Memorial Day, 2009
Note: Pause "Playlist" device before starting presentation (located in right column)
I put this together as a reminder of the tremendous sacrifices rendered to the American people by our parents and grandparents. I selected the Pacific War because it closely parallels the exceptional music score written by Richard Rogers for a 1950s television documentary entitled "Victory at Sea.” In any case, I hope my readers will enjoy the performance of the U. S. Marine Corps Band and reflect upon the fact that our parents and grandparents purchased the liberty we enjoy today at an incredible cost.
This tradition continues today. As a post-script to this video, let me add a few words that are popular in an email making the rounds. The average age of our warriors is 19 years; the typical male is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who under normal circumstances is considered by most of 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.
Our soldier, sailor, airman, and Marine is 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 to serve, or swears to be waiting for his return. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
They’re 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when 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 his weapon; he knows how to clear a jam.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until told to stop, or stop until told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient; he is ready to assume command of his unit.
He has two sets of field uniforms; 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. When he gets that care package from back home, he’ll share his Mom’s cookies.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like 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 than he should have in his short lifetime; he’ll take those memories with him to the grave.
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.
This young person is paying the price for our freedom, just as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather did. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is an American fighting man; he and others like him have kept this nation free from well over 200 years.
Today’s warrior is also an American woman; she has earned her place of honor in our society. She stepped up to the plate along side her brother in arms; when her nation called, she answered. Our warriors have asked nothing in return, except our friendship, our respect, and our understanding. Remember them always, for they earned these three things with blood and suffering.
Our soldier, sailor, airman, and Marine is 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 to serve, or swears to be waiting for his return. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
They’re 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when 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 his weapon; he knows how to clear a jam.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until told to stop, or stop until told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient; he is ready to assume command of his unit.
He has two sets of field uniforms; 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. When he gets that care package from back home, he’ll share his Mom’s cookies.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like 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 than he should have in his short lifetime; he’ll take those memories with him to the grave.
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.
This young person is paying the price for our freedom, just as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather did. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is an American fighting man; he and others like him have kept this nation free from well over 200 years.
Today’s warrior is also an American woman; she has earned her place of honor in our society. She stepped up to the plate along side her brother in arms; when her nation called, she answered. Our warriors have asked nothing in return, except our friendship, our respect, and our understanding. Remember them always, for they earned these three things with blood and suffering.
posted by Mustang @ 06:00
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