tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45756469048008852872012-02-16T02:15:04.139-05:00"... I took the road less traveled, and that made all the difference."Mark W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09943494257073595613noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4575646904800885287.post-52860933085910080742010-04-25T07:40:00.002-04:002010-04-25T08:21:14.513-04:00I stopped to get a cup of coffee on the way to work the other day. A well mannered kid (18-20) who was also getting coffee said "Good morning, Sir." As I absentmindedly looked for a pastry to go with my java we bumped into each other. "Sorry, sir", he said. <br /><br />We got in line at the same time, he just a step ahead of me. "Would you like to go ahead, sir?" he asked.<br /><br />"That's okay, son", I said. "You're fresh out of boot camp, aren't you?" I asked.<br /><br />"Yes, sir. Does the haircut give me away?"<br /><br />"No, it's the 'sir', I don't get called that very much. Do you like it?"<br /><br />"I love it, sir. I go to Fort Campbell on Monday and this summer I'm going to Afghanistan." I suddenly got a huge lump in my throat.<br /><br />I offered my hand, he shook it firmly, "Thank you", I said.<br /><br />"No problem, sir", he replied. "Some folks don't think we should be over there, but..."<br /><br />"The politics of it don't matter to me", I interrupted. "You're doing a job for us and we appreciate it."<br /><br />"Glad to do it, sir."<br /><br />He made his purchase, and as he was leaving turned and said "Have a good day, sir."<br /><br />"You do the same. Be safe over there."<br /><br />"I will, sir."<br /><br />As I cashed out I noticed the clerks eyes were wet. So were mine.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4575646904800885287-5286093308591008074?l=thisoldroad2.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mark W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09943494257073595613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4575646904800885287.post-63549029832714114132009-08-16T10:20:00.000-04:002009-08-16T10:54:29.955-04:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fFTsyfjK7mc/SogddzCRcVI/AAAAAAAAABE/IlLM6zSvn_I/s1600-h/Woodstock_Crowd.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 224px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370574953392468306" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fFTsyfjK7mc/SogddzCRcVI/AAAAAAAAABE/IlLM6zSvn_I/s320/Woodstock_Crowd.jpg" /></a><br /><div>On my old blog, no one responded to my posts on rock-n-roll history. Still, I can't let the 40th anniversary of the Woodstock music and art fair go unmentioned. I was 14 at the time and asked my mother if I could go. "HELL NO!" When the national news showed the crowd and the mud and the traffic jams she said "And you wanted to go to that?" "Now more than ever " was my answer. Of course she shouldn't have let me go, but even before it happened I (and alot of other young folks) knew it was something special.</div><br /><div>I did, however, make it to the 30th reunion at Yazgur's farm in 1999. Alot of the original musicians were there and it was unforgettable. I would have liked to have gone again this year but life sometimes gets in the way.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4575646904800885287-6354902983271411413?l=thisoldroad2.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mark W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09943494257073595613noreply@blogger.com5