Bewildered Nation

    A Bewildered Nation

BR Chitwood

*

As a bewildered child I could not have known the word, ‘Confusion’, nor any word that defined my state of being. ‘Fear’ was there along with the body tremors and tears, the displacement, the whirl of movement, the sharp and ugly words uttered in the anger of the times, bodies attacking bodies in the fading flicker of kerosene lamps. No, not a constant force in those early years of my youth and yearning to be in the light. It seemed always dark and shadowy, always awaiting the clouds to gather for another storm.

Along with bewilderment and fear there was within my genetic make-up a tendency toward cowardice – and it was easily defined by my eyes, the quivering of my body, and my pitiful voice of surrender…an easy, choice-prey for the bully building his noisy audience of smiling ‘tag-along’ buddies…

After a few shoves put me on the ground, a few sympathetic voices from the gathered crowd would come: “Let him up! He doesn’t want to fight you…recess is over.”

My emotions, my mind, were in a frenzy as I took my seat at the small desk in the back of ‘home room’, and, in that quiet contemplative place, the teacher’s voice a soft and barely audible hum in my ears, my mind did to me what the bully had intended to do – ‘beat me up’… Why was I built this way? Why did my body reject me in those danger moments, sending the waves of doom through the brain and paralyzing any impulse to react to a bully not a lot bigger than I?

There was no corner to hide in. I would be forever known as a sissified little boy, afraid to defend himself. In those moments, I loathed my life and the awkward embarrassment I brought to it.

Friendships that came helped me gain some degree of empowerment. High School football was a major source of encouragement. The body contact nature of the sport awakened a part of my small degree of gridiron talent. Not that I would ever be a bully or close friend with a bully but their bloated egos no longer lingered long in my mind. Our genetic networks carry all of our truths and secrets – good and bad.

Our lives are filled with all the emotions, our loves, our hatreds, our industry, our desires, our capacity for or ‘lack of’ positive energy, and a generous supply of kindness. It is my belief that few of us are Saintly Gifted, empowered by some spiritual gifts of goodness that keep us unselfish and mercifully steadfast in solving crippling and societal issues.,

How we bring our inheritance of virtuous and unvirtuous qualities to adulthood, the pros and cons of our beliefs, determine the good and evil forces that bond and move us toward the good and evil sides… Rather superfluous, to be sure, but so, too, are birth and death.

From an historical perspective we must be coming close to some final determination about our relatively short stint as a democracy…do we stay Free and Sovereign as our Constitutional patriots envisioned, endowed by a loving God to defy negative voices that would destroy all for which our historical documents pledged for us?

With all the universal diversity, the spread of our rapidly growing knowledge, the gaps in personal intelligence, the riots, political parties that appear to seek power and give glib analyses to match their Masters’ dictates. Can America and the World survive if an elite few dictate how we must live?

It is my opinion that the 2021 Presidential election was farcical and without precedent in the annals of history, notwithstanding the awful World Pandemic and some major Cities’ and States’ manipulations.

Our Southern border, once secured, is now open and allowing hundreds of thousands of immigrants into the United States, many of whom are bused and sent all over our country, good people along with child molesters and killers.

I’m just one voice.

Perhaps you won’t like what I’m writing.

Perhaps I’ll be censored.

There are times when a weak voice like mine speaks and few will read what I have written, but I felt the need to put down these thoughts. I love my country and pray we can solve our issues.

B R Chitwood – July 5, 2021

brchitwood.com

‘Poor Me’

What molecular miracle could have made me more than I am? Less lonely and lethargic? Less maudlin and ‘poor me’?

‘Poor Me’

By BR Chitwood

Would a chromosome here or there have made a difference? A genetic anomaly? A stronger voice? A calm persona? Magnetic personality? An indefatigable nature?

What molecular miracle could have made me more than I am? Less lonely and lethargic? Less maudlin and ‘poor me’?

Oh, I know how to assess my beginning and all that came with my life’s rural entry… That is where much of the ‘poor me’ was introduced, forming in me for the rest of my life, frustration, loves, anxieties, and adventures…

Among the days, weeks, months, and years, I have not been denied the gifts of life or the vagaries. There has been the beauty of love, college, wonderful job opportunities, some fun film and television acting, friendships, novel writing…and the awful squandering of time and essence.

‘So, what, my man?’ I hear the old annoying voice of my alter-ego. ‘There are billions of people in the world – grow some balls’!

Hey, I’m writing here, ‘mute’ your nasty mouth and leave my head… I’m writing this for me and those who have felt similar emotions. Your rude attendance is not mandatory, nor, wanted…this session is for the sad and weak of heart, the Romantics, the dreary of character, the great mass of ‘unwashed’ of the world.

For the most part, it all began after my escape from the emotional rural abyss, after a tour of duty in the US Navy in one of its mentally depressive duty stations on the small, snowy, and bleak island of Adak in the Aleutian Chain. Russia was relatively close…on a clear day from our neighbor island, Attu, the coast-line of Vladivostok could be seen.

We were one hundred fifty especially trained men, some who would spend 18 months or longer on a snowy, remote, tundra-carpeted piece of the island – that is, when you could see it through patches of snow.

We 150 sailors were three units, each working our special jobs for three shifts before a break. Each unit was responsible for operating the various amenities available to the hardy group of sailors, those being: library, photography, crafts of all kinds, and Beer Bar. In fact, all 150 sailors lived and played in this huge concrete and steel one-level ‘C’ structure – it was quite a building sitting on a huge hill of tundra above the Bering Sea. There were other operations buildings where we did our jobs.

It is not my intent to make this post about the island of Adak. The ancient Aleuts who lived here had nothing better to do but hunt their cows (their meat source) and how best to keep from freezing. They need not have worried about bears taking their steaks (there were none). Eagles did give them a bit of trouble.

Adak was a place of harsh cold winds, snow, and rain where ‘warmth’ was in constant demand. Adak was simply a place where loneliness dwelt, where buddies sat, drank, told their stories of home, the girls they loved, and their sports moments of glory. There were times when group tears were shared as well. All in all, our jobs on the island were important to our country and that established importance got us through the tough spots.

Many of us lived on that hill or in our Ops buildings for our full tours – eighteen months, although the ‘tour was supposed to be for twelve months.

It was on Adak when I discovered further dimensions of myself, my insecurities, my mobile youth, fears, confusion, and my intense longing for home, hearth, and love.

In short, I discovered a ‘me’ that carried a lot of emotional baggage. I was a destined ‘romantic’ nomad. I was an untrained lotus eater.

There’s an old ‘Anon’ saying which I could have easily written: “Life is really simple! People insist on making it complicated.” Old ‘Anon’ had to be thinking of me when he, or, she wrote that.

In that Appalachian portion of my life – that ‘Poor Me’, among the bad parts, I would mimic ballad singers. Maybe I could be a famous singer. But, wait, I also wrote poetry and fumbled around with words. Maybe I could be a writer…well, I have done both, even done some film work and TV commercials, taught school, but the very best talent I have is, wait for it! Procrastination.

What I really wanted to do with this post, for you, the reader, and me, was to merge the two events in my life that have likely made me who I am, not a ‘nobody’, but an ‘anybody’. I have written here about two events in my thinking that were ‘me-shapers’ and will not write about some of the I’s and Q’s I am likely missing.

One thing I am reasonably sure about is my writing, twenty books so far, most of them taken from true crimes. I write mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, thriller, Sci-Fi. I have written over 370 blog posts from various parts of the globe.

So, take a look at my Website/Blog, click the menu icon and read some book synopses. See if my writing might team up with your reading.        

BR Chitwood – 3/15/21

Author’s Website and Blog: Books and Writings by BR Chitwood

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