“The vision of Sprague’s three destroyers . . . charging out of the smoke and the rain straight toward the main batteries of Kurita’s battleships and cruisers, can endure as a picture of the way Americans fight when they don’t have superiority. Our schoolchildren should know about that incident, and our enemies should ponder it.’”

Herman Wouk
War and Remembrance

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Sweet thorny-headed Jesus;

Six of the 13 teenagers arrested after a boozy party that trashed a Haddonfield home while its residents were away struck plea-bargain deals yesterday that allowed them a year’s probation..

We’re sorry. Really. Cross our hearts, we won’t do that again.

The party house sustained about $18,000 in damage. Youths defecated on a Steinway grand piano, ejaculated onto stuffed animals, and sprayed a urine-filled Super Soaker water gun at upholstered furniture.

In yesterday’s deal, four of the teens pleaded guilty to criminal mischief and two to trespassing.

All escaped detention, unless they get into other trouble with the law or with drugs or alcohol in the next year. If they stay out of trouble, the charges will be dismissed.

Despite the heavy damage, DiCamillo ordered the 10 youths who have pleaded guilty only to pay a combined total of $750, the amount that the victim’s insurance did not cover.

Golly, Judge DiCamillo, that will teach ‘em.

DiCamillo told the defendants not to bother the family and to tell their friends.

“Go tell everyone. Leave this family alone,” DiCamillo said. “They’ve been harmed enough.”

I am certain the little darlings are quaking in their boots and will certainly pass the Word that The Man is to be feared and obeyed. ‘Cause you certainly showed them that The Laws are not to be trifled with.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

On a happier note than my previous post, Red Haired Girl has finally hung up her dance shoes. The first one or two recitals were fun to attend, and we videotaped everything. Six years into it I was to the point where gouging my eye out with a dull spoon was preferred to sitting for 2 – 3 hours watching group after group with little or no talent. The last two years she and Real Wife have taken pity and allowed me to forego the experience. She has now decided to take lessons from a voice coach, and the results are nothing short of amazing. This kid can make people take to their feet and clap now. Last weekend she brought home a trophy from a local “Star Search” contest, performing Mr. Cellophane from the musical Chicago. It was an outdoor show performed on the courthouse square, with absolutely perfect weather and an audience of a couple hundred or so locals.

The next day, she was going through the typical thirteen year old angst of being bored because there was nothing to do. Her best friend called and asked her if she wanted to ride along with their family to an old fashioned tin can shoot at the local gun club. Real Wife was kind of down on the idea (there were never guns in her household while growing up, so she most associates them with the all-too-often sensational news stories seen these days). I pointed out that the kids would be well supervised, so she relented and off went RHG. She returned home about five hour later, and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t toting a rather large trophy for having won second place in the age 11 – 17 class. She’s never held a gun in her life, much less fired one. I think the sweetest part of the victory was the fact that, of the other twenty or so kids in her class, most were boys, and first place also went to a girl.

She now wants me to join the gun club so we can shoot on a regular basis, which I am inclined to do. I have a 1938 Walther PPK, a 1940 Walther P38, and a 1937 (I believe) Mauser Hsr, all semiautomatic pistols that I bought as collector items but have never fired. I did present to her (albeit with a lot of restrictions relating to its usage and availability) to my first rifle, an Ithaca model 49 lever action single shot .22 that my dad gave me for my twelfth birthday ($25 from Sears and Roebuck). I think that I’ll watch the local gun auctions for a single action .22 revolver to teach her pistol shooting – I’m very against the idea of handing a semi to a kid.

There may be readers out there who rail against teaching kids to shoot guns, but in these parts, and where I grew up in rural upstate New York, it is a perfectly natural thing to do (my 15 year old niece shot three turkeys and two deer last year). Our local high school is consolidating, and one of the benefits will be more diverse activities, which to her excitement will include trap shooting. It looks like I need to find a decent shotgun too. She’s a little worried about the kick, but we have a year to work on it.

I am now wondering what other hidden talents she has…

Real Wife and I met with the specialist this morning to discuss treatment options and prognosis for her breast cancer, and I must say it was quite revealing. Our initial reaction on hearing the news was based largely on the norms of twenty to thirty years ago, i.e., that such a diagnosis meant at best radical and life-changing surgical procedures, extensive radiation, and chemotherapy and, at worst, the unthinkable. While I have suffered loss in my life, I cannot recall ever feeling such intense fear and hopelessness, compounded by the need to not let it show in front of Real Wife and Red Haired Girl, both of whom were likewise caught in their own personal hell. In retrospect, we erred in convincing the primary doctor to apprise us of the results as soon as they were known but before meeting with the specialist to determine what they really meant.

In this instance, we were told that it is the most common form of breast cancer, with both the treatment regime and typical outcomes well understood. Also working in our favor is the fact that it was caught relatively early, with the lump at slightly less than one centimeter. The plan at this stage is to remove the lump and inject a dye for the purpose of checking the lymph glands – both procedures done, surprisingly, on an outpatient basis. Followed up with several localized radiation treatments to catch any stray cells floating around, the hope is for a complete cure. I thought it significant that the doctor chose the word cure and not remission. If they fail to get all of it this round, another surgical procedure may be indicated, along with possible chemotherapy. While we both realize that nothing is certain, and things could take an unexpected turn for the worse, our attitude will be optimism unless hard facts tell us otherwise.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch we received a phone call yesterday at 6:00 a.m. from Real Wife’s eighty-eight year old mother asking us to come immediately. She had fallen in the night and broke her hip, and it took about two hours for her to crawl to the phone (she is now more receptive to the use of those Lifeline alert systems!). We flew over and met an ambulance, which transported her forty miles to the nearest hospital with an orthopedic surgeon. After about ten hours of waiting they finally performed surgery to replace the femoral head, which was snapped off at the base. Coincidentally, I had an identical injury some twenty-two years ago, so I was expecting the worst in terms of the trauma associated with the surgery and the difficult recovery. In my case, because I was just a little over thirty, they elected to save the head, so I was put back together with pins, rods and plates. That led to over three hours of surgery and several months of recovery. Yesterday they had her on the table for about forty-five minutes replacing the head with a prosthetic, and had her up on her feet today. Simply amazing.

All in all a pretty crappy Father’s Day, particularly for someone who really, really hates hospitals. The only good thing I can associate them with is – becoming a father