnamese officer putting a gun to the head of a North Vietnamese prisoner and blowing his brains out, right on our TV set.
The combination of my brother's heated argument with my dad, and the war execution I had just seen on TV had an overwhelming emotional affect on me as I quietly slid out of the house that day so my father wouldn't see my tears and think me unmanly.
Once away from the house I began running until I reached an open field, where I fell to the dirt on my stomach sobbing. I was totally conflicted between love of my brother and his loyalty to our govt's view of the war, and my father's calm wise Christ-like view of the war, peace, forgiveness and turning the other cheek upon violence. So as a twelve year old innocent virgin child, I made my first totally sincere prayer to God that day lying on my belly in the dust of that deserted field. I swore I'd devote my whole life to finding a way to bring peace to this world, stop these wars between people, fathers and sons, if only He'd give me just a little guidance, a clue as to how such a feat might be accomplished. I said that I knew He only helped those of us with the gumption to help themselves, and that I would do my very best if only He'd give me a clue, amen.
Admittedly it was a rather pathetic naive prayer by a genuinely sincere conflicted child, but it stuck with me and I didn't forget it. It became rather a fantasy game inside my mind as to how I could make good upon my childhood prayer that day in 1971.
Years flew by. My brother became a Korean interpreter for the USAF, stationed in Okinawa and other points around the world. He served his country, did his duty and time, was duly and honorably discharged. But he'd changed his views on the war during that time served, and now believed my dad had been far closer to the truth about the war than he had when he joined up that day in 71.
Upon his discharge he joined myself and four other brothers in the tree service company I had founded in 1973 after trimming a palm in our frontyard successfully with a limblopper and a dirtbike tiedown strap through my levi's belt loops to hold me in the tree. When nearby neighbors asked if I'd also do their palm trees, I soon had older brothers with driver's licenses and trucks join me to share in the fun and cash profits.
But soon the split to the older brothers became far larger than that of the younger brothers, the youngest being me, and the brotherly company fractured apart in 1977. Two brothers went to LA and started their own tree company, two found regular jobs, the airforce brother who we'd discovered was a homosexual since his service stint, naturally went to San Francisco and got a regular job.
That left me, one truck, chainsaws and climbing gear, to found another new tree company which I named Shire Tree Service after the Tolkien Trilogy I'd just finished reading.
Hiring childhood friends to help me, I did well enough to buy an extremely powerful streetbike called a KZ900 Kawasaki to get around on giving tree estimates. Though now 18 years old, I still specialized in palm tree trimming and removal almost exclusively.
Little known to me at the time, God was about to enter my life in a subtle but firm manner. Fortunately I was wearing a full coverage Bell helmet when a 17 year old girl turned left in front me in a Cougar RX7 and I hit her head on doing 45-50 mph on my KZ900, flew over the whole mess landing very far away on my head and back with both my legs shattered from leaving the bike and bending the handlebars upward into bull's horns and ripping the handle grips and throttle assembly off the bike. The girl was fine, I was a mess, but alive on my back over 100 feet beyong the point of impact, in almost perfectly straight line from my bike, stuck quite firmly into the XR7's grill and radiator with my bike's rear wheel off the ground, and its engine torn from its mounts rearwards.
Months later with my leg casts off, but still hobbling about with a cane, I was in bed with my girlfriend, with her on top because of my legs, making love, when her phone rang in her bedroom. Reaching over me she answered it, then giggled as she handed it to me mouthing "it's your mother". Mum was calling me to ask if I was recovered enough to fly up to Frisco and take over my brother's job while he took an electronics course in Chicago for a month? I hesitated because of my brother's homosexuality, but when mum chastized me about getting off my butt and doing something useful rather than spending so much idle time with my girlfriend, I agreed to do it, hung up the phone, and reveled a little longer in the idle time I had left to me.
So it was off to San Francisco on my first jet ride, and an event that would change my whole life, and give me the means to keep my promise to God in 1971.
(No posts please until after my next chapter)
Jomoco
