by Pa Rock
The young man who was buried yesterday wasn't a close friend of mine, but we were friends. He was the one I called a couple of years ago when I managed to drive my pick-up truck into a hole in the pasture - and he quit what he was doing and drove over to pull me out. He also knew that I collect aluminum cans, and on a couple of occasions he brought me several bags of beer cans, most of which I supposed that he had personally emptied himself.
The young man who was buried yesterday held down a job, and I respected him for that. But even with a regular income, life was still hard. His father passed away shortly before I returned to the Ozarks four years ago, and one of the first social functions that I attended here was a chili supper to help raise money to pay off the man's funeral expenses.
The young man who was buried yesterday was steeped in local rural values. He had a Confederate flag flying from a pole in the front yard of the house he was living in, and he once sent word to me that he read my blog - though I strongly suspected that he was not a fan. He also had a violent streak. I ran into him in the grocery store last year and couldn't help but notice that he had his arm in a cast. When I asked him about it, he replied rather sheepishly that he had broken it in an accident. I heard later that he had sustained the injury while fighting. In the Ozarks fighting is often a favored form of dispute resolution.
But the young man who was buried yesterday was in one fight too many. A couple of weeks ago he got into a dispute with another angry young man over some missing motorcycle parts, and a fist fight ensued. After the raging gladiators proved unable to settle the dispute with their fists, they each ran for their guns. The young man that I knew - the one who was buried yesterday - was shot multiple times. One estimate that I heard was that he was hit fourteen times, with some of those being head shots. He survived in a coma for a few days before finally succumbing to his injuries. The other guy was reportedly hit twice. He survives, and as of this time no arrests have been made.
The young man who was buried yesterday died in a gunfight. A shoot-out. A needless and pointless death that was the inevitable result of too many guns adrift in a society that is steeped in violence. Now his widow will face the burden of raising their two school-age children alone. It won't be an easy task, but hopefully the kids will survive this tragedy and go on to live successful lives. Sadly, their father, the young man who was buried yesterday, will never know if they did or not.
The young man who was buried yesterday wasn't a close friend of mine, but we were friends. He was the one I called a couple of years ago when I managed to drive my pick-up truck into a hole in the pasture - and he quit what he was doing and drove over to pull me out. He also knew that I collect aluminum cans, and on a couple of occasions he brought me several bags of beer cans, most of which I supposed that he had personally emptied himself.
The young man who was buried yesterday held down a job, and I respected him for that. But even with a regular income, life was still hard. His father passed away shortly before I returned to the Ozarks four years ago, and one of the first social functions that I attended here was a chili supper to help raise money to pay off the man's funeral expenses.
The young man who was buried yesterday was steeped in local rural values. He had a Confederate flag flying from a pole in the front yard of the house he was living in, and he once sent word to me that he read my blog - though I strongly suspected that he was not a fan. He also had a violent streak. I ran into him in the grocery store last year and couldn't help but notice that he had his arm in a cast. When I asked him about it, he replied rather sheepishly that he had broken it in an accident. I heard later that he had sustained the injury while fighting. In the Ozarks fighting is often a favored form of dispute resolution.
But the young man who was buried yesterday was in one fight too many. A couple of weeks ago he got into a dispute with another angry young man over some missing motorcycle parts, and a fist fight ensued. After the raging gladiators proved unable to settle the dispute with their fists, they each ran for their guns. The young man that I knew - the one who was buried yesterday - was shot multiple times. One estimate that I heard was that he was hit fourteen times, with some of those being head shots. He survived in a coma for a few days before finally succumbing to his injuries. The other guy was reportedly hit twice. He survives, and as of this time no arrests have been made.
The young man who was buried yesterday died in a gunfight. A shoot-out. A needless and pointless death that was the inevitable result of too many guns adrift in a society that is steeped in violence. Now his widow will face the burden of raising their two school-age children alone. It won't be an easy task, but hopefully the kids will survive this tragedy and go on to live successful lives. Sadly, their father, the young man who was buried yesterday, will never know if they did or not.
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