I come from a military family. I grew up on air force bases, and we moved a lot. Fourteen or fifteen different schools before college. My father was military, two brothers are in the air force, and I married a navy man who with me begat an army son, Dances With Shrapnel.
Dances With Shrapnel is deployed in Afghanistan, serving our country, which has NATO obligations to fulfil. That may include cleaning up the mess left by the Bush administration when they barrelled into the illegal war in Iraq. My son does not voice dissenting opinions. He knows what he signed up for. This is his second tour there.
The heat alone over there would do me in. To suffer heat in such danger? All of these men and women who serve are heroes to me. These youngsters look so tired, they suffer such discomforts, and face incredible danger with confidence born of their pride and amazing training.
I cannot bear to watch the news. When the dead and wounded are identified, the relief I feel that it isn’t my son is immediately tempered by sorrow for the families.
To all who served, and are serving in our armed forces, thank you. It’s a dirty and dangerous career, and I get weepy when I think of your sacrifices. Not just on November 11, but every day.
No matter what the dillweeds in power have decided, you have sworn to serve. You are my heroes.