Okinawa and 70 Years Later

April 25, 2015 marks my 91 1/2 years birthday. At my age, recognizing six months at a time seems right.

There is nothing but gratitude in my heart for my two ex-wives. Neither one followed their strong inclination to kill me.They both had a litany of what was and still is, wrong with me besides my just being alive. And neither was shy in ripping my ass open. Just my being in their presence and talking made everything really bad for them.

But like the classic dumb Jew that I am, I kept trying to please the 'unpleasable'. The most surprised person at still being fucking alive at 91 1/2 is me.

April 12, 2015 is really a big fucking anniversary for me. It is 70 years to the day, on Okinawa, that a bullet made its way, in a hurry, through my left leg. A little higher and that little devil would have gone through my scrotum and would have destroyed my dreams of sexual glory.

Instead it just, thank God, left me with limp. I had hoped that the limp would make me look distinguished. No chance.Use a lift in my shoe.

Not that my first wife considered me to be the last of the Latin or Jewish lovers. She never was an admirer of my love making skills.But then she wasn't even close to hot. Hookers on the other hand never complained. $100-$200 up front, made me King Kong for 30 minutes, more or less. Mostly less.

The real fighting on Okinawa began about a week after the initial landings.The landings began on a beautiful, Easter Sunday, April 1.The cannon fire noise from the battleships was ferocious. Being young and not too fucking smart, I was fearless.

When the rains came, Okinawa turned into an enormous mud hole. Mud, ass high.

My first experience with gunfire taught me nothing.When you're 21 you know, for sure, that if anyone was going to get hit or killed it was going to be the other guy. That time it was Sgt. Hobbs who came from a bifurcated town, Texarkana, part in Texas, part in Arkansas, who caught a deadly bullet.

We were unloading a Landing Craft when the Japanese Zero's came swooping in.We scattered to underneath the trailers swearing at the fucking airplanes.One fatal casualty, lots of damaged egos.

70 years later, at 91 1/2, life for me ain't easy but it's better than the alternative.Optimism, trying to live like I'm 40, are keys to living long and liking it. Keeps me charging.

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