This is a new little section of the blog. A story. Told over multiple parts. Enjoy.
This is a story about my neighbor.
Well, he's not literally my neighbor - that would be Scott. Scott was shot by his kid, accidentally, while on a hunting trip and still has loads of spherical pellets lodged in his back from the shotgun his son used. It's a story but this story is not that story.
This is about my other neighbor.
Well, my other literal neighbor is Dane. Dane grew up in Catholic Schools and was beat by Nuns (its unoriginality doesn't make it less painful) so often and told that he sucked so frequently that I don't think Dane will ever step foot in a church, cathedral, temple, or holy building again. He's one of the nicest guys you will ever meet but he's not a church guy. I'm not sure that's a problem. I take that back - Dane did step foot into a church for the funeral of my other neighbor who died of breast cancer. Dane and his wife were at her house constantly leading up to her death, maybe the only people taking care of her. That's a story too, but this story is not that story either.
This is a story about Wise. I don't think his name is really Wise but that's what he has gone by ever since I met him. Wise was born in Fallujah. The first time I met him he had just arrived to America as a refugee from Iraq. This was not his first time in America, but we'll get to that.
It was his first time in America that he was not coming to America to attempt to destroy some of the people who live here. But we'll get there as well.
For now, know this. Wise is my friend. Now. And Wise has a story.
It starts about 12 years ago when al-Qaeda was the enemy and no one had heard of ISIS. I doubt you had heard of Jama'at al-Tawhid wal-Jihad either. I know I hadn't. But that's the group that Wise was doing "work" for.