The Last Boy Scout

 

That’s the title of an old Bruce Willis movie.  I’ve probably sat through it twice.  Not sure if I will ever go back.

I failed as a Boy Scout, but some of the knowledge still is in me.  It was a whole embarrassing rebellion of an immature mind thing, and I am not sure if I have matured all that much. The imprinting rises some days, the oaths.

“I will do my best to do my duty to God and Country.”

I am not sure if that is accurate, and I’m not going to go back to find a copy of the Scout Manual.  I don’t have one on the shelf.

Every time I see a person disrespect the flag by giving it a big hug it raises alarms.  Especially when they have a shit-eating grin on their face, like they have pinched the bottom of a waitress.  I’ve more respect for a crowd burning the flag on the street.  At least that is in the manifesto of retiring a flag when it’s done its duty: Fire.  Trust me, I really learned to love the flag coming back from in country.  Remember, I failed as a Boy Scout.

I also took that damned oath of “to protect and defend from all enemies foreign and domestic” when I picked up my official passport.  That ghost has come back to haunt of late, or should I say that old dog has come back to rest by the fire.  It snarls in its dreams and twitches its legs as it hunts.

I am about to retire.  I expect my government to remember the New Deal, the one where I worked for it.  I picked up their garbage; I helped educate their children.  I want to be that old dog by the fire, however the old enemies, foreign and domestic, are still there: the evil things people do.  Since there will be no more work-week, it may be time to whimper and whine by the door to get out, poke my nose into the smell, to hunt.

It is hard to recall the other oaths that I have taken, there have been some.  I suppose they will come back to roost in their own good time.  Oaths, admonitions, guidelines from the loa, the diableros, the fragments of the Golden Dawn, and always to try at least to do no harm.

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About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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