Today an amazing thing happened
It was unexpected, my reaction to the parade for the 109th Engineering Co. who had returned from Afghanistan, where they had been for almost a year. Chop called me at the office a bit past 5:00 pm, Check out West Main, he said, Tell me what is going on. I did, since it is only ¼ a block from our office front door.
Spin: Anna was at day care about 4:00 pm Jayne Thompson (Annas other grandma) called me. She said, just a heads up, all the soldiers from the bla,bla,bla something or other have come back and wanted a parade.
* I thought to myself, whatever they want is cool, they did a good thing, I guess She proceeded to tell me that they all wanted, was to drive through the parade in their own convertibles. I thought instantly, how cool I want to go but then I realized that she was telling me, just as a warning getting to day care might be a chore. Ok and alternate rout might be in order.
Thunk: It was a parade, a special parade. Boys and girls who made it home from the carnage of a foreign land waved, riding in the very best and newest convertibles, they glowed with gratitude, accomplishment and relief. Traffic stopped. Both the eastbound and westbound lanes of traffic just stopped. Friday commuters, anxious for a weekend after the Rapid City week-from-hell stopped their suvs, jeeps, jalopies. Even the heavy-metal-base pumping too-cool-for-school-cars stopped. High fives, waves, pride passed between the fly boys and girls, their families and us, the common men and women. It was exhilarating.
I didn'tt mean to but in a flash I was in the back-time. Viet Namthat was our war and watching the boys in the shiny convertibles, I found war time again, Viet Nam. I remembered our boys coming home to egg-throwings, vile slurs, screams that they were baby-killers. I remembered their shame at coming home. I remembered a whole lot more that I wont go into, and I started to cry. There I was watching the boys in the convertibles and I was crying almost uncontrollably. Strange how the present ties us to the past.
Spin: I went home after work. I went to check out the state of change of my house. (you never know what to expect) I was about to leave, I was getting in my car, when I heard the honking. I heard the cheers. I heard the support. I couldn'tt help myself from walking to the edge of my property, looking down at the gap, I saw convertible after convertible, one after another driving past, every one of them had a solder riding high on the back seat of the car, waving to the citizens of rapid, and ever one of them receiving praise every 100 feet the car drove. I could hear phrases of praise being thrown from my neighbors yards, including my upstairs neighbor, which could have only come from my mothers house. I exchanged a holler of salute with my brother only yards away. What a glorious moment indeed!
I do not support war of any kind. I never have. I didn'tt support Viet Nam, Afghanistan Iraq or any of the dirty little wars in between. If we, as a nation are going to put our precious young men and women at risk however, I do support them. I always have. And today, when I saw the grass routes support for the troupes returning from Afghanistan (believe me it was across the board), I felt like we had come a couple paces down the evolutionary path.
Bon: as we watched the solders go by, my heart swelled for them. I too, can not support this war, the war in Afghanistan, or any other war we may or may not be a part of. But want I can do is send my love, and support to those who are there because they are fighting for use, and because they have no choice in the matter. They made a choice with their lives they signed on the dotted line. They are there because the feel some sort of obligation, an obligation I will never understand . But they stand by it, they mean it, and they will give their lives for it, and for that reason I support the hell out of them, and I salute them as an fellow American. And by god, that's saying a lot!
It was unexpected, my reaction to the parade for the 109th Engineering Co. who had returned from Afghanistan, where they had been for almost a year. Chop called me at the office a bit past 5:00 pm, Check out West Main, he said, Tell me what is going on. I did, since it is only ¼ a block from our office front door.
Spin: Anna was at day care about 4:00 pm Jayne Thompson (Annas other grandma) called me. She said, just a heads up, all the soldiers from the bla,bla,bla something or other have come back and wanted a parade.
* I thought to myself, whatever they want is cool, they did a good thing, I guess She proceeded to tell me that they all wanted, was to drive through the parade in their own convertibles. I thought instantly, how cool I want to go but then I realized that she was telling me, just as a warning getting to day care might be a chore. Ok and alternate rout might be in order.
Thunk: It was a parade, a special parade. Boys and girls who made it home from the carnage of a foreign land waved, riding in the very best and newest convertibles, they glowed with gratitude, accomplishment and relief. Traffic stopped. Both the eastbound and westbound lanes of traffic just stopped. Friday commuters, anxious for a weekend after the Rapid City week-from-hell stopped their suvs, jeeps, jalopies. Even the heavy-metal-base pumping too-cool-for-school-cars stopped. High fives, waves, pride passed between the fly boys and girls, their families and us, the common men and women. It was exhilarating.
I didn'tt mean to but in a flash I was in the back-time. Viet Namthat was our war and watching the boys in the shiny convertibles, I found war time again, Viet Nam. I remembered our boys coming home to egg-throwings, vile slurs, screams that they were baby-killers. I remembered their shame at coming home. I remembered a whole lot more that I wont go into, and I started to cry. There I was watching the boys in the convertibles and I was crying almost uncontrollably. Strange how the present ties us to the past.
Spin: I went home after work. I went to check out the state of change of my house. (you never know what to expect) I was about to leave, I was getting in my car, when I heard the honking. I heard the cheers. I heard the support. I couldn'tt help myself from walking to the edge of my property, looking down at the gap, I saw convertible after convertible, one after another driving past, every one of them had a solder riding high on the back seat of the car, waving to the citizens of rapid, and ever one of them receiving praise every 100 feet the car drove. I could hear phrases of praise being thrown from my neighbors yards, including my upstairs neighbor, which could have only come from my mothers house. I exchanged a holler of salute with my brother only yards away. What a glorious moment indeed!
I do not support war of any kind. I never have. I didn'tt support Viet Nam, Afghanistan Iraq or any of the dirty little wars in between. If we, as a nation are going to put our precious young men and women at risk however, I do support them. I always have. And today, when I saw the grass routes support for the troupes returning from Afghanistan (believe me it was across the board), I felt like we had come a couple paces down the evolutionary path.
Bon: as we watched the solders go by, my heart swelled for them. I too, can not support this war, the war in Afghanistan, or any other war we may or may not be a part of. But want I can do is send my love, and support to those who are there because they are fighting for use, and because they have no choice in the matter. They made a choice with their lives they signed on the dotted line. They are there because the feel some sort of obligation, an obligation I will never understand . But they stand by it, they mean it, and they will give their lives for it, and for that reason I support the hell out of them, and I salute them as an fellow American. And by god, that's saying a lot!
posted by EThunk at 10:06 PM
9 Comments:
Steve has a picture of John's camp taken from a high angle. Rows of tents and an ungodly dust storm coming in. John's kill count continues to rise.
He sends videos of himself driving his vehicle shouting at the top of his lungs and laughing as only John can... like a crazy man. He's lost at least 10 close friends. You gotta love 'em all. And wish them home soon, very soon... before it's too late.
The fact of it is at once so beautiful and so horrific. Men so angry about having their homeland invaded that they are willing to strap explosives to themselves, walk into a room of their fellow countrymen and wreak havoc. Our young sons and daughters sent there to kill these people before they can do the deed. The misguided idealism that drives both sides to behave this way and yet (and still, and finally) the courage of youth, to do what they must, trying to find a way to make it all make sense, when it will never make any sense at all.
The work of war is by far the hardest job.
It seems to me that the work of war, although anything but easy seems not so difficult as the work of peace...there are so many tribes, with so many rules and so many warriors to defend them.
Right, Ethunk. Even so, if "defending" was all they did, peace would be easy to come by. Right now we are "pretending to defend'. Such is the trecherous nature of the art of war.
By the way, I love the great way Spin and Ethunk double posted in patriotic colors. Makes the blog look like a Barnet Newman
Is your Blog Background white Polyman?
Mine's Black. T
he white type
would be the white, right?
They just need one more write--r.
I think that the confusion is from the main page and the comment page. I admit that my eyebrow raised at Polymaing's comment as well. The main page background is indeed black so white type would show up fine. But then I actually looked at the page that I was reading currently (the comment page), and sure enough the background is white.
Let's not fight it. Write white all night, alright? Or not.
Poem for Polyman
Background is black,
but white when you write.
But words when you post,
are white as a ghost,
unless you let Bon
make the color you wan(t).
And as matters of fact, Jack,
All comments are black.
Post a Comment
<< Home