The Tale of Mistaken Identity, Volume 1

This is another tale about the fragility of your future existence.

It's about your Granddad.

Your Grandfather served in the U. S. Navy during the Korean War (FYI--if you were to ever ask him what he did in the war, his reply was always the same:  "I came home alive.").  He served on an aircraft carrier, filling airplanes with gasoline.  He was 16 years old when he enlisted and 20 years old when he got out---but he almost didn't make it that long.

A couple of years into his tour, he went on shore leave with a bunch of his buddies.  Being a young man cooped up on a ship for extended periods of time, he did what most young men would do when give a little freedom--excuse me, FREEDOM--he went out drinking and looking for pretty women (note, this was several years before he met your Grandmother).  By his own account, he fared pretty well:  within a short amount of time, he had ingested several beers and had his arm around a very pretty young Japanese woman.  An oddity of this tale is that while this was going on your Grandfather was gorging himself on Maraschino cherries (apparently the food on U.S. Navy ships is very lousy).

While in the middle of a dance with the aforementioned pretty woman, two members of the Shore Patrol came into the bar, their faces glaring.  Your grandfather leaned into his date and closed his eyes and as he swayed to the music he was ripped from her arms and dragged out of the bar by the two S.P.s.

Apparently, your Grandfather had been fingered as the drunken meathead who had slugged an officer.

Your Grandfather was thrown into the brig, and there he sat imagining at the tender age of 17 or 18 that he was on his way to being dishonorably discharged, jailed, and having a much rougher row to hoe with the stigmas attached to both of those for a crime he didn't commit.  Eventually, the stress of the situation got to your Grandfather and he threw up.  It looked, your Grandfather recalled, like someone had splashed bright red paint on the floor of his cell--in fact, he said it was the prettiest puke he'd ever seen (I'll take his word on that claim).

Needless to say, the poor bastard who got sent to your Grandfather's cell to clean up the mess was none too pleased, but he gave my father some encouragement.  Your grandfather fell asleep.

A short time later, he heard a clanging and an S. P. was telling him he was free to go--your Grandfather had been mistakenly identified, and the actual culprit had been caught.

And though he never said so, I'd be willing to bet your Grandfather learned the meaning of freedom--excuse me, FREEDOM--that day.

                                                              The End