graf #5 Things

It sits on my dresser collecting dust. The blue leather box has a governmental look to it. It obviously contains something important. Looking at is hard sometimes. I think about that day enough it. It’s similar in a way to the physical reminder of my scars. It takes me back to that pitch black night in Baghdad. God it was dark. My title in the Army had the word combat in front of it for a reason. My unit was constantly on missions. It felt like we spent more time patrolling the streets than in the safety of the base. That night in September we were once again on a particular stretch known for violence. Seemed like every time we passed this same checkpoint the bullets were flying and roadside bombs were going off. I was in the lead vehicle of the convoy and hiding my nervousness. I had no other choice. Sergeants are there to lead and install confidence. Our trucks were lit up like the fourth of July. Huge fog lights were mounted on all four corners, top and bottom. The speed was 5 mph. We were pretty much sitting ducks at this point as usual. My guys and I were rolling along laughing and talking to hide the fact that everyone was always scared shitless. It came out of the darkness. A rocket propelled grenade slammed into the front of my truck. This kind of hit had happened before and literally left a black mark on my armor. I didn’t know at the time but this was different. This particular model was equipped with a small warhead on its nose. The scene was a nightmare. The Black Hawk chopper landed in the middle of the street as an Apache gunship circled above watching for insurgents. Myself and another soldier where airlifted to a medical center for immediate surgery. I got lucky. The shrapnel had cleaned off my hip but left most of my leg specifically the arteries. I was hospitalized for a month and healed for six. It’s been two years since that night and it is still there in my mind every day. I wish I could tuck the memory away with that Purple Heart sitting in the blue box but I cannot.

graph #3 Inventory

Here is the inventory of my favorite ice fishing basket from top to bottom:
· an old pack basket made of woven wood
· a liner for the inside made of a sleeping bag cover
· five ice fishing traps (three are heritage lakers and two are some cheapo Marden’s special)
· all traps are set up with new, black line on there reels
· three of the traps are equipped with large # 2 hooks
· two of them with #4’s
· two identical skimmers
· a wind up radio
· a flat football
· a zip-lock baggie with two rolls of fishing line
· a Scooby-doo tackle box containing the following:
· 15 sinkers of multiple sizes
· 6 packages of hooks and leaders (assorted sizes)
· Three large bass hooks
· A razor blade knife
· A rusty lure
· One swivel

So this guy likes to fish apparently. He must if he’s willing to freeze to death in Maine’s frigid winter to catch some crappy fish. That basket has been around for awhile. At least he was taught by his family to take care of stuff. It even has his name written on the rim. Probably something he retained from being in the Army for all those years. It seems odd that the liner is actually a sleeping bag cover. I bet he just got lucky that it fit perfect. I see some new line on the reels. That’s a good way to not lose that huge fish. I see a variety of hooks on there two. This tells me he can’t decide on just one species. He has to go out there and get the full experience. I see two skimmers that look the same. I guess he must have learned they are easy to lose in the snow. I see all the normal tackle for ice fishing. Of course every tackle box has to have that one rusty, useless lure. The thing that isn’t normal is that ridiculous Scooby-doo box. I thought this guy was almost 28 years old. Maybe he just likes to joke around and get a rise out of people. One swivel left, living on the edge buddy.

graph #4 Unique

I wear my shitty work boots even though one leaks. Its the school I go to . Work boots and pick-ups are like the unspoken code. I spend way to much time making my engineering homework super neat. I know the screw-up next to me does his messy and gets almost the same grades. I look like a 20 year old. I am almost 28 years old. I have a dog named after Johnny Cash. He is a little bastard but I love him. I was awarded the purple heart in Baghdad. People must see my licence plate and think an old man is driving. I never thought I would date someone with a child. Were going on two years now and live together. I wish I had played more sports in high school. Of course I was a little husky back then. My ten year high school reunion is this year. I don't think anybody would even recognize me. I'm taking this online English course for the second time. Never liked a class so much I took it twice :)

graph # 2 Worst Teacher (second attempt)

My worst teacher came into my life at the beginning of my sophomore year in high school. She had transferred from a nearby high school along with a reputation. I had friends who attended the high school where she came from and apparently she wasn't one of the most well liked there either. She had come to teach chemistry, or attempt to. She was a math teacher originally and (this would be an assumption) never taught a science class in her life. The woman and I just never clicked from the start. I had always looked forward to my science class prior to this and almost felt cheated. She basically was a talking head at the front of class reading off of an overhead projector. No questions I had about the curriculum for the day were ever answered. I basically felt that she was teaching herself at the same time as us. Now don't get me wrong. If she was just new at this and struggling I would have definitely cut her a break. The reality she had taught high school for many years and was just mean. Her attitude and demeanor came across as someone who needed more hugs as a child. But I got through the year an went on with my life anyway. I don't know what ever happened to her. Whether she stayed at my school or went on to terrorize children somewhere else. The moral of the story is that there always be that person you have to put up with. Look toward the future and move onwards.

Graph #1 Hands (second attempt)

I have forfeited my chance to be a hand model. These hands are rough and scarred from years of abuse. They have seen the scorching heat of 140 degrees in Iraq and the frigid sub zero temperatures of many Maine winters. They have been transformed from burning shell casings of machine guns and shrapnel from a rocket propelled grenade. They ave been stabbed with razor sharp fishing hooks and fillet knives. One may ask, "Do you have something against these two innocent extremities?" "No," I would have to say they drew the unlucky straw to be born on me.