American Fighting Man
anonymous [featured on the Small Town
Soapbox segment of the syndicated radio broadcast of Moby
in the Morning (888-MOBY-USA) on Monday, 21 July 2008]
The average age of the military man is nineteen 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 who either broke-up with him when he left home,
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 a 155mm howitzer. He is ten or fifteen 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 thirty 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 he never forgets 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 than 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 is the
American Fighting Man who has kept this country free for over
two-hundred 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 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: 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. 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 United States Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman,
Marine, or Airman, prayer is the very best one. God watch over
our troops, please.
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