Lessons from a militarized childhood: There are only two teams

(In this entry, I assume you are aware of my goal of raising a lot of money to help child soldiers by donating all of my earnings from sales of the hardback of Children No More to Falling Whistles. If you're not, you can go to the Children No More site and learn more there. I'll be here when you return.)


What I experienced in my three years in a militaristic youth group is nothing compared to what true child soldiers undergo. I believe, however, that they and I, as well as many abused children, emerge from our experiences having learned many of the same lessons. To help folks without these backgrounds understand some of the challenges facing these kids--and those who seek to help rehabilitate and reintegrate them--I'm going to talk about some of the lessons I learned--and that I believe they did, too.

Before I do, though, I want to make clear that I know how unhealthy these lessons are, I don't live my life by them, and so on.

They are, though, what such kids learn, and they are what I learned at that age.

Also, beware that there's going to be rough language and generally harsh stuff in all of these lessons. That's the nature of them.

Enough disclaimers. Let's get on with today's lesson:

There are only two teams

They like to talk about all kinds of teams: basketball teams, baseball teams, football teams, even teaching teams--but they're wrong. There are only two teams: yours, and everyone else. You can't always trust the guys on your team--more on trust in another lesson--but if a situation turns hot, you can, you will bet your ass that they will stand with you. And they will.

A kid, a private so new he still wants to call a sergeant "sir," stumbles into your camp after a night patrol. He's holding his stomach, still drying puke sullies his starched shirt, his split lip and nose are leaking blood, and his cover is missing. He broke the rules and went out alone, but that doesn't matter now. You get the story: two big guys, drunk guys, guys from the camp a little nearer to the highway than yours, tore into him for invading their space. Maybe he was, but you'll deal with that later. Right now, you grab your friends, four of them and the kid, you take your rifles--barrels blocked but still excellent clubs--and you head out.

You're twelve. Like that matters.

Finding the two guys is easy. They're still laughing about the lesson they taught the little shit, and they're tossing his cover back and forth. You've practiced this attack; they haven't. You're alert; they're drunk. You're six; they're two. It's nowhere near fair.

All that means is that you executed better than they did.

Two of you take out their legs first, while two more pull them down and cover their mouths. You all hit them, over and over, with rifles and fists and legs. The kid stands back, his eyes wide. When they're barely moving, when their faces are so wet that even with your flashlights you can barely find their eyes, you bring the kid over and make him take the last hit on each of them. He has to learn.

You pick up his cover and put it on his head.

Right before you go, you lean over each of them, clean their eyes to make sure they can see well, and shine the light on your face. They need to understand that you don't care if they know who you are. Then you tell them the lesson they should have already learned: "Touch one of us again, and we'll kill you."

You leave.

When you see their group the next day, you're ready, but they look away. Good. Like the kid, they had to learn.

Us. Them. It's that simple.

More lessons from my spam

(WARNING: Adult language and topics ahead. Kids, stop reading.)

As I've commented in several earlier posts, a torrent of spam rains on my systems daily. I run a spam filter, and it works for the most part, but I still need to scan the spam subject lines lest I accidentally lose a real message related to one of my jobs.

From this scanning, I've learned a lot. I've reviewed some of those lessons in those earlier entries, but new messages arrive all the time and bring with them new lessons. Here are a few recent jewels of enlightenment.

Dozens of people every day discover my FaceBook page and want to be my friend.

What a shame I'm not on FaceBook. These invitations, though, certainly make me want to join. If I'm this popular without a page, just think how many friends I could have after I create one! I'm positively giddy at the prospect.

The key to getting promoted is to make my penis larger.

As the co-owner of a company with no investors, I have no way to get promoted, so this one puzzles me a bit. Still, it could shed light on why I never made it to CEO at any other company.

Of course, this also explains the glass ceiling in many organizations for women.

Industrial machines are really cheap if you know how to shop.

Forget buying from manufacturers or companies going out of business; the real key to savings is to shop with Chinese and German manufacturers who bring descriptions, including pictures, of their machines directly to your email.

My mortgage needs protection--and they can provide it.

Wow, who knew insurance was this easy? Too bad I own my house outright and don't have a mortgage.

Polish women really want to meet me.

My earlier offers came primarily from Russians, so clearly my fame is spreading. I may soon have to move to Eastern Europe and take up my career as a sex god.

If my penis isn't ten inches long, it's not up to average--but they can help.

Hmmm. If the average is ten inches, then a whole lot of people are walking around well below the norm. And, somewhere there are men with monster cocks to bring the average up to ten inches.


On balance, I feel the quality of my spam has continued to decline. I'm waiting for something new and innovative. Spammers, rise to the challenge!

Lessons from a militarized childhood: You deserve it

(In this entry, I assume you are aware of my goal of raising a lot of money to help child soldiers by donating all of my earnings from sales of the hardback of Children No More to Falling Whistles. If you're not, you can go to the Children No More site and learn more there. I'll be here when you return.)


What I experienced in my three years in a militaristic youth group is nothing compared to what true child soldiers undergo. I believe, however, that they and I, as well as many abused children, emerge from our experiences having learned many of the same lessons. To help folks without these backgrounds understand some of the challenges facing these kids--and those who seek to help rehabilitate and reintegrate them--I'm going to talk about some of the lessons I learned--and that I believe they did, too.

Before I do, though, I want to make clear that I know how unhealthy these lessons are, I don't live my life by them, and so on.

They are, though, what such kids learn, and they are what I learned at that age.

Also, beware that there's going to be rough language and generally harsh stuff in all of these lessons. That's the nature of them.

Enough disclaimers. Let's get on with today's lesson:

You deserve it

They wouldn't hurt you if you if you were better. If you had held up your legs longer during the leg lifts, they wouldn't have needed to stomp on your stomach. If you weren't such a baby, you would have kept your legs up when they did. If you were a better fighter, you wouldn't lose so often, even though half the time your opponents are men twice your size, men who laugh as you hit them and then slam you so hard you cannot breathe.

They make it clear. They say it over and over: They're doing it for your own good. Without them to teach you the lessons you need to learn, you'd grow up even stupider, uglier, and fatter than you are. You'd let down your squad. You'd die early. You'd let others die.

You won't do that. You won't let down anyone.

So you try to be better. You know with a bedrock certainty, more than you know anything else, that if you were only better, they would stop hurting you. You wouldn't have to fight. You'd get to be like the other kids you remember, or have seen on TV, or see as you march by, carrying your gun, your eyes scanning everywhere while their dads hold them high and point out the little soldiers, aren't they like little men, aren't they cute.

Kyle's amazing check

I noted a while back that because of the heaviness of many of my recent entries about the Children No More giveaway program, I was going to stick in some humorous entries from time to time. The series of lessons from a militarized childhood is adding more to the grimness level here--and to my feeling that I need to do some light pieces from time to time. This is one of those. If you want only the serious stuff, skip this one.

Kyle recently send me a check with his contributions to the beach and the fireworks show. When I read it, I laughed so hard I hurt. Here's a carefully redacted version that with luck will give away nothing of great consequence--and, yes, I asked his permission before posting this picture.



I have the best friends.

Lessons from a militarized childhood: Contact = Pain

(In this entry, I assume you are aware of my goal of raising a lot of money to help child soldiers by donating all of my earnings from sales of the hardback of Children No More to Falling Whistles. If you're not, you can go to the Children No More site and learn more there. I'll be here when you return.)


What I experienced in my three years in a militaristic youth group is nothing compared to what true child soldiers undergo. I believe, however, that they and I, as well as many abused children, emerge from our experiences having learned many of the same lessons. To help folks without these backgrounds understand some of the challenges facing these kids--and those who seek to help rehabilitate and reintegrate them--I'm going to talk about some of the lessons I learned--and that I believe they did, too.

Before I do, though, I want to make clear that I know how unhealthy these lessons are, I don't live my life by them, and so on.

They are, though, what such kids learn, and they are what I learned at that age.

Also, beware that there's going to be rough language and generally harsh stuff in all of these lessons. That's the nature of them.

Enough disclaimers. Let's get on with today's lesson:

Contact = Pain

They touch you when they want to hurt you.

Sometimes, it's because you messed up, and that's the punishment. You come to expect those. They even feel fair. After all, you screwed up. So, you take it, and you keep as quiet as you can.

Other times, it's part of the training. You have to know how to fight, or you won't survive. You get them first, or they get you. You also have to know how to take the pain, or so they tell you, but you're way ahead of them on that one; you've already learned this part far better than they realize.

The worst times are when it's out of the blue. Maybe you're standing in a line, waiting to get your food, and someone touches your back. You whip around as fast as you can to ward off the threat, but if you're not fast enough, they smack you in the face or punch you in the stomach. Maybe you're sleeping, but you let yourself go too deep, and the arms hold you down seconds before the fists or feet hit your stomach. Tighten up and take it; that's all you can do.

They don't like it, though, when you stiffen up at the hugs that are supposed to feel good--though you're never sure to whom. The ones who beat you are the same ones who expect you to give a hug and like it; you know it's all just another test. Those who hug you and have never hit you? Merely threats you haven't triggered yet.

You keep the little space around you as precious as your water. If someone enters it, you push them out--hard and fast, before they can do any damage. Hit first, stay save.

Above all, you show as little of your pain as you can. You stay as quiet as you can manage. No tears. No fucking tears. They don't get that satisfaction. Fuck them.

When they do, when your control fails and you scream or cry, that hurts worse later than the bruises and the blood when you pee.

You'll get better with practice, though, of that you are certain, because it never stops, it never ends. There's always a next time.

A quick update on the Children No More charity program

(In this entry, I assume you are aware of my goal of raising a lot of money to help child soldiers by donating all of my earnings from sales of the hardback of Children No More to Falling Whistles. If you're not, you can go to the Children No More site and learn more there. I'll be here when you return.)


We're in the mysterious phase of the process now. The book is in bookstores and available online. It's not a bestseller--I'm pretty sure we'd know if it was--but its Amazon ranking was for at least a week respectable (below 10,000), and a lot of copies moved in the dealers' room at the con. But, really, we know nothing yet of its sales, and we won't for many months. Hence the mystery.

What we do know is that a lot of people have pitched in to help, and I appreciate it. For example, Edmund Schubert, the editor of Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine show online magazine, offered me his editorial column to promote the cause; check it out here. More folks than I can possibly list comprehensively have been nice enough to blog it; I thank you all, and each time I've seen a blog, I've tried to thank its writer.

So, you may reasonably ask, are we done?

No. The book has at least two more weeks on the shelves. We need to keep pushing for those weeks. You can help by spreading the news as far and as wide as you can and, of course, by buying the book. If you don't want to buy it, consider donating to Falling Whistles to help those kids; they have an easy-to-use donation page.

We've established a little momentum. Let's keep it going and see if we can't pick up speeds. We can help these kids.

Thanks.

ReConStruction, day 4

Not much was happening at the con today, so I actually got a decent amount of sleep, said a bunch of good-byes, and then headed back to normal life. I'm catching up on work and writing and all the usual stuff, and I'm surprisingly tired despite the rest, so I'm keeping this short.

I watched the Anderson Silva/Chael Sonnen fight, and it was indeed everything folks were saying it was. Wow, did they go at it, and, boy, did Sonnen dominate for all but the last minute. They deserved the Fight of the Night bonus they received.

Sarah called me the other night as she was leaving a Josh Ritter concert in Nashville. It seems that in the midst of a storytelling break he started talking about finding yourself in unexpected places. When he mentioned that you might find yourself living in a shotgun shack, Sarah instantly knew where he was going--but most of the younger crowd did not. That's a shame. We should all know the Talking Heads, and we should all know this song. Enjoy.

UFC 117: How we did

Last night's show featured several surprises and an amazing title fight. Beginning with the undercard, let's see how we fared. I must note that I haven't yet seen the fights; due to the con, I'll be watching my DVR'd copy of the broadcast a day late courtesy. For these comments, I'm relying on the fine MMAWeekly site.

Ben Saunders vs. Dennis Hallman

Kyle and I started the night in fine style by picking Saunders; too bad Hallman won a unanimous decision and, from the sounds of it, dominated Saunders. Color us wrong.

Stefan Struve vs. Christian Morecraft

For the entire first round, it looked like Kyle and I were going to start 0-2, because Morecraft dominated and hurt Struve. In the second, though, Struve chopped Morecraft's leg, ate a few punches, and then dropped and finished Morecraft for the TKO victory. Whew! We're now 1-1, though both of us expected a submission from Struve.

Tim Boetsch vs. Todd Brown

We both expected Boetsch to have an easy time with Brown and to finish him, but we were wrong: the fight went three rounds, and though Boetsch did dominate Brown, he didn't finish his opponent. Still, Boetsch won, so we were 2-1.

Johny Hendricks vs. Charlie Brenneman

For one round, Brenneman gave Hendricks all he could take and more, with Hendricks losing the round.

In the second, however, Hendricks came out punching and dropped Brenneman five times in less than thirty seconds. The referee then stopped the bout and declared Hendricks the winner by TKO.

We called Hendricks, so we were right, but neither of us saw the fight ending in this fashion.

Rodney Wallace vs. Phil Davis

Davis indeed took down Wallace at will, and Davis dominated the whole fight, but he couldn't finish Wallace and so had to settle for the unanimous decision victory. We'd both predicted Davis would take the fight, but we'd also both thought he would finish easily. So, I count it as a correct call, but Davis clearly needs to improve his finishing game.

Dustin Hazelett vs. Rick Story

Boy, were we both wrong. We both expected Hazelett to win easily. Instead, Story took him down repeatedly and battered him for the first round, then beat him more soundly in the second until the ref stopped the fight and gave the TKO to Story.

So, at the end of the undercard, we were 4-2, not great, but not bad either. On to the main card.

Junior Dos Santos vs. Roy Nelson

We both expected Dos Santos to win, and win he did. What was amazing, however, was that it went a full three rounds before he notched a unanimous-decision victory from the judges. From the descriptions I've read, Dos Santos hit Nelson with everything he had, beat the snot out of the man, and still Nelson kept coming and would not fall. You have to credit Nelson for sheer grit.

At this point, we were tied at 5-2, and I was feeling pretty good about our choices.

Matt Hughes vs. Ricardo Almeida

This fight changed that feeling. Kyle and I were completely confident that Almeida would triump over Hughes. Both of us even went so far as to comment on Hughes' need to consider retiring.

We couldn't have been more wrong. At about three minutes into the first round, Hughes tagged Almeida, dropped him, followed him down, and ultimately choked him out. I would never have guessed Hughes would submit a Renzo Gracie bjj black belt. Wow.

I think it's safe to say that we'll see Hughes in the UFC again.

And now we're 5-3.

Clay Guida vs. Rafael dos Anjos

In the first of our two disagreements, Kyle chose Guida to win by superior top control, and I picked dos Anjos to submit Guida.

Kyle won this one, as Guida carried the day. What was most amazing, though, was the way Guida did it: He submitted dos Anjos, who tapped in the third.

I'm now behind Kyle by one. Drat!

Jon Fitch vs. Thiago Alves

In our only other disagreement, I figured Alves would triump, while Kyle went with Fitch grinding out a decision. Kyle was spot on, as Fitch won every single round on all three judges' cards.

At this point, Kyle has won both of our conflicts and beaten me: He's 7-3, and I'm 5-5. Drat.

Anderson Silva vs. Chael Sonnen

From the description I just read on MMAMania, where I went when the MMAWeekly site wouldn't respond, I cannot wait to see this fight. Their reporting had Chael Sonnen dominating Anderson Silva for the first three rounds, nearly getting knocked out in the fourth but then winning it, and then being on top of Silva and winning again in the fifth--until Silva pulled off a triangle, and Sonnen tapped. So, we were right to choose Silva to win, and we both thought it would by by submission--Kyle even mentioned the triangle choke--but neither of us expected anything like this level of competition from Sonnen.


Kyle dominated me in this one, but I'll be back next time!