Thursday, October 18, 2012

not a child but not quite an adult

They are a shorthaired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances society considers not a child but not quite an adult. Not yet, dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for this country. They never really cared much for work and they would rather wax their own car than wash their father's, but they have never collected unemployment either.

A recent High School graduate; they were probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drove a ten year old jalopy, and had a steady girlfriend or boyfriend that either broke up with them when they left, or swears to be waiting when they return from half a world away.They listen to rock and roll, hip-hop, rap, jazz, country and the roar of M270 MLRS launcher or the constant rumble of jet engines, generators or trucks.


They are 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when they were at home because they are working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. They have trouble spelling, so letter writing is a pain for them, but they can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. They can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if they must.

They live by the Warrior Ethos, the Airman's / Rifleman’s / or Sailor’s Creed.


They dig fighting positions and latrines and can apply pre-hospital care in conditions that would repulse most medical professionals.


They march until they are told to stop, or stop until they are told to march.


They obey orders instantly and without hesitation, but they are not without spirit, quick wit or individual dignity. They are self-sufficient.


They have two sets of battle uniforms: they wash one and wear the other. They keep their canteens full and their feet dry.


They sometimes forget to brush their teeth, but never to clean their weapons. They can cook their own meals, mend their own clothes, and fix their own hurts.


If you are thirsty, they will share their water with you; if you are hungry, their food. They will even split ammunition with you when hell is raining down if you run low.


  
They have learned to use their hands like weapons and weapons as if they were hands.

They can save your life - or take it, because that is their job.

They will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

They have seen more suffering and death than they should have in their short lifetime.

They have wept in public and cried in private, and usually have an eternal reminder tattooed in ink for friends who have fallen and are unashamed.

They feel every note of the National Anthem vibrate through their body standing at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around them who have not bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, they defend other American’s right to be disrespectful.

Just as their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents did, they are paying the price for our freedom. They are not children. They are the American Service Members that have kept this country free for over 200 years.

They ask for nothing except: Our support and understanding.

Remember them, always, for they have earned our respect and admiration with their blood.


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