The search for an origin.

Jird. Or maybe its pronounced Yird. I don't know, I hope it's Scandinavian. I've looked up it up on Google multiple times. Baby name and name meaning websites yield no results. It's interesting too. I'm the fourth generation to carry this name. I'm sorry, let me back up. Jird is my middle name. It was my grandfathers first name and two more generations for that. My grandfather was a man that I highly respected and wish I had more time with.It's a pity to think that I missed all my grown up years with a man so calm and put together. I decided to use this post as a eulogy and a small history lesson.
Jird Fidler was his name. At least that's all I know when its too late to call my mom. He was a shorter man, made out of leather and steel. Born in the early thirties, he remembered living through WW2 and the post war golden age. Then came the Korean war and he enlisted. He started as a normal crew man and worked up to Aircraft mechanic. He never talked much about the war. The only story he ever told me was. "One time, I was on my ship. This aircraft carrier The Missouri. And there was a foul up in the munitions hold. Suddenly. BOOM!." He slammed his hand down on a table and a long stare got into his eye. "I saw half my crew go up right then. My two best friends just disappeared about thirty feet away." I don't remember this but my grandfather apparently grabbed a boar by it legs. Flipped it over. Then yanked out its teeth in front of us kids.
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the Fidlers came from what I can find out pretty hardy farmer stock. The very first Jird came out west ahead of the railroads. Laying gravel beds and scouting routes for the trains. I loved the fact my grandfather lived in Iowa. Owning a subsistence farm became a dream because of his garden. He would have fresh radishes and corn. You never really realize how much you miss someone till their gone. My grandfather was a stubborn man. I, of course, am also headstrong man. But my grandfather's stubbornness was his downfall. As he fell to emphysema from smoking. When they first found the spot on his lung they told him if he would just quit smoking. He would have twenty more years to live. He didn't he died. Now my grandfather was an old school taught person. And his one regret seemed to be never having a son to pass on the family name too. Jird. That's where I came in.
My mother wanted her father to be a happy man. And named my middle name after him. He was a great man and I wish I could have met him later in life and learned more about the origins of where it came from and some history of the family. Perhaps I can. Perhaps not. I do know that my grandfather and myself share a common ground in living unique lives. My stories of him and how they influence me could go on for days. At one point during the seventies coke era, my grandfather was a Coast Guard customs agent. He carried a sawed off shotgun and a bad attitude. I don't know much, but I know I'm proud to have Jird. A unique and interesting name. As the name that I carry.

My Life in Three Paragraphs.

My past can be summed up in one word, complex. First off, where does ones past begin? Is it yesterday right after they drank their last beer? Or when you had your first child and you never wanted to be the same person again? I'll say my true past began somewhere around 16. So I'll start there. I was a homeschooled basement kid most of my childhood. Big ball of energy trapped in four walls. I was a child of Jehovah Witness's and that help me form a strong moral code. All from a crazy cult that never believed in happiness. It's not I don't believe in God, quite the opposite. It's that I cannot and will not believe any loving God would believe that strictness and austerity should be taught. Rather then say, happiness and forgiveness. So I played video games and studied school. Eventually graduated at 14. Hung out for a year with the family then got my first car.

So thus, the present has been a cacophony of trials, triumphs, let downs, lessons, and happiness. And alot of laughter. Always gotta laugh. Its funny really when you start to at your "present", are you looking as yourself or from the outside point of view. I mean honestly, it is the perspective that really matters in this type of writing. I'm essentially writing a diary for others to view. Firstly, my perspective. Interesting, to say the least. I'm pursuing a dream that is both the most pleasant feeling the world, and the most frightening. Blindly walking in amongst things you've only just dreamed of and now washed up in a wave. The wave filled with what you've wanted and needed Can you actually keep yourself afloat? When do you need that helping hand to throw you a life preserver? So now, we take the observers viewpoint. The hand that grips the life vest so to speak. They see me washed up in a wave but refuse to help. It's my fault really. I've learned to swim for so long before drowning. I'd probably have too much water in my lungs to scream for help anyways. Wow this has certainly taken a morbid turn. Lets go to the final door into the psyche. THE FUTURE.

Ah, the future,. A bright happy place filled with long lost dreams and unexplainable spells of good luck. Leaving the past and present behind you have passed the platinum gates of hope. Right down I have a dream boulevard, passing the fields filled with money, fame success, and pride. Where people want to know your name and ask to park your car. That is the dream right? It is the little glimmer in the brightest corner of my mind. Its not all dour and depressed. Mainly tired and a little stoned. Right now its school. Pursue the dream and use the work ethic I developed in the forestry. Which means never stop. It's the ability to block all distractions and just take one more step after another until you get to the top. And as I walk down I have a dream boulevard, I always keep one credo in mind. Be Alert. Keep Calm. Think Clearly. Act Decisively. And above all, Don't Fuckin Panic.