Served.

Not what you think.

The soldier/coach taught me alot. He showed me by example how to dedicate yourself, apply that dedication, and push your ability to the limit. The S/C did not expect anything that he could not do. He could, and still does do a great many things, amazingly well. He has benched pressed 400 lbs, run countless miles, designed, executed and developed many offenses and defenses in football. He has taken young men, molded them to deliver beyond their own expectations. Time was not a wasted commodity for the S/C. It was valued, used, earned. Even when he was not there, his influence, was. He showed me how to read Playboy for the articles.

In discipline, he took no story on merit alone. If you deserved it, you got it. The S/C never hit me, but once. I deserved it. But the S/C could lecture. The guilt delivered was a greater influence on my karmatic development than any lickings (beatings / spankings) could do. It always remained in the back of my mind - 'he is gonna lecture you, is it worth it?' Most times, the correct decision was made. Thanks go out for that.

There were times when I wish he would have just gave me lickings. 'cause owning up to knowing you did wrong, and had embarassed yourself, was worse. You fucked up. You were wrong. You should know better.

The only time he ever whacked me (on the leg, minor) was when I really, really assholed out on the stewardess. The stewardess, his goddess, his mate. You dont fuck with a mans goddess. It got my undivided attention, fast.

Educated, wise, and even tempered, but with a pride and dedication that burns so hot, this is the S/C.

Opinions are meant for discussion, and the S/C always promoted that. The underdog is always rooted for, you dont kick a man when he is down, golden rule, well, rules. Simple.

Dont lie, Dont Cheat, Dont Steal, Put the Soap back in the Soap Dish, and Dont Play Ball In The House.

And to his side, the stewardess.

The Stewardess taught me that love, true love, knows no boundries. Corny, yes, but when as a kid, I found the"Joy Of Sex" book inscrbed to her from the S/C, even as a doofus young kid, I knew, they were a very special pair.

The stewardess always had to push me to look deeper into things and see what wasnt obvious at first sight. The stewardess always praised. She never, ever was critical of myself, or my decisions.

She stoked my appreciation for Art, for the common man, for those less fortunate than myself. She never held the enthusiasim she has for life, back. She is now 73, and still acts like a teenaged girl. Seriously. I have to calm her down, now. Not unlike her, trying to handle the wild eyed, ants-in-the-pants kid I was. (ADHD was unknown, but I'd have been a medicated student)

You could walk all over the stewardess, and she would still love you. She be pissed, hurt, and emotional, but she still loved the hell outta you.

She sees the beauty that comes in the smallest, most obscure places and packages, and wraps them for your discovery. She rejoices in your happiness more than you do.

She is truly, selfless.

I have been served.

Hug 'em while you can.

Aloha.