Corporate Crap and Other Dubious Wisdom

ou know Grandpa's gonna spank us for stealing his ladder again (as I struggle to keep up my end while we run off into the field).

"Shhhh, be quiet!  Anyway, Grandpa and Daddy have gone into town to visit.  We can have the ladder back by the time they get done," my grownup 10-year-old sister Carol hisses at me.  After all, who am I to argue with my big sister.  About that time several of our cousins come whooping and screaming up behind us so at least I have some help dragging the ladder to the orchard where the pecan and apple trees are.

We replay this same ritual every year on our summer visits to our grandparent's ranch in Texas.  Not much for a couple of kids to do on a ranch for two or three weeks, in the heat of the summer, except to work if we get caught sitting around being bored.  Feeding the chickens and slopping the hogs loses its charm quickly.  I don't mind so much going with Grandpa to feed the goats in his old truck since it's usually just him and me, but this year we haven't done that yet.  So, as we do every year since I was big enough to roam the ranch with my sister, we find the old ladder Grandpa seems to put in a different place every summer and head for trees to climb and stuff to eat.  Those green apples look good and juicy.

I don't think about it at the time, but this is one of the few times I will ever really get to play with my big sister.  As we grow older, the four years separating us as well as the sibling rivalry that most always strikes kids will pull us even farther apart than either of us will ever want.  Enhanced by a father who seems intent on tearing us apart, it will take us decades to remember whom we are and were to each other.

Cousin Keith noticed me looking around nervously," scaredy cat, what are you looking for?"  At least I think it's Keith.  For some reason my aunt decided to name all five of her sons with names starting with the letter "K".  Maybe she can keep track of them but I sure can't at six years old.

"Grandpa said the pigs keep getting out.  You think they come back here?"  Having just seen Old Yellar I am not in a hurry to get torn up by some old pigs with big yucky teeth.  None of Grandpa's pigs have big yucky teeth, but what does a six year old know?

"Don't worry, I won't let the pigs get you, pigs don't climb trees," Carol teases me as we near the apple orchard.  This brings a laugh from all my older cousins and I feel much better now.

Of course, we are eventually chased up a tree one year by an ill-tempered old sow where we are left for what seems like hours, alternately laughing and screaming for help while we pelt the old girl with broken branches.  Eventually Grandpa walks from the house laughing and gives her a kick in the rump to speed her on her way.  Snorting back defiantly at us one last time, she and her piglets saunter off single file back towards the barnyard.

few years later, on one of our annual trips, my father decides that it's high time we learned to swim.  Living in El Paso, Texas, in the 1950's there just isn't a lot of opportunity to find a pool of water big enough to swim in.  Other than our trips to visit, the closest we come to water is a run through the sprinkler occasionally.  So, we all head down to the Frio River to meet with the rest of our cousins.

With the stern attitude of a man raised in the country who has long since forgotten what it was like being a kid, much less a city kid, my father lines us up on the bank by age, my sister first of course to my relief.

"Now Carol, the water is pretty deep here, so don't worry about hitting the bottom.  Just jump in and start moving your arms and legs until you get to the top."  Listening to his simple explanation isn't doing a thing to quell Carol's fear, I can tell from watching the stubborn set to her jaw.  More than that, neither she nor I will own up to our fears in front of our cousins.  We may drown, but we'll be damned if we'll show fear.

Threatening to throw her in if she doesn't jump, my father steps forward just as Carol makes her leap from the ledge.  Quietly, without the laughing and whooping our cousins made when jumping, feet first it seems like it takes forever for her to fall the fifteen feet or so to the water.  Like a rock in a puddle, she makes a brief splash and disappears into the dark water, and like a rock she stays there.  I'm thinking she ought to float pretty well, but no, it's straight to the bottom.

After what seems like forever, my mother finally steps forward, looking intently at the water for signs that Carol has come up.  Others in the water look around for her, but no signs that she has made it yet to the far shore of the river.  Not waiting for my father's approval this time, my cousins dive from the ledge, with me not far behind.  About half way down I realize that I can't swim and a picture of the coyote running off a ledge while chasing the roadrunner flashes through my head.

When I finally come coughing and sputtering to the surface, there is still no sign of Carol anywhere.  Sticking my head under the cold water time after time, I finally drift to shallow water where my feet touch the bottom and someone grabs my arm.  "Carol's over here Sandy," as I am lead to the shore where she sits in the sun drying off.

"Daddy said to just jump in and wave my arms and legs until I came up again, but since my feet were already on the bottom I just figured I'd walk," she is telling Cousin Debby as I stumbled up.

I would remember this incident over the years, reminded of just how literal and stubborn my sister was.  In this case the directions my father gave her had neglected the part where she should have held her breath, and to her were, of course, optional.

y older sister and I lost touch many times over the years, as I have often with my two younger sisters.  Although separated by time and often thousands of miles, however, I always knew as she did that my father had not succeeded in separating us emotionally.  The years passed for both of us, yet our connection and love for each other as brother and sister never diminished.  I may not have always agreed with her choices, and often wished for better for her, but in the end they were her choices.  Choices that she faced with good humor and a stubborn will to persevere.  When she passed away a couple of days ago, after her battle with cancer, I'm pretty sure it was with a smile on her lips that she had outlasted the doctors predictions.  She wasn't gonna go until she was damned good and ready.

Here's to you Big Sister.  Some memories live forever, as you will in my heart.

here is a lot of discussion lately over just how much the Fourth of July really means anymore. I'm not sure many can even remember that properly it's called "Independence Day" for a reason.  Some people would say that we're just a bunch of squaters, the leftover dregs other countries wouldn't tolerate. Some people would say that Independence and the subsequent freedoms of the Unites States were bought at the cost of too much in comparrison to what we've gained.  If any of that is true then I guess maybe I'm just living in my own little world and in denial.

The fact is, most of our forefathers came to the United States seeking freedom of some sort or other, freedom that they were denied by other countries.  It may have been the religious freedom to worship as they chose, the freedom to excell and make a better life for themselves, or the freedom from the tyranny of an opressive government, it was the search for freedom that brought them.  To them the price was worth the sacrifices they made along the way.

Tony Blair once said,"the measure of a country to its people is in how many of them want to leave it."  I would agree with Tony.  As much as all of us complain about gasoline prices, war, or the cost of living, the United States is still a better place to live than most.  I would also submit that the measure of a country's worth is also in its success as a nation.  I don't know many who would argue that the US has been successful.

Comparatively speaking, the US is still a young country.  Historically speaking if a country hasn't lasted at least a thousand years we can't really count it as having "survived" as have China, and most of the European and Asian countries.  However, we also have to remember that the US' population is made up of people from all these countries who brought their knowledge and wisdom with them.  Together they built what is argueably the best country in the world today by combining their skills and abilities.  Although they also brought their prejudices and their biases with them, somehow they managed to learn to work together and overcome those negatives perhaps more than most of the other "older" countries.

The United States is neither a Utopia nor is it Hell, but certainly somewhere in between.  Right now it's still the best game in town.  Perhaps one day, like so many long dead civilizations, the US will simply sink into the depths of history… remembered only in its ruins.  Until that day, here's to a proud country and all its people past and present who have fought and died for the freedoms we all enjoy.  Here's to a country that has triumphed time and again against all odds to become the great country it is today.

Happy Birthday America!!