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Our Son and Your Son...
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; 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 howitzer.
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 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 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 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 women 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 shot..
A short lull, a little shade and a picture
of loved ones in their helmets.
"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."
When you receive this, please stop for a moment and
say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan,
sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for all those in Iraq.
all the gifts you could give a Soldier,
Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman,
prayer is the very best one.
Author Unknown
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; 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 howitzer.
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 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 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 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 women 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 shot..
A short lull, a little shade and a picture
of loved ones in their helmets.
"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."
When you receive this, please stop for a moment and
say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan,
sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for all those in Iraq.
all the gifts you could give a Soldier,
Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman,
prayer is the very best one.
Author Unknown