A Florida childhood

sibs
Circa 1955.

I WAS RAISED in north Florida, Jacksonville, where I lived throughout the 1950s and on into the 1960s. I graduated from high school in 1962, and left the state forever.

That’s me and my sister, Diane, sitting on the bentwood bench in the back yard of our home in the Jacksonville suburb of Arlington, across the St. John’s River.

I don’t know why we were dolled up like that. It likely was Easter Sunday, and my paternal grandparents must have come to town. Otherwise, we would have ignored Easter because my parents were socialist agnostics, usually.

But when my father’s parents were around, we were upstanding citizens, good churchgoers, teetotalers. My father hid his booze bottles. Paternal grandfather was a Baptist deacon, and grandma was a Methodist.

Around them, we were another family altogether.

mother

Here’s my mother, Virginia. She died in 2009 at age 90, but she would have been about 38 here. I wonder if her Miltowns were in the purse or on the kitchen window ledge, which is where she usually kept them for easy access.

Our green 1950 Dodge is parked in the driveway. I have no idea who those rug-rats are who are opening the screen door. Probably kids of the Dawsons who lived next door.

My sister towered six-feet-tall in high school and had just one date the entire time. I wonder if that was when she began her spiral down the road where she ended up decades later as a militant, explosive, feminist, lesbian fanatic?

But she was very nice when she was young. She was smart and kind and reasonable. I miss that sister.

An American family of the 1950s. You never know what hides behind the Easter Sunday smiles and lies.

Women and men are different

TRYING TO INSERT women into the Marine Corps infantry officer ranks has, not surprisingly, failed utterly.

marine

The Marine Corps got along famously for decades without women in its infantry, and that is how it should be. Then feminism reared its Butchy head, frightening the Marines, something they should be eternally embarrassed about, and they opened training for infantry officers to the distaff side.

Not surprisingly, the ladies couldn’t keep up. Most men can’t keep up. Women had nary a prayer. But due to the silly egalitarian/victim culture in which the United States now wallows, they had to be given a chance.

Women do have a place in the military, and that place is far back at headquarters, doing the thinking. Women are equal to men in the thinking area, but not in the brawn department.

Women should not be firemen either, which is one of the most physically grueling occupations that exists.

It’s nutty that these common-sense conclusions are considered reactionary these days.

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(TOMORROW: Fifteen years in Mexico, the anniversary post. The final adventure. Don’t miss it!)