As I relate this odd and slightly quirky tale, I would like all of you to contemplate Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and her supporters, and the imputes of their origin.
Having been born in 1961 into a military family (my father and grandfather were Air Force and my Step Father Career Navy) and raised in military housing. I grew up during the Vietnam War.
While the War was taking place in some god forsaken distant country for most American’s, it was virtually in my back yard as I grew up, due to the number of enlisted personal in the Navy, Marine Corps and Army who all lived in close proximity to me.
While most American’s were watching the gruesome images on television and hearing the occasional story of one of their home town boys losing their left in the Vietnam War, I had a front row seat to witnessing the various military comfort officers showing up on a nearly weekly basis to present one of the families where I lived with a small triangular box containing a folded Casket Flag.
As the Vietnam War was reaching its apex and the college kids were engaging in their protests, the housing unit where I lived endured its own protests. Instead of college kids and Marxist professors shouting derogatory slogans at the police and national guard and various service members. The protestors where I lived, were throwing Molotov cocktails at my neighbors cars and houses.
By the time I was 12 years old, I being a military brat, had already long since accepted as fate that my destiny was to serve in the military and probably die in Vietnam. Little did I know at the time that God himself had already intervened and prevented that from being my fate. I was born with clubbed feet, and deemed by the United States Military (all branches) of being ineligible for military service as a consequence of that physical disability. Nevertheless, that was the world I grew up in, and the reality that shaped my formative years.
At around 9 years of age, my parents bought one of my younger brothers a guitar for Christmas. After about a month, he grew tired of it, and so I took it up and learned to play it. Even at 9 years of age, surrounded by Country music fans, I had no love or discernible appreciation for Country music.
I did on the other hand, love Bob Dylan. Fortunately I did not understand that he was an anti war activist. Somewhere around 10 years old, my mother, have discerned that I was not going to give up on the guitar as my younger brother had done, and that I loved Bob Dylan bout me a huge song book of Bob Dylan’s.
So, yes, this old Glam Rocker started out his voyage of musical discovery as a folk guitarist. That also fortunately came to a screeching halt when my Step-father was deployed to San Diego and began making yearly WestPac’s to Japan where for a fraction of what they cost here, he would purchase me every newest release of the top selling Rock and Roll albums released every year.
From Led Zeppelin to Judas Priest, every album that an early to mid 1970s little headbanger wannabe could ever desire came home in the mail.
By the time Van Halen released their first album I was already quiet the accomplished little noise maker. And I will tell you the truth with no embellishments or embarrassment, that having grown up already with the full attitude of, “We party like hell today, because tomorrow we are certain to die”, Van Halen was the perfect music for me and my generation. Their music was full of joy of living and party like there is no tomorrow, and it suited us to a tee.
As I grew older, I was introduced to “Punk” music. I have a very good friend in Pa. who is 7 years younger than me, and for him, punk was as much a staple of life as party music was for me. We have had many a long conversation on the subject. Yet as a consequence of the environment in which my formative years were spent, I was never able to appreciate music based upon the dissatisfaction with American prosperity.
Growing up in San Diego back in the 1970s and 1980s, when San Diego was still a relatively small military town, I had the opportunity to meet quiet a few musicians who would go on to become fairly large celebrities. Individuals who spent a considerable amount of time here, even though this was not technically where they lived.
People like Jello Biafra and Henry Rollins whom I partied with on quiet a few occasions. I thought then, and even to this day, that they were amazingly intelligent individuals, even though I disagreed with their radical political opinions. I also grew up knowing other musicians, more conventional rock musicians. Like Ratt’s Robin Crosby and Whitesnakes David Coverdale. I went to high school with Faster Pussycat’s “Gus” Gustave Molvik, aka Taime Downe and Pearl Jams Eddie Vedder.
I was quiet literately “There” as Eddie Vetter and company were creating the “Grunge” movement. It was a smash up of Glam Rock and Punk Rock. Driven even more than punk by feeling of social and family alienation caused by the American chase of prosperity. And no, I could not understand it any more than I was able to understand the punk movements dissatisfaction.
Remember, I grew up while America was fighting the Vietnam War, I grew up in a Military Family that was both proud and honored to serve the United States of America. I grew up with the certain knowledge that devotion to country could and probably would demand the greatest sacrifice imaginable. I grew up loving and cherishing every breath I took as if it might be my very last. My family had served the United States as warriors for over 5 generations. I was the first first born son in my family to not serve in 5 generations. Though 2 of my younger brothers did serve.
Growing up in a military family back in the 1970s meant were were far from being among America’s most affluent families. We were, in a word, at the bottom of the social and financial totem pole. I could not and still to this cannot understand the resentment felt by others that their father’s or mothers didn’t purchase them their every hearts desire, or resentment because their fathers and mothers worked so many long hours that they didn’t get to see them as much as they wanted to.
I knew what the possible consequences of what my step father did for a living. He was gone 6 months out of every year until I was in my 20’s. I was 14 years old before his every deployment on a WestPac was no longer into an active war zone. When he returned home from deployment every year, I was as excited as a puppy to see him home safe again. I knew that we did not make as much as our very affluent neighbors just a few miles away whom I went to school with. I had 3 younger brothers and an older sister. I was used to not getting my hearts every desire. I was damned happy to get whatever I did get.
My step father tried, he tried damned hard. He could not buy me a motorcycle like that other kids in schools dads did, but he did buy one that I was fortunate enough to share with my 3 younger brothers. We went camping every year. We went to the beech every year. We learned to live with less than our more affluent neighbors did, and to be happy with what we received.
I was never able to comprehend how the children of my parents generation (my parents were born in the mid 1920’s, not the “Greatest Generation” that was their parents generation, my grandfather was a veteran of WWI and WWII) had so many grievances against America and capitalism that they were so quickly and easily seduced by Marxism. My grandfather risked everything fighting against the totalitarianism of Marxism and Fascism, my birth father served in the Korean War also fighting that same evil ideology. Likewise my Step Father served in the Korean and Vietnam Wars fighting it as well.
I did not grow up angry at my parents or resentful of other American’s who managed to prosper in America. I did not grow up with any sense of entitlement or resentment that I did not prosper as so many around me did. I grew up grateful to live in the most wonderful nation on the face of the earth.
I lived in San Diego California. At the conclusion of the Vietnam War, tens of thousands of Vietnamese refuges came to live here in San Diego. I had seen enough movie footage as a child of what was happening in Vietnam during the war to be profoundly thankful that tanks and bombers were not turning my neighborhood into flaming wreckage.
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and her supporters are the children of that generation whose parents spat on my father when he returned home from Vietnam. They are the offspring of greed, envy and resentment. They are the children of weak minded fools who could not come to grips with American prosperity and were easily deceived into believing that it was a consequence of evil imperialistic exploitation rather than what it genuinely was. Generations of selfless dedicated hardworking American’s convinced that hard work and innovation were the keys to prosperity. Generations of rugged individuals whose greatest goal in life, was to provide a better living and future for their offspring and posterity than that which they had grown up with.
Though poorly educated, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is not a fool. She is quiet literally the enemy within the gates, poisoning the wells, burning the infrastructure and subverting the weak-minded and easily deceived among us. She is a Marxist, dedicated to the complete destruction of the Constitutional Republic of the United states of America. She is the enemy within whose goal is to throw open the gates and let the invading army in to sack and destroy the nation.
She and her followers/supporters did not crawl out of some dark abyss. They came out of our Educational system, which just as Senator Joseph McCarthy warned so many years ago, has been infiltrated and corrup5ed by Marxist infiltrators and saboteurs. She is the child of greed, envy and resentment seeking revenge against a nation that she was programed to hate by generations that resented their own parents, their parents religion, and their parents political ideology. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and her supporters/followers are a cancer eating away at the soul of America.
A cancer that has quiet possibly metastasized to the point of being a terminal disease. Quiet frankly, because so very few in America have the courage to call this cancerous disease what it is. Treason against the Constitution of the United States of America and an act of War against the Republic which rests upon that very Constitution.