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The 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 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
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 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
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 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 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
Canadian Fighting Man that has kept this country
free for
over 190 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 woman 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..
A
short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved
ones in their helmets
"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."
Prayer :
When you read this, please stop for a moment and say
a prayer
for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on
ships, and
airmen in the air.
There is nothing
attached....
This can be very powerful.......
Of all
the gifts you could give a Canadian Soldier, Sailor,
or Airman, prayer is the very best one.
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