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
pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy,
a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or
be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock
roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm howitzer. He is 10
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
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
use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines
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
spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two
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
clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his
with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his
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
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
and is unashamed.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is
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
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and
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
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.......
continue to happen as they need to happen. The world is
unfolding in its usual mysterious and awesome way. These
pictures are not offered as a protest against the war, or a defense of
it. They are HEART FOOD, but help us feel as well as
think. They are part of the weaponry that Workers of Oneness
will use to fight the inner war. They are us, in that
are many other faces that could be included in this
section. The many of faces of pathos that surround a
war........any war. We send love and attention to all whom this
awe-inspiring process touches.
pictures were passed on to me through e-mail. I am now passing
them on to you.