I finally heard it on the local news this morning-the Gainesville Florida Veterans Administration Hospital broke ground Saturday for the new BED TOWER.
They lauded it as an improvement to better serve veterans.Can’t be so… to have to ad a 250 BED TOWER is not an improvement-it is a sign of what is coming back from our problem in Iraq and Afghanistan.
The funny part of this story is that I’ve known about this BED TOWER for well over a year…my  connections in the local construction industry have brought it up adding that the entire strip of buildings on Archer Road surrounding the VA are all medical towers-the construction of these over the last few years have kept the trades busy.
The construction pal’s I have are not the sole source of the fact the VA building was being added to,besides the fact I have been treated there I also have long time friends that work in various parts of the hospital.
The grumbles from some of them are how the moves have interfered and complicated many of the routines…because to make room for the construction the VA has leased outside buildings around the city. Some of my friends had many extra miles added to their morning drive.
The local story’s on the radio have been icing on a stale cake.
They applauded the opening of a ‘new’ center on 23rd Avenue as an ‘advancement’ in health care for the veteran….it is a lie-it is not an advancement when the move is temporary and only to get one floor of offices out of the way to ad a BED TOWER.
And…it is not just one floor!
Prosthetics-which was once in the basement,where it has been for years….it is now way out on the edge of the city on a street behind a nearly derelict shopping center.
Tell Care-which was once up on second floor…moved to the same location,which makes better sense because ‘tell care’ is a telephone contact only service-so the vet from out of town hasn’t got to spend a part of his day trying to find the place. The other places for the out of town veteran are a trick to find if you are’nt familier with the city.
Mental Health….it too has moved-and was the move that received all the attention several months ago of how great the stale cake was-how ‘wonderful’ it was they were offering such an improvement to the veteran.
It is wrong to hide behind a cheesy false smile like that and expect the rest of the city and nation to believe it…and they do! I had one of my committee members point out what a wonderful job the VA has done to expand as they have…growing,and spreading out to better serve the veteran.Cheesy smile…
They never seem to look at it as where a veteran comes from…what has made the veteran who he and she is….it was such a cheery news report this morning…it too lauding the champion job the VA is doing.
A BED TOWER?
That is NOT an improvement-it is a sign that we are soon to see the influx of returning wounded.
That is NOT an improvement. It is a lie! It is icing on a stale cake.

I am curious how my friends who work there feel-almost like going along with the charade.

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I think of them as my being full fledged crazy,so I’ve never much spoken about them.
It was not until I drove to St.Petersburglast November with a therapist who volunteered to drive me there and attend my hearing-that with a federal judge who came down to Florida to hear the cases of veterans who were legitimatly injured on the battlefield,not in the ‘head’ section of barracks D.
They being-Zim Radner ,as told to me by Chet ( a Polish Jew with a New Jersey accent) and the ‘voices’…which is usually only in the wee morning hours-and the woman,who has a name but I’m not saying.

I had not really ever spoken so personally to this friend-the therapist-about my self like this. We had exchanged emails for about a year and she was familier with my case,but I believe she became most familier with me during our 24 hour journey cooped up in a car.
I knew she was a friend of Charlotte (my former therapist from the VA) and that gave me an able sense of trust because I knew what kind of work this woman does. She works with children in a very deep subject of trauma survival.

I never thought of ‘them’ as something I would tell anybody about-I mean,come on…who’s going to tell anyone that you talk to yourself in voices,in actual conversing voices-it is embarressing.
I never thought of them being connected to barracks D,more so thinking it just is a substitute for being alone all of the time.
I learned on the trip that they were protectors that are there….I don’t even know how to explain them.

I do not do well in public situations.
If I go to the grocery (for example) I have got to park way out in the open part of the lot so that I can ’self hypnotise’ myself into being able to enter the building….okay,I will admit-there is some mumbleing to myself…it comes from them.
I have to focus when shopping. I have not the ability to stand there and check each item,meat prices-or other fresh fruits. I have a basic idea in my head and scramble through the whole ordeal and flee the place as quick as I can. If I meet someone I know I feel like we are standing in a telephone booth as I shut every thing out. I really hate the meetings in stores.
It is very interesting…I have a few things here that were purchased wrong,basic things-non-food…but there is hesitation to go get my money back. If they belonged to you and you had lost the reciept and the thing was useless to you…I can take it back! It is all in the mind I suppose….I can stand up for you,but scare myself when ever it has to do with me.

Over the years I grew accustomed to the self hypnosis to get me through-I am heavily tattood (all of them to cover ‘home made’ tattoo’s put on me in barracks D-jail house tattoo’s) and try to make a walk and scowl on my face that actually does make people step aside….them not knowing I’m shitting my pants wanting to get in and out of there.
Confrontation-of any kind….muddles me.
I cannot hear-if correctly,it does’nt seem so….the sound of bad auto mufflers ring through my ears. Once I was waiting in VA waiting area and some one starting saying something about the person who was on the TV screen on the waiting room TVset….it was something sexual-and my head went into a muddle,and the next thing I knew I was at home.
Once somebody came up to me and said something course and al I know about it was the following day a friend pointed out my statements were rough and included saying something about killing….and I have no idea that I said that because I can’t think to speak in moments of anger or arguement. I just know somehow I flee the scene. I’m not sure how I manage to do it. There are many other times I could talk about-these will just give an example

There is something in my eyes….it is like a wobble of flashes-just on the perifheral of my scope of vision,it is connection with the muddle sound in my ears. The act of confrontation sets it off in a serious way…and I have never been able to escape it.

I found when I was a trucker (the high way big trucks) the isolation and seperation from other employees and people was heaven-and to be in charge of such a machine gave me a strength in who I was at the time. Any one who knows me can tell you I always chose a job that had some oddity to it…like being a mortician,as you can understand-there’s no one hanging around wanting to be your buddy! It was the same with trucking-I learned to haul odd things,huge machines-which often time kept me away from other truckers (but not always…that is not always the case getting freight,but most often is hauling it you are on your own)…

Zim Radner is my focused guy…the one with the wisdom-he also his spoken to me by Chet. Chet-the Polish Jew guy from New Jersey-he tells me about Zim’s rational ways of doing things…like keeping his tools in place-or the certain order of things,funny little serious comments. He must of been quite a guy…according to Chet. I’ve never spoken a word to Zim,nor he me…it only is through Chet that I know of him.

The woman lives with ‘damage control’….and the early morning voices are the bigots-and I know exactly why they are there…and I HATE them.
I assure you….there is NOT a bigoted moment in my heart,it is just these two assholes commenting back and forth-and they are not me,instead it is me they are talking about….they mock me-and talk in a shitty way about me! They are to complicated to explain in just a few lines.

Other than my self hypnosis to enter stores or other venues of where people are….the tri-quad of me (which is what I decided to call them) is in my own private space,thank God-although I’m not sure of what does take place when confronted and the persons voice becomes a muddled sound and all around my vision begins to vibrate….I don’t know what happens-that’s when I wake up at home….other than that I appear to be fairly normal.
Its just that I trust these places with them.

Now you’d look at me and say….bull!shit But it is the truth.

The therapist that drove me to St.Petersburg listened to me as I opened up about them….then I did not realize it was a ‘them’,I just thought I was wacky and being stupid. She explained to me it is ‘disassociated behavior’…meaning I feel safe with these protectors-they offer escape and pseudo trust,but at the same time she said it was result of the tragic way my life went from being a boy upward to barracks D ,with emphasis on barracks D (as I was able work in several mortuaries to grasp an understand that death is for everyone…and came to terms with the deaths in my family and with Mr.Hoke)
I actually long for a good honest death of my own…but that is for another time.

The following is the response I received from my post from writing about deceit….

It was a half mask Jay - Carol is my middle name. The only time I judged you was when you, in my opinion, were blaspheming about Christmas. The other comments, if you will take the time to reread them, were trying to nudge you into other options - you would have never bothered to answer Dianne or you would have seen them as criticisms from someone who shouldn’t have an opinion. You’re absolutely right about the way I come across - I don’t have any sugar or oil to coat the things I say. I was a little adamant about your not voting - all the while trying to get you to see that good or bad, right or wrong, it’s people in public office that get laws passed and regulations passed down - sensitivity training for example. You didn’t mention in your latest blog that I also told Charlotte that you had raised two fine sons. So, no lies were told and it was only a half mask. And still, I wish you peace. Dianne….
the end.

I cannot understand how much people miss things.
For the people-of the people…that is what government is defined as.
I am a ‘people’…and nobody had to vote for me to have a law made-but,in Levy County Florida a law was changed because of me-a NON-voter and NON-politician…but a citizen. And as a citizen I took two Florida County’s to task over a two mile stretch of road which divides them.
A law was written at the conclusion.
All roads in need of paving in Levy County will paved in the line of necessity and not at the whim of the elected council members who seemed to get their roads paved while others more populated and more driven,did not.
That was because of me…and my every day rally of the people who live out in this wooded rural land.
We have a paved road-every one said it would never happen…but it did.
I still don’t vote-and will not…and yet one of the elected council members contacted me about running his re-election campaign. Yes-he was stunned too by my admission…I’m not into the game.
It is a game! Yet…he applauded my ‘grass roots’ politics!
Here this area was driving down a road that was so dangerous-it even showed up on Doppler Radar from the dust…a road serving two county’s of residents and neither county was about to pick up the tab to provide a safe road.
A NON-elected person held them accountable…and we have two things.
A law.
And a very fine paved road.

And you wait!!
You will one day see me in places you never thought-and by God,it will not have anything to do me so my vote is not in the picture…but I will be speaking out for others,just as I did to get this road paved,and I will be heard.
For the people-of the people. That is what the United States Constitution says our government is.
I am one of them…and during youth I walked freely into an enlistment office at age 17 to join the Navy to defend my right and your right to be free. I had no need for a draft card.

Christmas is blasphemy.
Especially when the one who accuses another of ‘religous’ infidelity’ and has probably a one biblical verse mentality…crixmix (the Christmas thing) is a symbol of mans greed and continual desire to have an idol to worship.
Jeremiah chapter 10 (a book in the Bible) has something interesting to say about cutting down trees-God actually calls it “the way of the heathen” and calls it the “custom of the vain” as they take the tree and decorate it with silver and gold!
I agree…what’s a crixmix tree have anything to do with the birth of Jesus?
Why the people do such a thing…and have to substitute truth with more deception and vain practices by adding a fat jolly elf who is a lie from the very beginning…telling poor children that he’s to honor all of their wishes.
What a crock!
Go read it for yourselves…Jeremiah 10:3 and 4.
But what can that matter? I’m being preached at about my desire to shed myself of the mockery of a true Living God…as it says in Jeremiah 10:10- from a person I’m not even sure has ever read and re-read and re-read the the Bible…or even read it once!…or,perhaps you have-how could I know?

If you want to worship Santa Claus…then you got a holiday-otherwise all you get is the credit card statements at the end of the year and not much more.
Try talking to God! It is far more enriching then to have go through all the attempts to appear religious!

It is good to know the full truth now-Carol.
It makes better sense…even though it is your real name-the excuse is lame. I answered the comments of a person who has no way of being honest…because,what you did was a deception-color it pretty or not.
Have you ever come home and found your window smashed and the person who broke it came in and ransacked your house and stole your things? It is a shitty feeling…actually,you feel it in your gut for several days-a sick churning of nerves and stress.
That what it feels like-knowing you have taken the time to add a new email address and used a name familiar to you but not to me…you couldn’t even be honest about much of the things I have said because you had hid that way…and had to remain silent because you could only be so real…about 50% real.
Kind of weird ain’t it?
You have given me that sick churning feeling-DC!
I feel violated by your trying to be anonymous while all the time you are obnoxious….you see,all this criticism and you have still yet to call on the phone to me personally and say anything….anything! Anything at all….and you can sit there and pick at what you don’t even know! You do not know me-you have never taken the time to know me!
You know what?-my works have had me in conversation with the deputy director of the criminal justice and victims services department of the Attorney Generals office of Florida…we have had personal telephone exchange and this person is carrying my message to others in places of higher contact that I’ve ever reached before….this is not for me-it is for the other veterans who have become the silent wounded.

I have people in my circle who believe I am going to address Congress….this is what my contact at the Attorney  Genrals office believes is going to happen - and many of the people whom I have been working my message with…they support me and encourage me and try to lift me up instead of trying to defeat my purpose. I know it’s difficult to understand-you have such a narrow vision of me,one that certainly has no foundation….because,you do not know me-but there are those who believe in me and believe I am doing something! And,no…you do not have to be elected to address Congress. For the people…of the people!

Blasphemy is a word used in the Bible 11 times….52 times,if you want to count the other wordings-such as ‘blasphemed’ or ‘blasphemer’….no where does it have a ‘claus’ about crixmix (or what the world calls Christmas). Before you point your finger…read some of the Bible and gain some wisdom. And at the same time go and explain to the poor children in so many parts of America-and the world all about the goodness of Santa Claus….such a sad joke!

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Originally uploaded by jayfherron

Well…it is like this:
I am no longer to write what it is I feel…I was told to quit writting about my life. Or,something to that effect.
Stunned is what I am! It is why I have been away from the keyboard since my last entry to this…curiosty met up with reality and I learned my critic that I wrote about was as I had guessed-my former sister in law. Of course-her explaination as why the deception was that I would’nt respond. I will try to find in my heart how to respond-right now my heart feels sick.

I tried to visit my mother this weekend. That was a huge mistake-I returned to my place,which is where they want me. The last thing I remember hearing was “don’t be writing this in your blog anymore”-this said by my brother who for some reason feels he has some kind of control over me.
I am stunned…it truly is a curious life.

I could handle a fatal blow to the head!

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I had the blessing of being a single father. The truth is,my sons and I raised each other. The more truth is….my sons and I love each other-we hardly end a conversation with out saying so.
I had an odd way of raising up my sons-I taught them no matter what and no matter how hard…the truth was easiest to remember. No matter how small a lie is-the impact can be larger than you think. I taught them values-that money has no value compared to integrity
I only had to spank one of them once-that was in a frenzy and I hope one day we all will forget it.
To give them an idea what value is in regards to being punished I’d drive them out to the State Prison in Raiford just to show them the future that borns itself in a lie and loss of integrity and lack of love-sincere love.
I hate a liar. A lie can be more than just a tale to change things so they sound better-or to change things to avoid being in trouble.
A lie is trouble.
The truth is so easy-the easiest part is remembering it after you’ve spoken it. The truth never goes away to be forgotten-it is always there,alive!
A lie….it goes away as quick as it is spoken,although pieces may remain-the best of it is already broken. You see-no matter how you approach the truth it is easy to answer to….no matter the direction a question may come-the answer is there.
That is what I taught my sons. They have grown to be fine young men-honest men.

My former wife-the person I refer to as the ‘rattlesnake bride’…was a liar. It was too incredible the things she said when she was intelligent enough of a person to know the truth,she could not tell it-she had to lie.
What is a lie?
Pretty much it is a form of deception on a higher scale-it can be as gentle as a prevarication but even then the results can be harmful.

One of the readers recently commented-more less asked the question about how my brother came to be the one who came to arrest me-how he was sent by the Navy. I have to answer that I do not know-the Navy never sat me down and explained any of it. I had to go on instinct to survive  by the time I reached the ship and the threats began…being accused of something I had no knowledge of. My records prove that-being accused of drugs and possession,and yet I had no understanding of what drugs were. The pressure was so deep that I eventually broke and admitted to the accusations-not knowing what was coming. I lied-I told them of the only drugs I could think of…LSD was one of them-that was an easy choice,the others were glue and some pills I had,the ship issued them for sea sickness. I wish I took different measures then-my accusers (my brother one of them) threatened that I was seeing five years in prison ahead of me if I didn’t tell the truth. It all went wrong from there-I was scared to death and lied.
I have no idea how these things came to be-how it was my brother that came…all unknown.

I can guess.
Somewhere near two years ago my therapist at the VA had an opportunity to speak to my late brothers widow-that conversation validated the things I had been saying in their own special way,the most important was she told my therapist that my brother was a very manipulating man….my dictionary says ‘to manage artfully or deceitfully for personal gain’. That is an interesting definition.

It is funny in an odd way how someone can make judgement on a person just because of what they have been told-and not by what is real…and truthful.
I know I’ve been judged that way.

When I think about those comments made by my former sister in law as how my brother manipulated people I thought about how her judgement of me had been affected by the events in the Navy and the lies my brother must have told her. I see it in her comments….yes,she comments in her other name-unable to come out as herself…but yet,one can see the familiar way in her voice-except it is in writing,that tone she’s always carried with me.
She’s knows truth,but hides it because she needs to protect it…because the truth hurts-often.
I believe my brother manipulated the truth way back then in 1969 to the effect that the Navy sent me barracks D.
For the rest of my life I’ve tasted every size of barracks D-even the after tastes.

It took me a while to realize where I heard that voice-why it sounded so familiar…slowly it came to knowledge,the commenter is on ‘bellsouth’ and that bellsouth is in ‘jax’…and that means Jacksonville. Hmmm,and Carol-why isn’t that the first name of my brothers bride? ahhh,no wonder!! You see when a person is jealous they cannot say anything proper-it’s because they are bitter….it is why you cannot respond fully and honestly-because you are manipulating too,manipulating the truth.
Now why should she be jealous? There’s money-I suppose-she has it, I do not and never have. A pool? No…those things are everywhere and a clorox scent is not my perfume-chlorine makes your body so oily. A new car? poof…I can’t even afford the gas my current vehicle-sometimes stranded here for days,so-a new vehicle is nothing to me.
It most likely is my sons….more so that there is envy mixed with confusion-if Jay’s such a lost cause,how’d he raise those two sons to be the men they are? Good men.

I find it peculiar that a person could stand up for someone who abused his own-defending him in front of a judge,my brothers fingers dirty from his crime…and yet did not come forward to stand up in front of a judge to make the statements she made to my therapist…for truth and real justice-for my justice?
My brother was manipulative-artfully deceitful for personal gain!
And yet-you can be so critical with me here as in the past?

It’s no doubt that your comments have been annoying-because they are as they come from baseless thought.
You stand back and watch me-because this man has only just begun to fight back for was was wrong then and is wrong now…I’m going to do more than write letters and make phone calls to an individuals supervisor-I’m going to see that a law is made to shut up people like the man that joked about homosexuals needing to rape,how hard it was for him to comprehend that homosexuals need to rape…the same ignorence you possess.
Now that I figured out who you are….your comments will no longer annoy me-I just pity you.

This road that I find myself moving down is like any other-a road with two sides.
I lived much of my adult life the survivor of rape. A male survivor. A silent survivor.
My attacks were not in the ordinary-considered innocent such as those that might occur to a bystander or jogger….the random attacks. I was taken to a detention barracks…an innocent sailor of 18 who had done nothing wrong-except perhaps entering the space of my older brother,the very person the Navy sent to ‘arrest’ me. I suppose a rape in a detention center is not as criminal as a rape of someone off a jogging trail,no one seemed to care then.

I’ve written about every bit of this that I can in previous pages of this ‘blog’….something like close to 300 times I’ve sat and written to try to open up the eyes of others and relay the need for changes.
The two sided road that I talk about. The road which one side says men are victims too….the other side saying that veterans are returning home as victims too. Why are they on the same road? Because they are silent victims.

I have had many discussion where a person gives the funny look that responds to a statement like mine…men are victims too?

We are really caught up in this modern time that rape and sexual battery is a crime against woman. How many times do we see an article about the male victim? It must mean there are none…but yet there are. Today the State of Florida intends to execute a male-his crime the rape and murder of an 11 year old boy. I am not pleased at any of this…but yet the statement it makes validates the point I am trying to make-males are victims of rape and sexual assault. Adults listen…rape is an age and gender free crime-it happens to many-and any!!

My other side of the road is about the veterans who have experienced rape and sexual assaults while in active duty in service to our country. A military service functioning to protect values and rights and freedoms….and yet,these crimes happen with in those ranks,yet go silent when the victim is released from duty.
I am personally aware that military sexual assault is not an occasional incident-an article in Army Times provides proof of that.
It rates itself as the top military force which has the most reported cases in 2007. The article claims that 1,516 cases were reported…this is only the Army-and only the reported cases. They also state that 90% of the reported victims were female. That leaves 10%….who must be males. That 10% is a significant number,that means 151 men in the Army must have experienced this violation of their body.

www.armytimes.com/news/2008/06/army_sexualassault_060308w/

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-harman31mar31,0,5399612.story

A commentary in the Los Angeles Times written by Congresswoman Jane Harmon also speaks of the trauma and reports the Veterans Hospital in Los Angeles are receiving. The numbers are troubling.
That is just one part of the regions…one hospital among the many in the United States Veterans Affairs system. How many have the others counted?

I first am confused by the reluctance for anyone to recognize that men are victims too…and how we can continue with the misconceptions that it is only females that are the victims of rape. I believe people have their heads in their boxes for continually accepting that as a fact…..in fact-we probably have succeeded in keeping men from reporting these crimes because society has stigmatized sexual crimes as those only against woman,and if it happens to a man the stupidity of others opens up. Such as “heck-if a woman raped me…why should I complain?” or….”gee,you’d never think homosexuals had a need to rape each other!!”,which is a comment made to me by a Florida Department of Veterans Affairs officer.

I never meant to say anything about this-EVER.
When I became a victim I was told to get used to it “where we are sending you you’ll have it made-your dance card is already punched”! That the statement from the investigating officer in the Navy who was the first to see me just shortly after I was raped-his comment alluded to that whatever crime I was supposed to have committed was going to land me in prison for several years…five,if I remember correctly.
I had done nothing-yet this what I got for it….
So I lived in it-accepted it with my arm twisted behind my back. Kept and ordered around by my assailants as if I was a piece property.
I had enlisted in the Navy for honor and respect to my country and do my duty-and this is where my honor got me.
Two months later I received an Honorable Discharge from the United States Navy….honor,after spending those months with my controllers? I have no honor.

I lived with this in my life-my present,everyday. So you must believe me when I speak of ‘trauma’….this morning I woke-38 years later and felt the memory as soon as I made a thought.
Once upon a time about three years ago I was told to get validation I should report this to the Veterans Affairs officer-appeal for benefits “if any one deserves it” I was told….and so I did.
It was there I was met with just as much sympathy as I got the day I was beaten up and my ass hole stretched to last to this day. An advocate for me who was a bigot and made judgements about my lifestyle that did not exist….he thought my assailants must have been blacks-and pondered the wonder of it all in curios stupidity “gee…you never think homosexuals need to rape each other”. That’s what he said.

The road with two sides. The anger inside of me that there is no real number to count the real victims-all of the victims…how many kept quiet like I did. How many were too afraid of the stigma to say this happened.
I can understand-I wish too in many ways I never said a word. Why should I have wanted to? Learning from the beginning that I was supposed to go ahead and get used to it….getting used to it,and silently (yet with a fury inside of me called ‘damage control’) and exercising damage control in all ways like drinking and substance abuse to try to hide from it better. Then finally coming to terms with myself and becoming sober for once….I report to the VA hospital one day and am asked if I am ever depressed-and yes,I am….so they give me pills. The pills made me high almost like a mescaline trip….and yet each morning after using the commode I have this reminder of barracks D,and it is continual cycle for these kind of memories. And the VA’s anser for this was pills and further I am expected to accept a man who is confused as why homosexuals would need to rape each other….and this man is supposed to be my veterans advocate and the pills are supposed to heal me-or do like drugs and booze,help me to forget for a few hours?

You see….something is wrong. We first have a blank section in our knowledge. Men are victims-rape and sexual assault harms us too. I suffer each day from the events that took place from all those years ago….it is something I will never forget.
The fact that it happened while I was trying to do my duty to my country compounds the issue-the hurt from that is larger than you can ever know….but then to be re-injured in my mental state by a such in place professional as the veterans advocate who is confused and has no clue,well….I’m exhausted!

Patience and faith and love.
I often say to people that my sons and I raised each other. I certainly was an unsettled (teen really) man when my sons were born…I had no skills-those came along as time did. Being a parent was a skill that came the same way and to ensure I got a complete experience in the job I ended up being a single parent. Just me and the boys.

I’m incredibly impressed on how my sons have grown to the men they are. I attribute this to prayer. I once had to rise in the wee hours of the morning and hike out of here to the highway and hitch to work. During my walks I prayed for nothing else except that my sons would never end up like me.
I was very broken then. Not very many years since my life in barracks D…12 years by then,but as this morning-it seems only just an arms reach away.
In fear sometimes I would drive us out to the state prison at Raiford. We would stop at a burger place and get fries and a sandwich and then carry-out the food to have a pic-nic lunch with on the prison highway right a way.
Raiford is an ominous vista to look over-there are several miles of prison to view and the choices of buildings do not make any change in the fact that this is a place you do not want to ever have to go.
I feared how my life had gone would somehow reflect on my sons. I could not take it if that was to happen and not knowing anything-this was a measure that I felt important.
I can’t quite think of how it was exactly that I told my sons what happened in barracks D. I don’t believe as boys I told them much about the actual attacks-but I remember the nights I tried to escape the thoughts and realities by by sucking drugs up my nose I would lament to my sons the misery I was and the misery the drugs were and the reason my life was such a failure was by my failing the in the Navy.
I walked those miles into town in the darkness of early morning-no where close to dawn,and prayed God would not see my sons have the same life I had.

It is not hard for me to see that God is in my family and heard the way I asked for the hope.
My oldest son entered the Navy…it was my suggestion they both did-and they did,but my oldest stayed it through. They live north of Georgia and there have been times my son has called and said “meet me at the truck stop”-and here he and my grandson drove all the way just to have breakfast.

My youngest son saw something about the prison visits-he has worked in corrections for several years,yet he also enjoys serving his country and this Saturday will be enlisting in the Coast Guard reserves and leaves for boot camp in July.

It does not take a rich man to raise a good son. Love is in our system and soul and has no degree in how rich or poor we are but has a sense of how real we are and that sense conveys itself to those around you-you cannot fake it when it is real.

The mobile home in the photo was set up out here when my sons were in high school-and I had work in south Florida.
I primarily lived down there during the week and returned on Friday night to restock the refridgerator and check my sons for injury and bruises and Sunday night drive back south to work. By this time we had formed a relationship of trust-and this worked.
At this time we were living in the cabin (the walked home home) -which is now my studio,and once was connected to a travel trailer sort of addition. The travel trailer was well worn out and since torn down.
I bought this place in the photo for a thousand dollars over 20 years ago. It was half dark-I had to use a flashlight to look inside…and it needed work. It has needed work ever since,but it was all I could afford.

It is kind of funny-this entire residence has been getting some kind of renovation after the other-it is soon nearly to where it is needing nothing in inside-what was once three bedrooms and two baths is now one large long living room and a tiny kitchen and a bath and the room with the french doors-the room I sleep and write in.
This room began to leak last summer. Not a drip-twenty of them and a sort of water experience coming down the wall. Truthfully-it became tiring and old.
It was difficult a little over a week ago-I was about to do something so out of my stream. I was going to have this place torn down and move a double wide trailer in….4 bedrooms and two baths-a kitchen you could ride a bike around. Carpet…and one of the baths had a ‘garden tub’ and a separate shower stall. Walk in closets in two rooms and closets all over on top of that.
I wept about the whole thing. I prayed as I wept and the following morning I decided to call the whole thing off. It was not me…and it seemed so much to tear down something I spent so much time trying to make work as a home…a place where my kids made life work for each other those weeks I spent in south Florida.

It rained yesterday morning-it was an odd rain because it usually waits until the afternoon to rain these days.
I stood out in the addition and listened to the rain playing on the tin roof and watched in joy as it poured off the edge…I kept going back and forth to look in the room that leaks,and that back outside to grin at God for how relieved I was to see it dry.
My sons pitched in-my oldest drove down from up north of Georgia and spent a day and a half with my son the corrections officer to build me a roof over this poor old trailer house.

It all works. Faith is a valid for real truth-patience some how works with faith,and they blossom when you least expect it-and in the proper time.
It is the rainy season here in Florida-as a matter of fact,it is now hurricane season. Almost every day we recieve a thunderstorm. I was not looking forward to sopping up the remains of the storms-but knowing I have it far better then so many others I was prepared to do it as it came.
I expect a call today or tomorrow from a well man. My sons have arranged for a new well to be drilled-one with a pump that is attached to a pipe that extends it into the well itself. It will never loose its prime-the biggest hassle with my current well is whenever the lighting strikes and clips out the electric,already twice this week…it means I have to load the truck with buckets and drive into town to find a source for water-on return each bucket has to be ladled out into a small pipe…a slow process-and very annoying that I get annoyed at having to do it.
I have been sitting back in awe these the last few days.
I never realized what it meant to think about something as general as a water well…but the very thought of the end of the bucket brigade is so relaxing. The roof over my crumb of a mobile home-relieves so much stress.
I feel so rich.

The previous griefs I wrote the other day about this yellow plastic thing…well,prayer is heard and thoughts are given and those thoughts grew and things will improve around here….a roof will be built over my existing place-that is from God,as is the rain that flows through my present roof. That project begins this weekend-my sons both are going to be together,this too from God.
I will remain my reclusive self-no room mate,my sons mother will remain where she is. As much as I love her as a person-I am glad we shifted ideas and are going in this direction.

It is Florida-and,ahhh-nearly a day away from summer-or is it already?
Last night it rained like a typical June storm-and into my bedroom…as always. I tried to ignore it-but couldn’t,yet I put the dry towels down again to sop up the flooding….nothing like what Iowa and places similar are getting,but yet-over a year or more of doing this is the pits anyway.
And then the electric. The storm popped out the electric….my pump? Yup…the water is out-a trip into town to fill the 55 gallons of water buckets to make the trip back to prime the well….this may also be the last time.
No…really,the LAST TIME!!
My sons are paying to have a new well drilled-one that never will loose its prime-never again will I have to make a trip to seek out a source of water in the times of power outages.
Funny…not ha ha hilarious funny but an odd surreal funny…it all seems so magnificent because of the many many years I’ve done this lifestyle. The up-grade to the big mobile home double wide was so overwhelming….it was like a part of me was going away. The weeping I wrote about was mingled with much prayer-why is this? and what is going to be?
It seems so amazing my son desired to see me the next day-and these ideas came to be.

I cannot search understanding-there is no searching understanding from God (Isaiah 40) nor can I understand the whys….the wonders of all these things. The roof -over and the well are like being given a major step in the scale of life…a man of means,how sad that it is that my joy for these simple things are being felt at the same time there are others in this world that will never know such luxury and at the same time there are the others standing in the mud of what is left over from the floods that took their homes.

How odd I must appear…but I am thankful for the outcome-truly,very thankful.

This is soon to be the last of my writing for a while.
I actually lay in my bed last night and wept.
My big mouth and my stupid ideas have created a place I’m not sure if I can manage to be there.
The home in the photograph is soon to be moved to my property. This came about earlier in the Spring-I thought then it was maybe a good idea.
I’m scared of it now.

My son had offered to help his mother by purchasing an acre and a mobile home for her. I felt that because of my health and things might be going in a different direction that it would be a good idea to move my former wife into a more a newer home which we could set on my property.
The idea lingered and then grew.
There it is-the yellow monolith of plastic and plywood.

Soon to come are crushers! A man hired with a loader machine and a huge dump truck-he’s going to rip down this place I’ve managed with for many years now. Admittedly-it has seen its day and even daylight where the rain comes through the roof…but the history and times past this place has seen. That is why I will stop writing for awhile-there will be no where to be!

The home dealer that sold me this place (that is metaphoric at this moment-sold me!) has a staff full of folks including himself that calls me MR.JAY….I loathe being called ‘mister’ anything-anytime…but especially loathe being called “Mister” followed by my first name.
At ‘barracks D’ ‘hello mister’ was the first thing my rapist said to me. Mister hurts.
It is a southern thing-one one has to get used to I suppose…but for me it sticks out like a cancerous glob each time I hear it with my name attached.
Well…the mobile home dealer is only temporary.
Having my sons mother as a room mate….hmmm,what is about to be?

We all rode over there to see the place yesterday-momma and my son and I.
I really don’t know how to explain her and her ability to befriend the incurable crack head gutter types with some intention of salvaging the impossible….and the knack she has for being in Kansas and spotting the most wormiest dog on the highway….a highway in south central Florida-that’s how keen her eye is….and on the ride over she inquired about one of her friends-my son works at the jail and it seems one of her ‘accomplishments’ is staying under protective custody-she asked about thier health….I cringed at the memory of the past.
I asked my son how it was going to be? His mothers friends? I had not thought about that at the time I brought up the idea.
I am sure I am not happy with the answer…”you should have thought about that before” was his answer.

A perfect person you can not ask for. The mother of my sons has a simple goodness-she has a heart bigger than her brain…not the brightest of persons-but the goodness she attempts hand out seems to bite her back with out transferring a lesson.

So the house is huge-nearly a campus compared to where I live right now. There is a master bath-a room large enough to live in with choices of sinks and where to bathe-shower or the garden tub?
It is a spilt floor plan (listen to me-split floor plan!) with the master bedroom at one end and across what seems to be an acre is the three bedrooms I am going to take command of-a bathroom of more logical size is on that end too.
I’ve already thought of a way to divide it some….to make it somewhat more private.

It would seem I would be over joyed-perhaps I will get there,yet who knows.
It collapsed on me last night as I lay in bed-I heard the noises from out in the woods….the tree frogs singing out. It usually lulls me but the thoughts of all of this…the crusher coming and the other contractors and the changes-all compressed.
I know this seems unthankful….my son has offered to pay for it all-as a matter of fact,it has become his choice with out a real discussion.
That took something away more than it did ad to the thoughts and comforts I have.
Then came rules.
Simple….but rules.
I thought about sleeping under the over passes. I somehow think that’s where I’m going to end up….living under an overpass.
My former wife knows nothing about what happened to me.
My son and his wife-they do sort of,but to me I know they don’t comprehend what PTSD is about for us that live with it. I mentioned to my sons wife how I was afraid of going into buildings….the confused look told me that was beyond comprehension-I also mentioned my fear of people….this does not register.
It is not that they are dumb….they just do not understand.

The loss of my independent ways is shaking me up
I failed to think about whom my sons mother has come to know and be friends with over the twenty some odd years we’ve been divorced….who will be visiting here?
I think the comment of the way this is going to be managed-from sons pocketbook and bank accounts….has taken the independent way I live away from me.

No? Is ‘NO’ a meaningful thing? A possibility for me to use? Am I able to say it?
No!
I am not able to say it….only when I’m alone,but not in real life.

My Father 1922-2007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I did not know it was any date in particular.
All I know was that I was at a going away party for someone from the high school I once went to who was going away to Florida. I keep chasing my memory-but damned if I ever can recall if I knew the guy…but it did not matter at the time.

Earlier that day I had been interviewed by a police officer at my job-which was as a broom operator at a local department store. The interview was about some stolen money and other objects. I had stolen the money-and the objects,but never gained by any of it. My reason for stealing was because someone was strong arming me into doing this for them.

I was used to being strong armed to do things for others. I had only recently taken this job as the only thing available since my discharge from the U.S.Navy. I had been discharged from a detention barracks known as barracks D.
As this whole story is about-I was raped and repeatedly made to do things a person would not normally want to do…which in other words-I was repeatedly assaulted.
There in barracks D I was an 18 year old kid-120 pounds and not at all accustomed to being locked in with other men in a detention facility.
After the rape my daily routine was being led about by my initial attackers often with my arm twisted up behind my back as if it was a switch of some kind that could be moved and orders me to comply.
At the department store my sole fellow employee managed to find that switch.

So the police officer that interviewed me promised me another chat-he first was going to chat with the man I had ratted out on….ratted out? I ratted out the person that was forcing my arm behind my back that made me empty purses and cash drawers and sneak audio equipment out to behind the dumpsters for him to retrieve later. I knew sitting there listening to this policeman saying if I told I would be treated differently….but I knew that was a lie.

I had expected the following morning to resume the questions-I also knew I would be confronted with the other man…that I had no idea how to do.
I had no plan. My mind was mentally trying to return to accepting what the officer told me at barracks D the morning I was raped….he said to get used to it-and me thinking that the next day I was going to be confronted with the other culprit-my strong arm boss…and we were to jail together. I was trying to imagine what ‘getting used to it ‘meant for me in a jail,or even a prison.

I did not know the guy who was going away to Florida. In those days in that area if someone you knew knew someone who knew about someone at a party then you were admitted and no one really cared. It was that kind of a situation for me…I was with someone who knew someone.

I swear-it was angels that opened that car door for me.
I have no clue as how my moments at that house were my freedom from the following day and most likely days and days following that.
It was Ford station wagon-one of those old classic styles that had the wood trim look about it…a surf board on the top.
We were going to Florida.

The following morning-indeed,it was that fast a drive,we entered Florida.
It was about then my driver filled me in that we were going to have to separate because he was gathering some cousins to continue on to a beach camp the family had near Flagler Beach….I was not invited. So we managed to figure out that I could be taken as far south as Gainesville and then they could east towards the beach.
So…off to Gainesville Florida we went.
The intersection where the surfers cut east and we separated had a cemetery on one corner.
That is where my first day in Florida was spent. I had only what I was wearing and about 60 cents.

The cemetery was the only choice. The neighborhood I was in was kind of the edge of town-although I hardly even knew there was much much more a few blocks west.

Angels arranged this.
The cemetery was a refuge-I was absolutely not disturbed at all…almost as if I owned the place.

I managed to make a collect call to a man I knew from the church on our street up home…I am not sure why I called him,yet I believe I recalled him once saying he had a brother who lived in the city where the University of Florida was. That’s where I was.

The brother lived in a town south of there-a place called Micanopy. I waited in that cemetery until nearly 10 o’clock that night feeding mosquitoes and ready to eat just about anything myself. Wade showed up and then began the rest of my life.
He was an older hippie-much older…and the town of Micanopy had been taken over by this amazing group of hippie folks-but in general the group where all artists of do some sort of art work or another-sculptors,painters poets and musicians. Good people-soft gentle persons of peace.
Wade apologized for being so late to pick up someone he had no idea he was going to be picking up….it was ‘fathers day’,he told me-and everyone had been to the beach.

In the Psalms it says that we have angels camped around us.
I really love that thought.
The strange thing-this past week or so ago I met with a ’seer’ and the woman told me there was man behind me….she described my father-she told me wanted me to know the pain in his stomach was gone (he died from colon cancer and complications there of) and she said he wanted me to know he sees everything now….that he knows about everything now. How my father could work his way into a camp of angels I am not certain…I have no idea how the rest of it works-I just know it’s good.

I am going there today-to the graveyard!
I have tried to do so every year since arriving to this place-to celebrate in a quiet way with the past and where it has brought me. I like to sit there on one of the benches and listen to the traffic and the birds compete and look across the street-the only remaining building from that time still stands,a former gas station. It was there I used the pay phone to call Wades brother.
There is a good feeling there-the memory of what has gotten me here is non-ending. I will never forget barracks D,and I will never forget how it is that I got here to Florida…and I will never forget that fathers day.
Fathers Day 1970!