The average age of the military man is 19 years old.
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,
and 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 Father's car than wash his own,
and 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 a 155mm howitzer.
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 fox-holes 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
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 too,
is paying the price
for our freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the
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 women over there in danger,
doing their part in this tradition of
"Manning up"
and
going to war.
So,
When you meet a man or a woman,
in or without their uniform,
willing to fight for your selfishness.....
Remember who you are,
where you're at,
and tip
your
friggin'
hat.
Capri-ciate it..........
~Worthless
Me
