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Sunday, June 18, 2006


For all my anti-war posturing, for all my apparent disrespect, I want to make one thing abundantly clear. Like Tony Alva, I am a proud son of the Army. I am also a proud son of my dad - Ret. Gen Robert M. Wilson.

Today is Father's day, and I pay him tribute with my post about a place I will always consider my home, and I'm sure he does too.

West Point is a place of serene natural beauty coupled with impressive architecture. I was priveledged to have been able to spend my formative years there (72-84).

The change of seasons in the Hudson Highlands is simply a natural wonder, and it made my childhood, against this magnificent backdrop, a real life fantasy adventure.

Surrounded by woodlands that gave credence to my boyhood adventures, and cover for my adolescent clandestine operations, I am convinced that there is no better place on earth for me to have spent my youth.

My brothers, my friends, and myself at times pushed the limits of acceptable behavior. Baiting the Military Police into pointless nightime chases through the woods (bunjee cruises), depositing poolside furniture atop the 36 foot diving platform. 'High'-jinks as it were. Misguided maybe, but basically harmless fun.

It's been a while since I've been back to visit my old haunts. I've been thinking of driving up with the Legal Diva for the Jackson Tour of Infamy. Highlights include Fort Putnam, the Left Tit, and the Thing That Goes Bing (which for time did not).

All in all, I have nothing but the deepest respect for those men and women who do their time at the Academy. It ain't easy, and I salute them. Mostly I salute my father, who provided me with a storybook childhood. Of course this is all hindsight and retropsective, at the time I was as much of a miserable brat as anyother kid, clueless as to how lucky I was.

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