"When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains,
And go to your God like a soldier."
My Wounded Warrior, Jordan, just left with his vehicle full of tools, some of which came to him from me, others through me, but were delayed gifts from his Grandfather Ralph. He has a new house, and he's going to be doing some fixing up, got an entire unfinished basement to play with.
We were a curious pair. Jordan was wearing his fatigues, and walking with the aid of a crutch. I was limping along without one. We managed to load a table saw in the back of his vehicle. And then we dragged Mickey along. So there were the three Patterson Boys, hanging out and talking.
And I can't talk about this any more right now.