The average age of the military person
is 19
years, a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal
circumstances is considered by society as half grown, half
kid. 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.
Prayer Wheel
"Lord,
hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they
protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us
in our time of need. Amen."
Prayer : When you receive
this, please stop for a moment and say a
prayer for our ground troops in