Homesick-ish

All I want to do right now is sit on the front porch of the Kilgore house with Cali and Rae and Ellis and True and Richie and everyone else who "lives" there. I wanna tell my stories, just like True likes them - rediculous.

I should probably explain that. I love to tell stories. If there was a way I could get paid to travel around and just tell stories to people, I'd do it. The best part about my story telling (depending on who you talk to) is that I get really excited about the story I'm telling. I start like yelling and moving around all over the place and acting stuff out. It's truly something to watch. And when I'm home that's all we do. Sit on the front porch for story time...and I'll go into a twenty minute story about a fight at a show and how this guy punched this guy, and then all of a sudden there's a stupid girl in the fight (she got hit, and yes she deserved it) and blah blah blah.

I also have a lot of very serious stories that I tell. Like the little boy that got killed on SR 44 in New Smyrna Beach.

Stories are how I cope with stuff. And I like to let other people know what happened or what I saw. I guess that's one reason I started this blog. I know that my family wanted a way to keep up with what I was doing over here..but it was more for me than it was for them. Because I know by the time I get home I'll have so many stories, I couldn't remember them all. So I'm saving them here. I'm letting the world hear my stories. I just wish that I could type the way I talk. My stories are thoroughly more enjoyable in person.

I also wish that the Army didn't censor us. I want to be able to explain what it's like to see your buddy wounded, or to shoot at someone, but they won't let us. Somehow it gives away operational security. Whatever.

As far as the questions posted on my comments:

The metal thing on the front of my truck. We call it a Rhino. I can't explain how it works (OPSEC) but it's used to defeat IEDs. Problem is, like most things we have, it only works about the half the time, because the really sneaky bad guys figured out how to work around it. I'm living proof. But it does work, so don't get mad at the Army or nothing.

Iraq's impact on my faith. Well, missing death by about 8 inches really gets you thinking. Alot. I have spent alot of time thinking and trying to figure out exactly what it is God is wanting me to do with my life. Iraq has taught me not how to listen to God, but how to hear him. And I've heard alot. I'm very different than I was before I left. I'm much more of a peaceful person now. When I left I was very confrontational (as hard as that may be to believe). I enjoyed things like, getting in fights, mosh pits, what have you. That's one reason I joined the Army - to come to Iraq and kill people. But I realized real quick I was an idiot. A broken nose is one thing. Missing a leg, or an eye, or not breathing...that's a little bit worse. I realized the stupidity involved in the stuff I was doing before I left (Cali got me under control, but Iraq really got it) and now I'm very much disinterested in anything "action oriented." I would rather spend the rest of my days showing kids in Thailand or Africa what it's like to be loved.

Looking into the eyes of Iraqis - that's really a hard question to answer. Every neighborhood is completely different than the other. Some neighborhoods, they're truly happy people who appreciate us and what we're doing. Other neighborhoods, you just know that something bad is going to happen. Cause noone will look at you. Or they all do the tough guy thing and stare you down. I don't really know. For the most part though, I'd say that most Iraqis I've met seem to love us. I know the little ones do. I know there is at least one guy who hates hates hates us. We might have accidentally caused a little car accident...in which a dude on a bike got tagged by a pickup truck. Woops. My bad.

Blythe - One of the guys I work with went to high school with you. Barker is his last name. He's a pretty cool guy. Small world huh?