My Father, Lt. Cmdr. Harry L. Haskins,
Beloved Husband, Father, Son, Brother,
Navy jet pilot,
musician, outdoorsman, historian,
Nebraska-born descendent of colonists and pioneers,
killed at 38 "In the Service of His Country"
(every bone in his body was broken and he was burned
and he was still alive, trying to get back to his family),
buried in Arlington National Cemetery,
posthumously promoted to Commander.
My Brother,
on the eve of leaving to finish his degree in Marine Biology,
while taking an after-dinner walk blocks from where we lived,
attacked and shot by a gang of blacks.
My brother was left with internal organs' damage and massive scarring.
No one was ever tried or sent to jail for the crime.
My brother survived wounds that would have killed most people.
He then worked full time as a janitor to pay for his college degree.
After graduation, he was refused work in his field due to affirmative action.
Me, Elena Haskins,
who learned after my father was killed in the military:
Beggars Can't Be Choosers;
duped, defiled and harassed by jews,
harassed, threatened and litigated against by Asian Indians,
harassed and threatened by Asians,
harassed and threatened by shabbas goyim,
etc., etc., etc.
Despite my father being killed in the military,
it took ten years for me to pay off my student loans
from my degree at U.C. Berkeley.
There were all those affirmative action
and foreign students who had to be given a free ride.
My Mother,
artist, dancer, singer,
first generation American of Icelandic descent,
widowed at 32, never remarried, died a broken woman,
went through deaths of father, husband, unborn child,
brother and mother within nine years,
given drugs by jewish doctor who forced himself on her;
same jewish doctor tried to physically force me to perform a sex act on him;
jewish doctor was married to my mother's eldest sister.
This is what it has been like being me:
(click here or on image to enlarge)
don't shake my tree.