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TEARS FROM THE WALL
At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up
that Black Granite Wall. Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and
my Sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in
front of this Wall.
Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a
regular basis. It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier,
but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that war that we
were involved in have changed. I can only pray that the ones on
the other side have learned something, and more Walls as this one,
needn't be built.
Several members of my unit and many that I did not recognize have
called me to the Wall by touching my name that is engraved upon
it. The tears aren't necessary but are hard even for me to hold
back. Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers. This
was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of the Wall. Touch
the Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that
we had. I have learned to put the bad memories aside and remember
only the pleasant times that we had together. Tell our other Brothers
out there to come and visit me, not to say Good Bye but to say Hello
and be together again, even for a short time and to ease that pain
of loss that we all share.
Today, an irresistible and loving call comes from the Wall. As I
approach I can see an elderly lady and as I get closer I recognize
her. It's Momma! As much as I have looked forward to this day, I
have also regretted it because
I didn't know what reaction I would have.
Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard
it must have been for her to come to this place and my mind floods
with the pleasant memories of 30 years past. There's a young man
in a military uniform standing with his arm around her......My God!......It
has to be my son. Look at him trying to be the man without a tear
in his eye. I yearn to tell him how proud I am, seeing him standing
tall, straight and proud in his uniform.
Momma comes closer and touches the Wall and I feel the soft and
gentle touch I had not felt in so many years. Dad has crossed to
this side of the Wall and through our touch, I try to convey to
her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling
pain. I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch the
Wall and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand. All
the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past, flash
between our touch and I tell her that it's all right. Carry on with
your life and don't worry about me. I can see as I look into her
eyes that she hears and understands me and a big burden has been
lifted from her.
I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past. My lucky
charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO, a tattered
and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew
up as a child and several medals that I had earned and were presented
to my wife. One of them is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very
proud of and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal. I
had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam and he had
probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.
I can tell that they are preparing to leave and I try to take a
mental picture of them together, because I don't know when I will
see them again. I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return
and can only thank them that I was not forgotten. My wife and Momma
near the Wall for one final touch and so many years of indecision,
fear and sorrow are let go.
As they turn to leave I feel my tears that had not flowed for so
many years,
form as if dew drops on the other side of the Wall.
They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulder. My
son suddenly stops and slowly returns. He stands straight and proud
in front of me and snaps a salute. Something makes him move to the
Wall and he puts his hand upon the Wall and touches my tears that
had formed on the face of the Wall and I can tell that he sense
my presence there and the pride and the love that I have for him.
He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try
my best to reassure him that it's all right and the tears do not
make him any less of a man. As he moves back wiping the tears from
his eyes, he silently mouths, God Bless you, Dad. God Bless, YOU,
Son. We WILL meet someday but meanwhile,
go on your way. There is no hurry. There is no hurry at all.
As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE
there today, as loud as I can, THANKS FOR REMEMBERING and as others
on this side of the Wall join in, I notice that the US Flag that
so proudly flies in front of us everyday, is flapping and standing
proudly straight out in the wind today,
THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING
For he today, that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother.
AUTHOR, UNKNOWN
A man has not lived, until he has almost died
For those who have fought, Life has a flavor
the protected will never know...
Signed, Vietnam Veteran
(The above was found written in pencil on the metal seat back
of a bus in
northern Thailand many, many years ago.)
To Those Who Want To Burn the Flag, just ask permission...
Does the first Amendment gives us the right to desecrate the American flag? Or is the flag a sacred symbol of our nation, deserving
protection by law? Tough call?
"The Solution"
For those who want to light Old Glory on fire,stomp
all over it, or spit on it to make some sort of
"statement," I say let them do it.
But under one condition: they MUST get permission from three sponsors.
First, you need permission of a War Veteran, perhaps a Marine who fought at Iwo Jima. The American flag was raised over Mount Surabachi upon the bodies of thousands of dead buddies. Each night spent on Iwo meant half of everyone you knew would be dead tomorrow, a coin flip away from a bloody end upon a patch of sand your mother couldn't find on a map. Or maybe ask a Vietnam vet who spent years tortured in a small, filthy cell unfit for a dog. Or a Korean War soldier who helped rescue half a nation from Communism, or a Desert Storm veteran who repulsed a bloody dictator from raping and illaging an innocent country.
That flag represented your mother and father, your sister and brother, your friends, neighbors, and everyone at home. I wonder what they would say if someone asked them permission to burn the American flag?
Next, you need a signature from an Immigrant. Their brothers and
sisters may still languish in their native land, often under tyranny,
poverty and misery. Or maybe they died on the way here, never to touch our
shores. Some have seen friends and family get tortured and murdered by their
own government for daring to do things we take for granted every day. For
those who risked everything simply for the chance to become an American ...
what kind of feelings do they have for the flag when they Pledge Allegiance
the first time? Go to a naturalization ceremony and see for yourself, the
tears of pride, the thanks, the love and respect of this nation, as they
finally embrace the American flag as their own.
Ask one of them if it would be OK to tear up the flag.
Last, you should get the signature of a Mother. Not just any Mother.
You need a mother of someone who gave their life for America. It doesn't
even have to be from a war. It could be a cop. Or a fireman. Maybe a Secret
Service or NSA agent. Then again, it could be a common foot soldier as well.
When that son or daughter is laid to rest, their family is given one gift by
the American people; an American flag.
Go on. I dare you. Ask that mother to spit on her flag.
I wonder what the founding fathers thought of the American flag as
they drafted the Declaration of Independence? They knew this act would drag
young America into war with England, the greatest power on earth. They also
knew failure meant more than just a disappointment. It meant a noose snugly
stretched around their necks. But they needed a symbol, something to
inspire the new nation. Something to represent the seriousness, the purpose
and conviction that we held our new idea of individual freedom. Something
worth living for. Something worth dying for. I wonder how they'd feel if
someone asked them permission to toss their flag in a mud puddle?
Away from family, away from the precious shores of home, in the face
of overwhelming odds and often in the face of death, the American flag
inspires those who believe in the American dream, the American promise, the
American vision ... Americans who don't appreciate the flag don't appreciate
this nation. And those who appreciate this nation appreciate the American
flag. Those who fought, fought for that flag. Those who died, died for that
flag. And those who love America, love that flag. And defend it.
So if you want to desecrate the American flag, before
you spit on it or before you burn it ... I have a simple request.
Just ask permission. Not from the Constitution. Not from some obscure
law. Not from the politicians or the pundits. Instead, ask those who
defended our nation so that we may be free today. Ask those who struggled
to reach our shores so that they may join us in the American dream.
And ask those who clutch a flag in place of their sacrificed sons
and daughters, given to this nation so that others may be free. For
we cannot ask permission from those who died wishing they could, just
once ... or once again ... see, touch or kiss the flag that stands
for our nation,
the United States of America ...
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Veterans Day
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Veterans Day Poems The Poppy
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