T. GAMBLE: Recognizing good and evil

It is June 6, 2017, and I am unhappy.

I am unhappy because I had to have a colonoscopy today.

Now let me state right up front every medical personnel that treated me was excellent and all went well. I got to take most of the day off and lost 5 pounds.

The only problem with losing 5 pounds in the pre-colonoscopy routine is in two days I’ll find the 5 pounds. Accumulated fat does that. It will disappear and then, like Harry Houdini, reappear a few days later. I believe I have read that a fat cell never disappears and, if created, you can then only shrink it by exercise and diet. T

he shrunken fat cell is one of the most persistent organisms on Earth and, once shrunken, will beg, plead and bargain until it can regain its form. You know, “Please just eat this one little container of Blue Bell ice cream. Please. Tomorrow you can run an extra 20 miles.” Or, “Next week — yeah, next week — we can start the new diet. This week, order extra yeast rolls and the cheesecake.”

I am convinced Satan himself lives inside a fat cell.

I lost 5 pounds because of the concoction one is forced to eat prior to the procedure — 64 ounces of salty, formulated gook that a man thirsting to death in the Sahara desert would turn down. We now have self-driving cars, but nobody can make a drink that doesn’t taste like spoiled lemonade for me to drink.

I will say, however, whatever it is, by God, it works. If you do manage to drink 64 ounces, do not under any circumstances decide to, say, walk out to the garden for a little bit before it hits you. Don’t, unless, of course, you never really liked the shorts and underwear you had on to begin with.

Even big trucks now have warning beepers when they are backing up, but this 64-ounce stuff has no grace period. Next time, I will rent a porta-potty, put it in the back yard and just stay in it the night before until it is time to go to the hospital.

But I say all this because that is my big gripe for the day. I am inconvenienced so that my health will be protected and I can live, hopefully, a longer, more enjoyable life.

It was June 6, 1944 when thousands of young men, most under the age of 22 hit the beaches of France to begin the D-day invasion and guarantee my freedom and yours. They were a little inconvenienced as well. They were stuffed shoulder to shoulder in small landing crafts, ploughing through choppy seas, to meet an evil and fierce enemy.

When the gates let down, thousands stormed the wideopen beaches and were met by German machine guns that fired over 1,000 rounds per minute. In case you are not good at math that is more than 16 shots a second.

They did not all hit their intended targets, but on Omaha beach they did hit enough to kill one man every six seconds for six straight hours.

Young men, with all the world had to offer in front of them, dead — thousands of miles from home.

Their dreams died with them, as did the dreams of so many close to them — the mothers and fathers who never recovered, the wives, and girlfriends, and best friends … left forever with holes in their hearts.

They did it because they knew what was at stake. They knew there really is an evil and a good in this world, and they could not let evil win. And because they knew this: I can complain about bad tasting drinks and inconveniences, we all can go about our business and enjoy our lives, because of their sacrifice.

I wonder if now we know the difference between good and evil and if we’re willing to make that sacrifice if need be?

Time I guess will tell, but let us never forget those who gave it all.

God bless their souls and God bless America.

Email columnist T. Gamble at [email protected].