Armed Forces Day follow up plus other loose ends

I'm really glad Mrs. Dada and I didn't have children. That's because I suspect we would have been really bad parents. Photos in yesterday's and today's papers, one promoting, the other reporting on Armed Forces Day activities at the local army fort yesterday illustrated how miserable our child(ren) would have been.See, our little three year old daughter, unlike the one pictured here, would have been very unhappy--to the point of tears perhaps-- because we wouldn't hand her up to a PFC so she could ride on his M-88A1 vehicle--whatever that is.

Our daughter would only want to sit atop what is to her one of those great symbols of power. But we as her parents know M-88A1's can sometimes be like microwave ovens, burning everything inside to a crisp should an accident happen. Just like the Bradley Armored Personnel Carrier pictured below containing a helmeted four year old. And microwaving our kids to a crisp is something too painful for me or Mrs . Dada to imagine.

But that's what a lot of children did yesterday at the local fort to celebrate Armed Forces Day.

As a kid, I had the largest toy infantry unit on my block at one time. It hadn't been too long since we'd won the biggest war ever. But since that time, while we're a war mongering nation continually at war, we no longer win them. We just provoke them, then lose. Oh, there's always exceptions, but how much glory can one country take from smashing a Grenada or Panama?

But kids don't know we've a recent history of being big war losers. Military celebrations like yesterday's appeal to their immature pre-frontal lobe needs to slaughter other human beings. And that's where I would have failed as a parent where those parents of the children at yesterday's festivities succeed.

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In this morning's paper I was reading about the effort being expended to find the three GI's kidnapped in Iraq last week. That's where I first heard of a new weapon being used against the 4,000 US soldiers diverted from Bush's surge in the "war on terror." That's a pretty big hunk of personnel out of our total surge to find three missing GI's.

But in searching for them, soldiers scour the countryside for the missing men, doing foot patrols far off the roads. And that's where they're encountering a new weapon--buried bombs. So far only two soldiers have been known to have been killed by "dismounted improvised explosive devices."

I noticed the article was careful not to use the acronym for them: "DIED"s.

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Finally today was the third ciclovía this month. That's where the streets are closed to all automobile traffic and opened to pedestrians, bikes, and dogs instead. Sam and I left early to walk it. When we arrived at its starting point, I got out of the car, slammed the door shut just a nanosecond before realizing where I'd left the keys--locked in the car, with Sam. (Fortunately, Sam doesn't know how to drive--yet.)

This was the first of the ciclovía Sundays Mrs. Dada didn't accompany us. So to subconsciously prove how dependent Sam and I are on her to keep us straight, I sheepishly called her, explained, asking if she could come bail us out before the temperature in the car rose like in a microwave accident, frying everything inside to a crisp (read "Sammy").

Twenty or thirty minutes later Mrs. Dada arrived and Sammy was freed. While waiting for her, I'd ask a policeman if he had one of those gizmos to open the car doors of people who unwittingly lock their keys and dogs inside. He confessed he didn't. "That's something the fire department has," he informed.

Which finishes up my loose ends, because once rescued by Mrs. Dada and Sam and I started our walk up Scenic Drive, we were taken aback when a small four year old boy asked me after spotting Sammy (a dalmation), "Ooooh, are you a fireman?" (I explained I wasn't, "but I do have a fireman's dog I guess.")

A bit further up the road we encountered a firetruck supporting the walkers. So Sam and I went over and asked them: "Do you have one of those gadgets to open locked cars with the keys inside?"

"You mean a slim jim? Yes," one of them replied, "but we're not very proficient with 'em. We can open it quicker with an axe," as I waved goodbye to the chuckling firemen. At least Sam and I had given 'em all a good laugh.

Moments earlier they had admired Sammy and told me how good he'd look riding on top of their big fire truck, but I thanked 'em for the offer. I'd already seen enough 3 and 4 year olds in Bradley armored personnel carriers and M-88A1's (whatever those are).

*Attribute: Photos by El Paso Times