Selling Drugs Begins

This is me just typing as my dad talked; thus, some of it is choppy and poorly written. Enjoy!
Also being in base ops, we were very secure. You had to pass through 3 locked doors to get where I was; even then you had to have a general’s approval to come in. We learned that soldiers coming home from Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, and wherever stopped there first. They gave them the speech that the next stop was Hawaii. If they had any contraband, now was the time to drop it.

So we learned that the Marines would escort them to their aircraft. At the time, the waiting area was left unoccupied for at least fifteen minutes. Two guys would leave our post and go down with paper bags and go through luggage or duffle bags that were left. We didn’t take everything, you know. We would take two or three pounds of marijuana at a time. Some of the guys, mostly east coast, were more interested in finding the heroin.

We would take it down to the bars in town and sell it to the bar owners. We would sell little match boxes full for $10. And of course, we’d eat and drink for free at that point. This continued for seven or eight months. Some guys were sending it home, but I was too afraid. Plus I knew my mom would open it up, and I didn’t want her to see it. I just kept my little stashes.

We were making a good profit. I saved quite a bit of money. I started buying camera equipment and nice clothes. Then one night, I was talking to two friends that I’d gone to school with. One was in Philippines and one was in Hawaii. Since I was in Base Ops, I could control that kind of communication…patching in multiple calls from wherever. My sponsor sergeant Dufus, had overheard me talking and turned me into the military police.

After I got off my shift that night, I went back to the barracks. My room had been stripped down, and everything piled in the middle. They said they wanted to know where my marijuana was. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, that I didn’t have anything. Luckily they didn’t open my folded socks because that’s where my baggies were. After that, I was under surveillance all the time.

If we were going to smoke, we would go to the roof, but we couldn’t do that anymore. We’d go hide in the tall banana leaves/plants, or whatever they were, and we made ourselves a little hut. We’d go one at a time before we went to the chow hall. At the same time, at home---my dad had a nervous breakdown. He freaked out pretty bad, and I wanted to go home on a family emergency leave. They wouldn’t let me. I rolled four joints and walked into my commander’s office. I said you guys are looking for evidence so here’s three joints. There would’ve been four, but I smoked one on my way to see you.

So they put me in what they call correctional custody. It’s not a prison, but more like a jail because I was a nonviolent criminal. All of us there had to clean the base, exercise, and whatnot all day. My friends on the outside would leave weed in the trash out on the base with orange tape or something, so I could find it. We’d pick it up and smoke it as we did our chores. They never searched us or did any testing. We smoked some and saved some. Another duty was washing all the MP cars. So, as we were washing them, we’d put joints under the floor mats. It was a good hiding place since we cleaned the cars every day.

Then we got really brave. We were playing volleyball. We lit a dooby and taped it to the volleyball. We just threw the volleyball around, taking hits.

After being in the corrections for 30 days and so-called house arrest for 2 months, I was discharged as an undesirable and sent back home.

Sneak Peek

I've decided to have my dad narrate his life story. I'm just writing pretty much whatever he says. Here is a preview of what's in store:

My orders were to go to Denver, Colorado, I think it was. While at home, they changed and sent me to Okinawa. When I arrived in Okinawa, there was supposed to be someone there to meet me; but there was no one. I took a cab to the base, and asked where the AFCS was. I went in to see the 1st sergeant. No one was there. It was about 11:30 at night. I asked the officer on duty where my room was. He looked and found an empty room where I went to sleep.

No one came to talk to me for 4 days. I took my papers to the pay center and got my pay. I hadn’t done anything yet. I decided to venture into town. I went to a bar that had pinball machines that you could win money on.

Went back to base and still couldn’t find my first sergeant. I hired this hiree to clean my room, do my clothes, do all this stuff. I kept going to town every night, and after like 3 months I just got bored: go to town, go to bed, and get cinnamon toast from the night stand.

Then they gave me a roommate. He asked what I do here and I said, “I don’t know.” He told me he was here for tech control. I didn’t tell him I was here for the same thing because I wanted to see what would happen. So, he gets up the next morning and goes to work. Meanwhile, I’d been swimming, snorkeling, skin-diving, doing nothing.

While I’m walking down the hall one day, the first sergeant who’s supposed to control everything sees me. He says, “I see you all the time. What do you do?” I said, “I don’t know.” He asked when I got here and I told him, “Three months ago.” I explained that I signed in, got my pay records done, and I’ve been waiting for my sponsor to come and get me.

He says, “Who is your sponsor?” I said, “Sergeant Dufus... That was his name, I swear!” The next day, I met Sergeant Dufus, and he was. So they took me to tech control and showed me the base ops—the airport terminal. They just swept everything else under the table because it was a stupid mistake, but I enjoyed it.

Good bye, old friend

Today, my Great Uncle Ed passed away. He was the last of my grandma's siblings. He was 91. He once told me I wasn't finding dates because my skirts were too long. He was a funny guy. I miss my grandma so much, and all her siblings. My great aunts and uncles were there for every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. My cousins and my brothers and I used to put on improv dramas for them while they sat drinking coffee in my grandma's living room.

Those memories are cherished. Peace to you, Uncle Ed. And prayers for Aunt Tracy as she grieves your death.

Summer Begins!

Today I went to the pond with Sheri, Alison, and Sophia. Alison loves fishing. She could fish all day.


Sophia tried to be interested.


But she didn't last very long, so I sent her off to pick flowers instead.


This is all Sheri managed to catch.


It was a perfect day.

Accepting Painful Words and Letting Go of Expectations

In a world where we are taught to serve ourselves, it is difficult to explain the philosophy of Jesus Christ both to those who believe and to those who do not. My goal for the end of this school year has been to help the students understand how to think like Jesus, and how to live like Him. This means putting others first. It means not reacting when we are offended. It means showing love to our enemies.

Kids generally love Jesus and believe. But when you explain specific situations where we are to pray blessing upon those who curse us, and do good to them who do wrong to us ... it's so much harder for them to act upon.

Thing is, that's not just true for kids. It's true for me, too. As I've been teaching the students to put away malice, deceit, envy, hypocrisy, and evil speaking, I have told them I need this just as much. But the truth is, I didn't really have anything specific in mind. I just know the philosophy should be part of my life.

So then last night, my friend asked if I was going to call my mom for Mother's Day. I said, "Probably, but I really don't want to." We talked back and forth about it, and this was the bottom line: it's important for me to show love regardless of the response. The Gospel and the love of Christ should be my motivation---not expectations.

Hmmm, just as I've been teaching to my students. Oh look, self, time to put away hypocrisy.

It was hard for me to hear the words he was saying. Why? Well, because I don't want to do it! I don't want the responsibility of taking the love of Christ to my family! It's too hard. How shameful. That is my purpose--to glorify God, and I am saying, "NO!" The no comes so easily because I'm set in my thought process of expectations. I expect my parents should act a certain way toward me, and they do not.

Lord, help me to let go of these expectations and hold on to your love and strength.

Tears from the Heart

I just talked to my dad for 20 minutes. He's having a really rough time. He's in a depression. He says he'll be fine for a while, and then fall into the depression again. He was complaining about my mom, which isn't surprising. I get my negativity from her. He said no matter what he does to try to make her happy, she's always complaining. Even after going into rehab and working on being clean, my dad still gets whined at by mom. My dad says she's just like her mom, always finding some reason to complain, but not willing to do anything because she pretends she lives in her happy little imaginary world. I pray I don't ever turn in to her. But she used to say the same of me--that I always find things to complain about.

My dad mentioned he would like to find a new church, and that would totally anger my mother. Her loyalty is to that church (not to God) and pastor. I pray my dad will actually do that, and not just talk about it. We'll see. He also said he prays every night that God would just take him, but then he wakes up in the morning anyway. I hurt for my dad. I hurt for my mom. Sometimes life is just so messed up, and I know people choose their own paths, but still, that doesn't change the way we feel, especially the pain.

What does it take to find healing? How long do we have to cry out? Where is peace?