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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 shot... A short
lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets...
Now that you have read 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 those in Iraq. There is nothing attached... This can be
very powerful... Of all the gifts you could give a US Soldier, Sailor,
Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman, prayer is the very best one.
"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."
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