You know friendship, as far as I’m concerned, is found on many levels. Politicians that we vote for, can be considered our friends in a way. Close family members can be considered friends. Church friends are another example. Then our friends that we grew up with in our youth. Facebook friends are another example. Veterans who fought together can establish lifelong relationships, although it may take some time to find each other, sometimes decades. My 105 Veterans group that meets at 0800 every Wednesday is a great friendship. Then there are the friends who go above and beyond, those are friends that are really worth having.
I recall that the first politician friend I voted for. Ronald Reagan in the 1984 primaries. Who I hold on par with Washington and Lincoln. Both Bush’s turned out to be worthless RINO’s when it came time to show their true colors, just like a couple of GOP RINO local state representatives that we have here locally. I hold Donald Trump on a higher pedestal than Reagan, and what he endured during his first term is unspeakable, and the Republican traitors that crossed him are still here. And I’m still gonna speak my mind, because frankly I don’t care if anything happens to me. I’m half-dead anyway. Not in the physical sense, not yet, but it only takes one episode where everything goes wrong, and with my medical history, I’m gonna speak with transparency, and the truth. And if it rubs people the wrong way, then so be it. Honesty among our political leaders is a friendship, and Trump has the true mark of a friend, in giving us back freedoms we should have never even thought of losing. It’s the honorable thing to do, instead of being a silent coward.
You know, growing up, I never really had any close family members I could consider friends, but others have them out there. I have cousins that I speak with on occasion, and one older cousin that I thought cool when I was young, with his motor bike, but little did I know he grew up illiterate, which is a terrible shame. How can one grow up not knowing how to read or write? But as I started into my teens, I kinda lost touch, and when I began working and driving, family outside my immediate clan lost my interest. I don’t recall meeting him much, except when he was like 17, when he married a 16 year old girl, who was pregnant. I met them again in summer 1986, when I was on leave from the Army. I remember the Rockets were in the NBA finals. They had just bought a house.
As for church friends, again, I’m a little light in that department, but we all have had some over the years. I attended the church of a 105 Veteran, for a good while, but the journey to Navasota became too taxing after I started writing again. But it was very helpful in my repentance of past wanton indiscretions, and being hopeful for the future. I admit I was cozened, and will never again trust German colleenish chemists with a catalogue of melancholic matrons, foraging for attentiveness.
When it comes to friends we grew up with, I have a sad story. One neighbor kid, an only child, a boy, with parents who were growing in their careers, well, they moved from my neighborhood. Our families were close. We even vacationed together. But when they moved, he got caught up with other kids, and drugs became part of his regime. Years later, when I met with his father at the young man’s wedding, he told me his greatest regret was moving because of my straight worthy influence on his son. Drugs were not my game, and alcohol, except for certain periods overseas, I had always done in moderation. It was after he married that he and his wife reengaged in drug use, and with two kids, and with jail stents, his parents had to adopt their own grandkids. Sadly, one of the kids lost his life in an industrial accident years ago now.
I have a good number of Facebook friends, and am always surprised when someone tells me they are a follower. I mostly meet FB friends at events with wine, but at an MISD event this past week, I met another. Her name is Carrie, and her friend is a nurse instructor at the new CTE Center off of Lone Star Parkway. After meeting the staff, I looked at Carrie saying, “You look familiar.” She recognized me as well, and we chatted a bit. I enjoy Facebook friends, getting to see their lives, their travels. And of course, with my medical history, travel is something I simply cannot do. I have to be near a medical facility, and even though I’ve had my mandatory (I kid of course) two bowel obstructions this year (February and March), I just presented with my third last Thursday. I would love to go and visit friends in Germany, but if an incident were to happen at a most inopportune time, well, if you haven’t had a hematuria incident before (visible blood in the urine), it can be quite disconcerting. Somehow my conversation with Carrie got into Veterans, and I mentioned I recently saw Jeff the Montgomery homeless Vet on the side of SH 105 and gave him a $50 dollar bill. She too had given Jeff money in the past, which warmed my heart. I give Jeff whatever is in my wallet when I see him. I just wish there was something that could be done for the homeless Veteran, a former tunnel rat in Vietnam, who does not enjoy being enclosed in spaces. He loves Montgomery, and I don’t blame him. I know there is a cadre of good folk out there who help him, and I praise them. They try to look after him, and provide shelter or with other concerns, when they can.
You know veteran friendships are really special, and I’m kinda jealous of Vietnam Veterans who have their reunions. For my war, well, some have tried, but it’s been a real no-go. Veterans who fought together can establish lifelong relationships, although it may take some time to get in contact with one another. Sometimes 50 years.
I consider myself to be most fortunate in being a member of my 105 Veterans group. We laugh, visit, celebrate each other’s birthdays, and for many of them, especially the most senior folk, it’s the highlight of their week. A good number of us have been affected by service in various combat zones, but incredibly, we’ve each fought through our own ordeals and find solace in each other’s company. Personally, I consider our gatherings great therapy, and now I have no official therapists to discuss ‘issues’ with. I hold all 105 Vets, and the lady supporters, in the highest regard. I personally hug each one, or kiss their hands every week, and rarely miss a week. We have designated tables, where Marines, or Wisecrack Warriors congregate, but each table, where everyone dutifully sits each week, in self-prescribed assigned seating. When I come around bringing papers before we break morning bread, everyone calls my name, and it brings me great joy. It gives me purpose. And in some ways, 105 has become family to me. More so than even my own.
When I woke this past Thursday morning, I realized that something I thought would have cleared overnight had worsened. It was another bowel obstruction, and if they were described as a dozen eggs, I would be working on my sixth. Now, I’m proactive when it comes to my health, and rarely get caught off guard when it comes to recognizing symptoms, but as they developed overnight as I slept, when I woke, I knew I was in trouble. My urine output was nil, abdomen distended, then I got that warm flush throughout my body that’s indicative of trouble for me, a bodily warning telling me that if I don’t act soon, it could be literally fatal. Moments later I felt a fatigue that drained my energy. My usual plan when I detect the first pangs of a bowel obstruction episode (usually during the day or early evening), is to drop everything and start heading to the Emergency Room. Have you ever driven and vomited at the same time? Try doing it in an emesis bag, at 80 miles an hour. lol.
This time, I was so weak that driving myself to the ER was out of the question. After returning from the toilet, I called my friend Harvey Yaw, a Vietnam Veteran and retired Houston Fire Department District Chief, who is still rather young in his mid-70’s, but strong and still full of life. He is an early riser, and said to me in the past that if I needed any help, to please call him. Well. I needed help. In the most desperate of ways. Harvey dropped everything, and started heading my way. I grabbed my ‘bug out’ bag, filled with items for ER visits, toiletries, extra clothes, to help avoid looking like a patient, even though I have an IV in my arm; and we were soon on our way.
Incredibly, I go to the Houston VA Medical Center ER instead of the crowded local ones in The Woodlands. I’m seen by a nurse in no time, and after being examined by a doctor, can have an IV within thirty to forty-five minutes. It’s worth the extra drive over spending hours in a local emergency room filling up an emesis bag. When I told Harvey, he didn’t flinch one bit, and we started on our way. As we drove we reminisced of old southeast Houston. Incredibly Harvey, in his early HFD years, was stationed at a fire station on Dixie Drive, just down the street from three of my aunts, and their families, as well as an uncle who lived two streets over.
It took a day and a half to recover, but on the way back to Montgomery County with Harvey’s lifelong friend Dewey in-tow, the friends regaled me with stories of their youth. Then I remembered a family member 19 years ago, who once looked at me with disgust after asking her to take me to the emergency room. Even after I had helped with the downpayment on her house not asking for anything in return. Harvey didn’t think twice about helping me. And he’s not even blood-kin. He does a lot for Veterans, and he deserves mine and others gratitude.
I have never asked anyone for help. But when I really needed it, in the most desperate of times, Harvey didn’t hesitate. He responded. True friendship like Harvey’s is thicker than blood. Luv Ya Brother.
Ruben can be reached at: ruben@montgomerycountynews.net