Blog 1791 – 08.19.2020
There’s a Wocket in my Pocket!
There is a Wocket in my Pocket!
Sometimes I think the Disney cartoonists, others children’s story illustrators, and even Dr. Seuss enjoy having a little fun with us adults too. The title of today’s children’s book reminds me of the exiting discovery little boys make that they do indeed have a rocket in their pocket. Don’t be prudish, ladies, many of you as little girls were curiously excited too to discover and explore a little rocket science. It is not rocket science really, but fortunately for the race a simple matter of mechanics and a little chemistry.
Sex is not something that happens at puberty, but something that begins for us even before we are born. Expecting parents even are often preoccupied trying to guess which equipment their child will have till some sonogram settles that question. I do not claim to know a lot about sex, but like art I know what I like.
I often recall a favorite song lyric from my younger days, “Working on mysteries without any clues, working on our night moves.” Age appropriateness is a consideration for sure, but even parents of very young children are soon aware that children are curious and excited to explore their own sexuality and how it fits into the big scheme of things.
Sex education has long been a political question as much as a religious one with different groups vying to control and in most cases I think hide the narrative. I was for most of my three years as a soldier involved in military secrets having a Top Secret Security clearance to perform my Military Operational Skill (MOS) as a teletype repairman. I was, I must say happy when I could get out of the secret business altogether. I spent eleven months in South Vietnam, actually turning twenty, during that long hot summer of my life.
When I was debriefed as my duty assignment ended in Vietnam and I was to return stateside to finish the last months of my enlistment they explained what had been a mystery to me. Some Army Security Agency soldiers like myself were billeted in a special heavily guarded area on Tan Son Nhut Airbase. It was called Davis Station after the first ASA soldier who died in Vietnam in December 1961, Specialist Fourth Class James T. Davis from Livingston, Tennessee.
A whole company of MP’s (Military Police) watched over us at work and while we slept. Our own weapons were kept several blocks away in a secure armory and we only checked them out every three months or so to clean them. The plan was, according to my debriefing, that if our position was ever in danger of being over run by the enemy that the MP’s, our guardian angels, were to allow us thirty minutes to destroy the equipment and all the top secret traffic and then shoot us to keep sensitive material from falling into enemy hands. Some secret.
I was never a big fan of secrets before and even less so after I learned that one. Secrets are too often used not to protected but to manipulate and control.
I love the Jesus line, “Nothing is hid, but that it shall be shouted from the housetops.” There is something quite refreshing and disinfecting about sunlight and the open air where secrets are disarmed and disappear.
It really never was a secret, that rocket in my pocket.
Your friend and fellow traveler,
Disclaimer: This piece is not intended to offend anyone’s sensibilities, just in fun. Remember: There’s a party all the time for them that choose. All the best to those who served and also to the smarter ones who chose not too. As the song says, “War, God God Ya’ll, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it, say it, again.” Amen.