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Current mood:  bummed Category: Life
The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances
is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the
ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his
country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax
his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected
unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student,
pursued
some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a
steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears
to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to
rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm howizzitor.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he
is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.
He
has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can
field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the
dark. He can recite to you the
nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one
effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply
first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop
or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly
and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual
dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes
one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry,
his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of
battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they
were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his
job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay
and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and
death then he should have in his short lifetime.
He has stood
atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept
in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat
and
is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate
through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning
desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand,
remove
their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out,
far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just
as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the
price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the
American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration
with his blood. And now we even have woman over there in danger,
doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls
us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this … A short lull,
a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.......
10:41 AM
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