Immature hijinks return

Published 12:00 am Friday, August 3, 2007

A friend of mine left a comment on my MySpace page the other day exclaiming at the amount of gray hair I have. I actually don’t have any gray hair. This was her attempt at humor. Not funny. Definitely not funny, though I’d probably laugh if she were talking about someone else.

Like I said, I don’t have gray hair. I do have a few white ones, though. I’ve also noticed that when I go a few days without shaving, there are a few white whiskers. I’m not old. I can’t be. I can outrun and have more endurance than most 18-year-olds. I’m in good shape. Getting old is for other people, not me.

I could be Batman if I wanted to. The white whiskers say different, though. Bruce Wayne never sported white whiskers. I think I’d better shave.

Today’s my birthday. While I don’t know yet what’s in store for me, for the rest of this day, I will be constantly reminded of my age through gifts and &uot;helpful … advice.&uot; I’ll receive Metamucil (&uot;Hey, it keeps you regular, and guys your age need to stay regular.&uot;), Ben Gay (&uot;It’s gotta be hard at your age to carry all that battle gear around with you.&uot;) and my personal favorite, Depends diapers (&uot;Mate, at your age, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.&uot;).

How the heck did they get Depends diapers out here? I can’t even get a decent burger.

As I make my way over to my desk to check the latest info on who’s being naughty in town today, I look at the package stashed under my desk, sent to me by the ladies down at Parker Drugs. Ah, Franklin. The town I love so much, that can always put a smile on my face. I reach under the desk, grab the box and start rummaging for some tasty treats.

Amidst all the treats, I spy anti-aging cream that was slipped into the box, no doubt by one of my Brit co-workers.

&uot;Is that the best you can do? Anti-aging cream? Seriously, it’s amateur night here,&uot; I say, shaking my head at their sad and pathetic attempt to have fun at my expense. I mean seriously, how childish can you get?

Then I spy a little piece of home sitting on my desk. Something I’ve made sure to keep safe while I’ve been out here. A bumper sticker given to me before I left Franklin. It’s a little piece of home.

I was planning to place this bumper sticker somewhere out here in Iraq. It’s called &uot;tagging.&uot; Everybody who visits a foreign country does it. I did it when I went to Africa. I did it when I was in Italy. Korea, Russia, Spain, Ireland. I’ve left &uot;tags&uot; everywhere.

The rules are that you have to leave the &uot;tag&uot; in a place that can be seen easily. It shouldn’t be offensive, either, or be considered destruction of property.

Is it juvenile? Sure. Is there really any purpose for doing said act of tagging? No. Will the general be pleased about finding a bumper sticker that just screams, &uot;A Yank placed me here!&uot; Maybe. Maybe I should ask the general’s permission.

Ask the general’s permission?! Man, I am so not a hell-raiser anymore. I have now become the amateur.

THOMAS MORE is the pseudonym of an intelligence analyst with the U.S. Navy, who makes his home in Franklin and serves in Iraq. He has been granted anonymity in order to avoid compromising his security or that of his mission or the nation. Questions for More may be sent to