tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26642513391591109542024-03-13T10:26:25.257-07:00Honor thy sacrificeTChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-27413193249955254812016-09-21T06:21:00.001-07:002016-09-21T06:21:41.028-07:00Take a Knee
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I
made a choice when I was much younger wherein I made a decision to place an
actual value on my life. Have you done that? You must consider precisely for
what reason might you hand over your life to someone else and what exactly does
that mean. This isn’t about being brave or acting reckless, it is however about
knowing that change needs to happen in our world, even within our country.
Every generation must make these decisions, each generation gets to a point
where people have forgotten the sacrifices of their grandparents’ and the kids
think they know what needs to be done based on the failures of those in the
past. This then of course precedes arguments over what has been done and what
must be done. Around and around this goes, the media uses it to increase
ratings by hyping the arguments and the politicians use it to field support and
disdain for their opponent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Then
you have those whom volunteer as soldiers, these people have decided that
something need be done, they realize that peace is unobtainable without action
and often times that action may turn out violent. Peace is earned, it is not
given free from sacrifice so who makes that sacrifice? So they place a value on
their life, they know that there is a huge chance they will be called upon to
deliver their life in lieu of another who remained back home in the safety of
their neighborhood, who has the opportunity to protest the actions soldiers
have taken, and let me communicate here that those soldiers aren’t just the men
and women in the military, these soldiers are also those men and women who’ve
signed on as police officers all around our country, they too are soldiers
fighting the domestic criminal element, often times the very last line of
defense against those hell bent on hurting and destroying the freedoms we enjoy
in the United States of America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">So
those whom have decided not to sacrifice their own safety for the good of the
general population many times decided to protest the very actions the soldiers
have taken to provide them the freedom…to protest. And so many times these
protests become an action not taken by many to actually voice their need for
justice as they may suggest but an action they take in order to f feel as
though they are part of something great, but let me tell you here and now,
there is nothing great about taking part in a protest you do not understand for
the sake of belonging to something. Taking a knee to protest something you have
done nothing to help change, especially when you have enjoyed making millions
off of those that have, taking a knee when you have yet to pay taxes, to
contribute to society by making choices that actually affect society and by
making sacrifices you don’t even understand, and yes I am now speaking to the
children who think it’s cool to kneel at their sporting event like their
misguided hero in order to get time in the spotlight, rather than doing
something to help and affect the element you protest. You should be ashamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">When
you take a knee during the National Anthem, you are pissing all over the ideals
that those who’ve valued their lives against yours have attempted to preserve,
you have waved off the sacrifices so many have made, the lives so many men and
women have given in the name of freedom and the preservation of peace and
opportunity in America and around the world. You are hurting those that have
spent their lives dealing with the pains and haunts they brought home with them
when they fought terrorism and domestic and international. You are spitting on
the graves of those who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice, soldiers and law
enforcement officers who have lost their lives protecting yours, and the
families left behind as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-54114466529913001512016-04-29T13:12:00.001-07:002016-04-29T13:12:14.686-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
Rollin' Down Hill</div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">‘Ol Merle once crooned his desire
for our country to quit <i>rollin’ down hill </i>and I’m not certain I agree.
Don’t get me wrong I love this country, I have been all over this world and in
my humble opinion you’d be damned to find another place as beautiful, strong
and free as America. This country has a will made up from the sweat of every
immigrant and patriot that has ever worked her land or sewed crops in her
fields, spanned our mighty rivers and climbed our majestic mountains, and that
will can never be broken by any two bit, self proclaimed soldier of some hierarchical
spirit whose charged them with clearing this world of anyone whom opposes their
beliefs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">When The Okie from Muskogee bellowed
out the words to this song, exclaiming our country <i>rollin downhill like a
snowball headed for hell</i> I cant
help but think of the state of politics in our country right now, no matter
whom you might be vying for to be the next face of the highest office in this
land, you’ve got to be ashamed of the choices we have right now. We live in a
democracy and if the people vote to elect a certain candidate then that’s the
way it is, that’s the leader the people want, and for other candidates to
acknowledge that by proclaiming their banding together to fight that
opportunity is a shambles. Rather than sharing their intent to protect our country
or what they might do to make our country stronger, more successful, more
right, they act like 7 year old boys in the school yard ganging up on another
kid because he speaks the loudest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">What does that say about each of
those candidates, their answer is to gang up and persecute the other guy instead of
addressing the people of this great nation and convey to them their intentions
if elected; a shameful, incredible and disgusting waste of time and money and insult
to the intelligence of the people of our nation. Our country is rolling down
hill all right, like a boulder that’s finally shook free from its precipice and
is now tumbling wildly threatening to protect her sandy shores and golden
prairies in the face of ever increasing terrorism and we need someone to step
in and gain control of her, not to cry because they can’t handle the fight.
Like Roosevelt liked to say, "Bully on" America, stand up and take control away from the politicians, remember
what former President Reagan said about politics…that the job of a politician
and a world leader is to be a servant of the people and not the other way
round. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-90391043348076097552016-03-24T07:15:00.000-07:002016-04-05T11:21:55.317-07:00"71"<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">"71"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I tore open the envelope addressed to me from my ex wife and pulled
a note from it, it read; “Tracy, when you went to war in South West Asia you
sent this and asked me to keep it safe until you get back, I kept it safe on my
key chain for the last twenty six years, I thought you might want it back.” In
the envelope there was a small, round, brass tag with the number “71” stamped
on it. It was the tag from my gas mask. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In 1991 I sat huddled in a corner of a dilapidated underground
parking garage in the dark, I was dressed in my chemical gear and mask, I hated
breathing through it, I hated being in it, I hated the sweat that poured down
my back as we waited for the all clear sign. We didn’t know that most of the Scud
missiles that Saddam had sent to us were empty of or had very little chemicals in
them, but we knew he had used chemicals in the past so we weren’t taking any
chances. And the missiles were large enough to cause a lot of damage on their
own. As I sat there having just gotten in country, peering out through the sand
covered lenses of my mask, I thought about faith and I thought about my
girlfriend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Old dust and sand hovered in the air thickly, my lungs struggled to
fill and I sat, waiting, tapping the small, round brass tag on the case on my
hip for my gas mask, as if to signal to myself that I was still in control.
This would be a regular occurrence while we remained in the staging area near
Khobar Village, it happened while we were sleeping, and while we stood in line
for breakfast. This was in 1991, long
before there was a permanent U.S. base of any kind in Saudi
Arabia, no Burger King, no imbedded media and no cellphones, hell they hadn’t
even been invented yet. But there was the good ‘ol U.S. mail, we would send out
letters to home, but getting mail from home was a disaster, I got letters that
had been sent to me in the first few days of my tour from my family as I was
leaving the country nine months later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">That night, as I lay staring out at the sky over the desert, I thought
about times I sat on the front steps of my girlfriend’s parents house, in the
cool Minnesota nights, the smell of fresh cut grass, staring up at the stars
and holding hands and the smell of her hair as she lay her head on my shoulder.
That was the safest I’d ever felt, back then I always felt safe in her arms, in
the stare from her cool blue eyes. But things change, I changed. And when I
returned home part of me didn’t, it remained there, buried in the hot, flea
ridden, oil saturated, blood stained sand. Any innocence that survived my
childhood was laid to rest there and despite that I wasn’t about to let go of
the only thing I knew to be safe in my world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It would be a quarter of a century later, almost twenty five years of
struggling to make things work, to build a family and trying to be a husband
and father my wife and children might be proud of. How many times I’d wished I
was back in that filthy desert, not because I liked it, not because I felt safe
there, not because I didn’t want to be with my kids or my wife but because I
understood it there, I knew how to operate there, there was a sense of control
amongst utter chaos that gets burned to a part of a soldier somewhere deep
inside him. It’s sort of like sitting on the bottom of a swimming pool, looking
up at the surface of the water knowing that you can only hold your breath for
so long, that if you opened your mouth you might drown, that maybe when the
hurt and the burning in your lungs grows too intense you might be too far from
the surface to survive, but it’s that burning in your lungs, that sharp pain in
the back of your head as the oxygen de-pleats that you senselessly crave, it’s
like a long lost brother, a part of you that makes some sort of wickedly perverted
sense. So you close your eyes and feel it, absorb it, caress it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-88740454261900532412015-11-11T12:31:00.002-08:002015-11-11T12:31:43.345-08:00Its Four in the Morning...<br />
It was four in the morning when she rolled over and couldn’t seem to fall back to sleep. The window was open slightly and it was cold out but she liked the feel and smell of the fresh late fall air. She laid there on her back and watched the ceiling fan slowly spin around and around listened to her husband sleeping soundly next to her, she watched him for a while then decided to forfeit and get out of bed.<br />
<br />
She stopped to peek in at her kids before making her way to the kitchen for a drink of water, and then she crossed the dining room to find a spot and curl up on the couch under a cozy throw and watch the clouds slowly pass in front of the moon out the front window.<br />
<br />
This happens every now and again, she’ll watch the sky until it begins to turn from black to cobalt blue to shades of orange and yellow as it rises above the park across the street. She won’t turn on the TV, and she won’t read a book. She’ll just sit there and stare out the window at the sky, her throat will turn dry, her palms will begin to sweat and her heart begins to race. She isn’t sick, and she isn’t necessarily a morning person. She is one of the 1.4% of all American women who’ve served in the United States military. She is one of the 5.2% of the United States population who’ve served our country in times of war and conflict.<br />
<br />
Those are small numbers; hell, it’s not easy for someone to make the sacrifice that she has made, not even she knew full well what she was in for when she signed up. The morning of the day she made that decision she did what all veterans find themselves doing before they swear in, they look at themselves and take full inventory, for her it was in the bathroom mirror, it was partially fogged over but she looked in her eyes through the reflection nonetheless. She looked at her cheekbones she got from her father, and her nose and chin she got from her mother. She looked at the color in her eyes and the deep seeded need to protect those less fortunate from her grandfather.<br />
<br />
She stood there and thought about all that she loved in the world, she thought about her brothers and sisters and the little neighbor boys across the street and how sweet they were to her every time she walked past them to her car to go to work. Their dirty little faces as they played in the puddles in the street. She didn’t have a boyfriend then, nor did she have kids of her own.<br />
<br />
She looked in that mirror and thought about all those around the world being oppressed and tortured and killed and brought up hiding in their homes from the fighting in the streets and she made a decision. She decided then and there to do something about it, she looked into her eyes and prayed to her God and with resolution determined the full value of her own life. She decided that her life and blood was worth sacrificing for the good of the young boys across the street, for the freedom of those whose faces she looked at in the news each night. She knows the statistics, she knows that the freedoms granted to the majority are fought for and maintained by the absolute minority. She knows Freedom isn’t free, that there is a price on it and someone has to pay that forward.<br />
<br />
What she didn’t realize is that the sacrifices our veterans make doesn’t end when they leave the military, when they are done with their tours of duty. That sacrifice is echoed in their daily lives when they go to the grocery store and find it difficult to determine which box of cereal to choose from knowing there are many whom don’t have that liberty. It is echoed, when they fall awake in the early morning hours just before dawn, and they spend hours looking out at the moon waiting for the safety of the noise of the day to begin, when quiet and stillness is frightening and constantly threatens to spill over your brow in sweat as you relive moments of bloody conflict and turmoil in your sleep.<br />
<br />
7.3% of all living Americans have served in the military at some point in their lives. Please say thank you, whether or not you agree with their ideals, they made a conscious decision to sacrifice themselves for the rest of us, and that deserves recognition.<br />
<br />TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-46635215972030704702015-11-11T07:01:00.001-08:002015-11-11T07:01:04.293-08:00Veterans Day 2015“Thank you for your service”. As veterans we will hear that phrase now and again. A lesser used one seems to be “thanks for your sacrifice”. The thing about sacrifice is that it’s not a onetime forfeiture. The sacrifice a veteran makes stays with them for the rest of their lives. You can see it in the eyes of your grandfather, your aunt, your father, mother, brother and little sister as well as your neighbor. The sort of sacrifice a veteran makes in the service of their country, their loved ones and the generations yet to come can take a momentous toll on that veteran.<br />
<br />
I appreciate Veteran’s Day, and I think it is appropriate, that said however I wish thanking a veteran, that percentage of society whose taken an oath to serve the rest of society by maintaining and securing the freedoms we all enjoy in America and around the world, whom had to look at themselves and decide the true value of their very own lives, were on the minds of more people on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
Today, only 5.2% of the population of the United States are wartime veterans and only 1.7% are peacetime veterans[i]. That is a very small group of men and woman who’ve made such a sacrifice for the good of the whole of America and those in need around the globe.<br />
<br />
Whether or not one agrees with another’s ideals, the fact that that person made a decision to fight for the lives and freedoms of the rest of society ought to be thought of in high regard and recognized by those whom enjoy the freedoms we all take advantage of.<br />
<br />
If you see a veteran today or at any other time, please say thank you, it would only take a moment, and it mean the world to them…literally.<br />
<br />
Thank you to all who’ve served and sacrificed and to the families of our men and woman serving today. The sacrifices you have made and continue to make do not go unanswered.<br />
<br />
<br />
[i] http://fivethirtyeight.com/datalab/what-percentage-of-americans-have-served-in-the-military/<br />
<br />
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-85690371297144828572015-07-30T09:24:00.001-07:002015-07-30T09:24:43.724-07:00Like a Brick Upside the Head
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I have been in dire straits; I have
been trapped between the enemy and hell itself. I have looked into the eyes of
men that wanted nothing more than my very own life. I know physical pain and
mental anguish and having to make choices for the sole purpose of survival of
the greater majority despite risking my own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now you might think I have cached quite a bit
of knowledge, skill and bravery that would serve me appropriately in just about
any situation going forward, well I am here to tell you that no matter the
experiences a man may live through and the skills he has learned by them, there
are still things in this world that will bring him to tears and fear at the
drop of a hat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I was married for 23 years and
thought I knew what love was, what it entailed and what my future held, but in
a matter of just a few of those years it all came to a fumbling, crashing and immensely
sad end. People change throughout life and partners need to be in tune with
each other in order to change with one another, otherwise their paths begin to
lead away and separate. That’s not to say that their individual lives need
always be connected at the hip, we are all different people but keeping
connected even when we change though difficult at times is essential. When that
doesn’t happen, and you lose sight of each other through the distance between
your paths, it may be too late in the day and too hard to find your way back to
close that expanse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">When that happened and I found myself
waking up one day looking at someone I don’t recognize in the mirror, even
though it felt like there was something ugly rotting away inside of me, logically
I realized at some point that the pain would eventually subside and I’d be able
to move on. But when it involves children things get really convoluted and
messy. At that point it’s no longer about you but how you can move forward
without destroying the lives and innocence of them. In my case my ex and I decided
to base all of our decisions and relationship going forward on the needs of the
kids despite sacrificing the marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">That is far easier said than done.
Severing all emotional communication and sticking to the business aspect of the
separation and divorce especially when neither of you is in a financial state
that serves either of you appropriately is seemingly impossible. With the taste
of bitterness and anger on my tongue and regret and shame in my pocket I tried to
push on into the unknown and muddled future. But nearly every day I have to correspond
with my ex, these days we text and email which is probably a good thing since
for some God forsaken reason hearing a partner’s voice over the phone after 23
years is still hard to swallow. And even though there are valid reasons why we
are divorced, reasons I held true to myself and my emotional survival, reasons
I would still not change I can’t help but feel all fucked up inside at times
when I see her, why is that the case, it hits me now and again like a brick
upside the head. Just when I think I have it clear in my mind and I can deal
with the interaction for the benefit of the kids, it’s always there to remind
me of a love that I cherished for many years and I guess maybe you just can’t
rid that from your heart no matter the reasons for its end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">So why can I rely on the training I received
as a young soldier even today and my ability to determine danger ahead but when
dealing with the fragments of a two decade old relationship I can’t see the
impending menace as it circles me? It literally sucks the strength from my
middle aged frame right through my pores. It washes through my mind like a
creeping fog in a dark forest and I end up pulling shame over me like a thick
robe. I get my kids every other weekend, but because I had to take a second job
to pay for my own way since my ex gets the majority of my check I still have to
work when I have them and on the day they leave they go before I come home from
work. I find myself standing at the room in my apartment they have to share crying
and feeling like someone just ripped a hole right through me. I enjoy them while
they are there and feel devastated when they are away. And it just doesn’t seem
to get any better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">It is all reminiscent of when I came
back from overseas and I couldn’t complete simple tasks because I didn’t have
to do them under fire. Today I make excuses to chat with them over the phone or
through text and email, but I always feel like I’m trying to get back to them
through a raging storm and I just can’t gain any ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I don’t know how much this admition
to my blog will make sense to any of you, but I am gambling that there are many
men and women soldiers and divorcees that can relate, sometimes I think tossing
out a flag to see if we really are the only ones in the boat or not is part of
our need to survive and connect. I am still early on in my journey through
this, still trying to find my way through the pouring fear and wading through
all the thick puddles of embarrassment and humiliation. But like any good
soldier I will keep moving forward regardless of the weight of my pack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Thanks for reading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-7516426941227225072014-11-11T08:57:00.000-08:002014-11-11T08:57:18.316-08:00Today is a day to reflect
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">It’s a difficult thing to consider;
the loss of a family after a divorce. The familial structure a man has been a
part of for 22 years before it broke apart. You miss living with your children,
not seeing them at breakfast before school, nor after work, and missing out on carrying
their limp little bodies to bed after they’d fallen asleep in your lap. Knowing
you won’t be there when they fall playing outside in the snow, and when they
come home from school or cross country after besting their record time with a
huge smile on their faces. And you aren’t there at dinner, when everyone prays
aloud, then asking each other what the best part of their day was. You think of
those things as you sit at a table with a bunch of empty chairs, it’s quiet and
lonely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">When I got up this morning I looked
out across the fresh snow in my yard and I didn’t see my nation’s Colors
furling in the wind. I tried to picture standing in my old house while my
children slept in their beds, looking out the front window at the garden
wherein lies the flag pole I erected in the memory of my father and all those
who’ve paid the definitive sacrifice. When I reflect on my own service, I
remember thinking of my niece, my family, my wife, asleep in their beds back
home as I cleared bunkers and shelled out buildings in South West Asia, I’d picture
them dreaming good dreams as I clutched my rifle, praying that I would return
home and could join them, hold my niece, and lie with my sleeping wife. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a difficult thing to consider today, how
many times I prayed I would return home, not to leave again, to be safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">My heart aches for those whom didn’t
get to come home to the arms of their loved ones. I feel for those left at home
alone when their loved ones did not return. Today I stand here looking at an
empty yard, my children someplace different, my wife no longer mine to hold. My
world has changed and I will change with it, I will adapt and overcome. I will
move on as I should, there will be more days spent with my children. But today
is a day to reflect, and reflect I will. I will be sad. I will be hurt. I will
remember and I will be proud. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-75533389644440727072014-11-11T06:19:00.000-08:002014-11-11T06:19:21.845-08:00Lest we forget the valor of our young boys and girls on this Veterans Day
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I
was going through some old packages the other day I’ve had in storage when I
came across a picture of my basic training company. It was almost shocking how
young we all looked, just boys I thought, young pimple faced kids void of any
hint of facial hair. We were all prideful then, new soldiers, clean pressed
uniforms, and we all had a stoic look upon our faces. I remember clearly
standing on those risers waiting to get our picture taken and I don’t remember
feeling as young as I look in the image I now held in my hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Little
did I know the impact that my service would have in my life, even had I known I
wouldn’t have been able to relate it to anything, it wouldn’t have made any
sense, and at that age I would have refuted it anyway. I remember after I had
left the military post tours in Panama and later South West Asia, my little
sister enlisted; I was afraid for her, for the loss of innocence she would
experience, she was excited, bold, seeking adventure and honor in the name of
serving after her father and her brother, me. She would go on to become a field
nurse, imbedded with a forward troop maneuvering through city streets in Bagdad
in the early morning hours. She would witness horrific injuries, patch up her
fellow soldiers, meet her husband and the father of her two children on one of
those missions. He himself would be injured during one of his many tours behind
enemy lines and receive a Purple Heart for his sacrifice. That said I am proud
of my little sister, it is because of the bravado and untested nerve of young
men and woman in our country that has made our country what it is and for that
I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">It
seems to me that these days boys and girls are not given the recognition they
deserve. I think they come off brash and over confident, but that is natural,
that is driven by our own needs to survive. I wonder how many people realize
how many under age children served in the military around the world from the
very beginning, from powder boys whom served on gun boats to the some 250,000 British
teenagers whom fought alongside their countrymen during World War One. They
sought adventure and many just to escape the bleak and dismal conditions at
home at the time. Nonetheless they all joined and fought and died on the front
lines, in the trenches and it was easy even though technically the law said you
had to be 19, many didn’t have birth certificates then so at 14 if you met the
height requirement you were in. Even in Homer’s Iliad he spoke of the valor of
boy soldiers serving in the Trojan War, victims not only of war but of the
destruction of youthful possibility. It is true, innocence is lost among the
ravages of conflict, and it is a dour environment for any youth, young men or
woman to be. That being the case it should not be forgotten that among so many forgotten
heroes here and abroad, regardless of their age, sex or religion, they fought
because they believed in the sanctity of freedom and a peaceful legacy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">On
this day, let us not forget all who’ve served, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>let us
not forget the mindful commitment to all of us and the sacrifice so many boys,
girls, young men and woman and all those who’ve given so much to preserve the
rights we all share to live out a peaceful and fruitful existence. Thank you
veterans, for gauging the value of your very own life against those of us all
and making the sacrifices you have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Yes
I was young then, when I look at those pictures of my youthful face, I remember
all too well every moment I spent in conflict, I remember calling out my mother’s
name in prayer more than a few times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
asking for quick delivery of the souls of my friends and colleagues to a grander
place than where I stood, and where they laid, taken too early as it were. I
remember you today and every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-51249802070704220862014-08-14T05:51:00.003-07:002014-11-11T06:24:40.411-08:00Is it our job, is it our place?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was sitting at the table in the
cafeteria at work where a number of my co-workers and me enjoy conversation
while we eat our sack lunches. Though it always seems too short it’s our only
respite for the day. In the cafeteria in one corner there hangs a television
which is almost always tuned to CNN. And on the scroll along the bottom of the
screen are highlights of the trouble ensuing between the Iraqis’ and the
fanatical IS militants. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the conversation turns to Iraq,
there are a number of folks at the table whom voice their steady opinion that
we (Americans) shouldn’t be over there, that we ought to let them take care of
each other and eventually we won’t have to worry about it. I believe that if my
co-workers were able to let their machismo relax a little and actually think
about their statement they’d see the fault in it. But that never seems to
happen here, the conversation wells up and the energy turns critical and as it
usually happens, being the only veteran at the table the looks and the question
seems to land in my lap; “What do you think, should we go over there and kick
some ass or should we just let them all duke it out?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I doubt any one of the men at
this table might actually “go over there and kick some ass…” if they’d be given
the chance, and I don’t think those are our only choices either. And to be
honest I don’t really think it is our business at the moment, however we have
invested ourselves in that country the last twenty years and it would be a
shame if we stepped out on them now, leaving them to the much more heavily
armed IS. That being the case I explained to my co-horts that if I stood on my
front porch at my home, looking out over the neighborhood and happened to watch
as some small group of men pushed their way into one of my neighbors house, I
could not ignore it. “What would be in it for you?” A co-worker blurted out. I
looked at him and told him that I could stand there and watch those men take
over my neighbor’s house and property, I could let them push my neighbor out
into the street and I might even offer him my couch if he had no other place to
go. I don’t really know him very well though; in fact I wouldn’t even say we
were friends. And his property doesn’t butt up against mine; it’s at the end of
the block, so I really have nothing to gain from it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, as the following days pass I
feel a little less comfortable with allowing my children to play outside if I
am not around. I close my garage door when I am not standing at it and make
certain my doors and windows are secure, I mean you just never know right? The
group of men who’ve pushed their way into my neighbor’s house have their right
to believe what they want and it’s not my job to persecute them for it or for
their behavior. I am not a cop and it’s not happened in my back yard. Then I
began to think, If those men believed it OK to do what they did, might more men
believe that that behavior is all right, what if more men like them come around
and see that they can get away with the same behavior, might they not try the
same thing to another neighbor of mine and eventually what is happening at the
end of the street might now be happening next door?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly it appears that my very own
home and property is at risk, my way of life is threatened by those men at the
end of the block. And by the time they move to the house next door to mine
there will be many of them. The tables will be turned and life as I know it
will be in danger. It will be too late. The time for action will have passed
long ago. What I might have gained or retained; peace of mind, a feeling of
security, freedom to live as I have for so long will have been erased before I
had a chance to preserve it. The time to have done something will have been
apparently erased. And I begin to think that I should have done something when
I first saw them enter my neighbor’s home. I should have gone knocking, when
there weren’t as many of them, I would have gathered my friends and protected
my neighbor, standing up to those men in the beginning. Sure they have a right
to believe whatever they want to, but they can seek another place to practice
their beliefs. And it’s not just about my home; it’s about having a conscience
and heart, it’s about looking out for those whom are vulnerable, and showing
those whom seek to take advantage of others that they will be opposed, that
they cannot walk in and take what they want. It’s about preserving innocence
and freedom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The folks that the IS militants are
persecuting over there; the Yazidis’ have been practicing their simple religion
for over three thousand years. The militants speak of a belief and a religion
they want to cover the region in is just a few months old and is being built
upon the persecution of others and utter violence as retribution for
non-belief. Yeah we have been there before haven’t we, and we will be there
again. But as Americans we know the power and value of freedom, we know what it
means to be persecuted after all that’s who we are, the down trodden, the
persecuted and the banished from around the world. We have built a life for
ourselves here and for those seeking solace and comfort. No it’s not our job to
take care of the rest of the world. But it is our duty as Americans to stand up
for the little guy, for those who can’t stand up for themselves. That’s what I
believe. That’s what I stand for.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s not a job for everyone, that’s
why we volunteer, that’s why we don’t require every girl and boy to serve. It’s
your right to protest, it’s your right to hope and pray and wish for peace. And
it’s our job as American soldiers to step in and confront the bullies and
eliminate those forces that threaten our way of life here and abroad, and by
doing so, giving peace a chance to grow. When we have protected our shores then
those who choose to carry a more passive torch, can step up and feed the
hungry, pray with the needy and bandage the hurt. And together we can hope to
make our world a better place for everybody.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-60195760428463466492014-06-12T11:26:00.004-07:002014-06-12T11:27:16.131-07:00Dont Tread On Me<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
"DONT TREAD ON ME"</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">As a
veteran of the United States Armed Services and a patriot of my country, I am not
averse to speaking out in support of our <i>Land of the Free.</i> Don’t get me
wrong, I don’t stand on a soap box and I don’t chase down folks to argue my
points to, but if I am standing in line at the local gas station and I hear
someone begin talking smack about America, I might speak up and respectfully
defend her. I gave an oath to do so and that didn’t end when I completed my
tour of duty and removed my uniform. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I am
also a motorcyclist, I ride an old beat up cruiser from the ‘70’s, it is
scratched and dented, and dirty and loud but it is my ride and it has carried
me over many miles without fail. On this bike I have a sticker, it is yellow
with a coiled snake in a patch of grass drawn on it and the words below the
snake read…”Don’t tread on me.” It is small, 3 x 5 inches or so. I take pride
in Gadsden’s flag; the meaning for me behind the flag as I understand it, is that
I won’t go out and pick a fight with someone but if you threaten me, those I
love or the land I stand on, I will strike to protect it. As a soldier I took a
similar oath to my country when I joined the Army and I hold that oath very
close to my heart to this day. Love it or leave it, this is America, and there
is no free’er country in the world. In no other place on earth can I, given the
opportunity simply by asking for it, and stepping up to work for it, attain
whatever level of success I wish. Not to say it isn’t difficult at times, I
know this more than many having suffered for years with PTSD, not everyone
feels like they may have been given that opportunity, but here in America you
have the choice to be or not to be, to speak up for or against the
establishment and to live wherever you want to. You can go to school or sit at
home and grow flowers to sell on Saturday mornings in the city park if you
wish. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you will have to go after it,
nothing is free, including the freedom we enjoy in this country to do as we
please. And it’s the soldiers who’ve paid for that freedom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Unfortunately
in recent history there are those who’ve tarnished that ideal for those of us
who wave Gadsden’s flag. Please don’t let a couple of mislead, dare I say
mentally anguished people destroy a symbol constructed to gather those whom
believe in our country to fight together for her. God bless the officers whom
were ambushed and whose lives were stripped from them and their families. These
men donned a badge and took an oath to serve and to protect this country’s citizens,
how dare these two villains pass judgment on them and take their honorable
souls from our lives. God knows these two officers and they will stand by each
other’s side to protect us forever more from another place, God bless them. As
for the other two, they will be damned and suffer the consequences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Some
folks in the media have gone on to equate Gadsden’s flag to radicalism because
of events such as this. It’s time to focus on the villains, and the mechanism
that began these events, not the symbol. It is a symbol of strength and pride,
bravery and commitment, let’s let that stand, lets pray for the victims of this
latest event and reclaim the flag as something we can be proud of, not allowing
the villains to discolor it and nor the media to change its meaning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V678WSg27vU/U5nwvWP8xoI/AAAAAAAABg4/9LnEL4H730k/s1600/gadsden-large.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V678WSg27vU/U5nwvWP8xoI/AAAAAAAABg4/9LnEL4H730k/s1600/gadsden-large.gif" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-43696092137007258592014-04-14T12:16:00.001-07:002014-04-14T12:16:11.564-07:00Questioning our service, our sacrifice.<h4>
</h4>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">It’s not easy when one partner makes a decision alone that affects
both partners, especially when they are married. When I made the decision to
enter the military I did so on my own, without really consorting with my
partner though at the time we were not married. We were in love, and she
decided to accept that decision. That was a long time ago and so many things
have happened since then. We have served, and I did mean to say “we” because a
military spouse, man or woman, lives with every decision their spouse makes,
every aspect of their lives are affected by their spouses servitude to the
military…good and bad. It is a difficult life for a spouse, it can also be
exciting, but when that spouse is deployed things can turn stressful quickly, the
spouse doesn’t always know where they are going, how long they may be deployed,
and what if they are injured this time or worse. Then there is the household,
the bills, the children, the spouse becomes the main representative and unofficial
liaison between their husband or wife and their families. So yeah, I will use “we”,
because let’s face it folks, in a marriage we are partners right, for better or
worse, when one is down the other must pick up the pieces, and many civilian spouses
have their own careers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">As is often the case, many military personnel marry young, then
they grow with experience, they both get older and form their cognitive
beliefs, understandings of the world around them, their faith may change, their
perspective on the military may change. And what if that happens? How do you deal
with that as partners, as spouses, friends, parents and lovers? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">As most of have come to know, those of us who’ve been deployed to a
combat theater, into a conflict or in certain areas of the world, those tours
of duty can change a person, how they process and how they view the rest of
their lives. In turn this affects the lives of that soldier’s families,
immediate and extended. Sometimes the affects are very little and are accepted,
or are managed, other times the affects are far reaching, to everyone around
them. Sometimes it’s not what the soldier brings home emotionally as much as it
is the repercussions’ of their tour and how that affects that soldier’s career.
Once in a while a soldier decides to leave the military life, but like the old saying
goes; <i>you can remove a boy/girl from the country but you cannot remove the
country from the boy/girl.</i> No matter the circumstances’ that lead to a
soldier leaving the military, there is life, that partnership and their spouse’s
lives are forever changed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">An example might be for a soldier dealing with PTSD, that soldier
and their spouse may decide that leaving the military is the best thing for
them, and that may be the case, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the
soldier has changed how they feel about the military, or their own service in
said military. Their spouse may have left that life behind and taken with him
or her, a bad taste in their mouth for that lifestyle, that organization or for
the reasons that led them to leave. As with all large corporations and
organizations go, not everyone is successful, and not everyone has a positive experience.
Whether that is the case or not the very reason that soldier made that decision
so long ago to enter the military may still be valid, that soldier may still
miss that lifestyle, the brotherhood, the familial feeling from those fellow
soldiers they served with. A man/woman cannot live as a soldier for very long
and walk away without feeling like they have left behind some extended family,
personal or not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As with any large conflict that
affects one or both partners in a relationship, we need to work together and
engage that conflict as a team, as partners. And sometimes we need to stay
connected with each other and how we feel about the other’s state of mind or
feelings. There may be new cognitive dissonance among the changes or the
experiences that led to changes for one or both partners. Cognitive dissonance
being those things that cause internal struggles because of a disconnect
between how we feel about something, in this example it may be that the spouse
no longer has a positive appreciation for the military because of “what it has
done to their partner”. But they love their partner and want to support them. We
all grow in different ways, and that may be a very real and very appropriate
feeling for them, but it may not be for their partner. For someone to decide
that they will enter the military, whatever branch that may be, they quite literally
have to weigh their own life against the freedoms of their loved ones. Is their
life worth freedom to someone else, to their neighbor, their children, and
their partner’s? That sort of a decision cannot be weighed lightly, that is a
sacrifice not everyone can or would choose to make. And that decision has
nothing to do with organization that is just a vehicle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the end, how we address a soldier
cannot be measured by the job they took, the vehicle they chose, the branch in
which they served, but by the kind of person they are, they must be measured by
the sacrifices they have made and we as partners, spouses, friends, must be
careful to make that distinction. Often when we are impassioned about something
we tend to blanket react and that may come off as disdain for all that is
military. Show focus for what you have issue with, but please be careful to not
let that disdain cover the personal sacrifices that soldier has made, if that
happens you may inadvertently shut out that soldier, leaving him/her feeling
alone, and misunderstood. Then you will lose a connection with that partner,
one that was formed around and forever threaded with the sacrifices’ they…and
you have made. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As in all aspects of our lives, civilian
or military, we are in a constant search for internal consistency, balance. In
a partnership/relationship, we are ever changing if we are both growing, and if
we are both growing then we are always looking for that balance, and it may
take both parties to find it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="strong">
</div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-84782003633946381372014-04-09T12:22:00.000-07:002014-04-23T13:23:11.734-07:00Why the Suffering / Treatment for the Sacrifice.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I have served my country in a number of
tours overseas in combat. I am one of a long line of family members who’ve landed
on the beaches in France, or have parachuted behind enemy lines in Italy. They
have served in Iraq, in Afghanistan and in Beirut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have served in their respective units’
through-out the world. There will never be a lack of men and woman motivated by
the American ideal to protect and to serve and keep the freedoms we enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of that, there will also never be a
lack for need to treat these same men and women as they return and attempt to
re-acclimate back into the society they fought to preserve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This raises questions as to how to treat
these men and woman, and in the end, after these soldiers have returned home,
they are individuals, they are moms and dads, brothers and sisters, children of
you and me, and they are confused. They are scared and they are unsure how to
navigate a world without having to fight for their life every moment of the
day. They are suffering from PTSD, and that’s where I propose EMDR (<span style="background: white; color: black;">Eye movement desensitization and
reprocessing)</span> in the use of treating PTSD, either in conjunction with
other cognitive behavioral treatments or as a successful stand-alone form of natural
treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“There is a
shared dream in all trauma therapy professions, which is to find a faster way
to shorten the days our clients spend in agony”. - Dr. Francine Shapiro
(1999)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">The loud hum and rumble of the tires from our squad vehicle washed
over my ears as I rode along. I had my eyes closed, my head resting against the
door and my face exposed to the open window so as to let the sun warm my face. No
matter where you are in the world the warmth of the sun will always remind you
of home. I was picturing my girlfriend back home standing in the cafeteria of
my unit’s processing center, in her tight jeans and blue jean shirt and her
chestnut hair. She looked at me, her steel blue eyes smiling, but her face was
contorted, she tried to hide the desperation she felt as I picked up my duffle
bag and stepped onto the bus. That was the last time I saw her until I returned
from Southwest Asia, I missed her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Suddenly I heard an explosion and before I could open my eyes I was
thrown against the dash of my truck, our tires screamed and chirped as we slid
sideways into a sandy ditch near a small village somewhere between Iraq and
Saudi Arabia. When I opened my eyes we were surrounded by black smoke, I
grabbed my helmet and jumped out the truck. I yelled at my driver to get on the
radio and check in with the other vehicles. I grabbed my turret gunner and
threw him into the ditch ahead of me and called out for a count of my squad
members. We were escorting some signal corpsman and our lead vehicle hit a
roadside IED, tore the rear passenger wheel right off the truck ahead of us,
breaking the hand of the machine gunner as he flew out of the turret when the
truck flipped over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">We immediately set up a perimeter around the vehicles and began
taking inventory. Then I looked up and peered through the smoke. Standing
alongside the road were three young children, and they couldn’t have been more
than eight years old. They just stood there watching us. Often as you pass
through these little villages it is normal to see children standing alongside
the roads yelling and screaming and begging for candy, and it was customary for
the soldiers to throw candy to them. Sometimes though, the children are positioned
there as a distraction to draw the soldiers’ vehicles closer to the edge of the
road in order to trigger IEDs placed there earlier. That seemed to be the case
on this particular morning, I struggled to find some sense in using children in
this way, but there is no sense to it. I saw that in Panama as well when
Noriega’s troops would hole up in elementary schools and shoot out the windows
at American soldiers from behind the school children. There’s no sense to the
thinking of desperate men on either side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">There was always a sense of eminent danger lurking around every
corner, near every building, behind every smile on a stranger’s face. You don’t
forget that first experience, the next one just nails deeper into your
subconscious. And when you think it can’t get any worse, that you’re in the
shit now and you’ve experienced the most awful, there is always more. When the
sun goes down and things get quiet, that’s when your mind really gets edgy,
your eyes play tricks on you and you see things that aren’t really there, but
sometimes they are, and you just can’t see them. Until they take a bite out of
your leg just before you hear the actual shot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">This was my life for a period of time in a foreign land far from
anyone I knew or loved, don’t get me wrong, I knew who my soldiers were, I knew
who they had to be at the time, but like me, that wasn’t who they were before
then. And we loved each other on a different level; we depended on each other
for our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Experts
say the months just after a service member leaves the military can be a
particularly disorienting and even dangerous time. When these vets operated in
theater among their colleagues, they were housed and worked in a very tight
knit community, and once they return home, that is no longer the case, they are
among so many in a society whom don’t understand what it means to be a veteran,
or know little about the military. And it’s under these circumstances that
these vets must learn to live again. So now</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"> we
stand in the grocery store trying to decide which milk to get. It seems like
such a simple task, and it would be if our lives depended on the outcome of
that decision. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Survival was ingrained in our minds for so long at such intensity
that we have become lost, maybe forgotten how to operate under every day,
mundane, civilian circumstances. And once in a while if I am walking along and
a car backfires or there is a really loud noise I know to stop, drop down and
seek shelter, click safety off and scan my AO for the enemy. The trouble is I
don’t have my weapon, and I am huddled down in the corner of the Holiday
Station Store in Hopkins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">This is a common scenario for many returning soldiers both men and
woman from overseas. They have sustained either MTBI (Mild Traumatic Brain
Injury) and/or are suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). So
what happens with these soldiers then, some go on to being treated at the VA
medical center or seek help threw a private therapist. Some can’t keep a job
and end up homeless or worse, commit suicide because they can’t get the help
they need or are just too paralyzed by the trauma that haunts them and they
can’t function even on a basic level. As was reported by Bill Chappell in an
article in NPR online recently, there were 349 suicides among returning
soldiers, that’s 54 more than the 2012 combat death record. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Those whom seek out and find help; often times are subject to a
traditional form of treatment called Exposure Therapy. The idea here is that by
emotionally and consciously exposing them to the effects that caused there
affliction, they will eventually succumb to a numbness of that responses they
would normally show, like standing them in a dark room and flicking the light
on and off repeatedly, after a while the light won’t bother them and they will
be able to function with that flicking of the light on and off. The problem is
that treatment doesn’t quell the cause of the affliction, only the symptoms.
The response will still be there, just more subdued…along with their other
cognitive functions. This is also used in basic training to make the soldier
more comfortable in combat; again, the problem here is that once they’ve
completed their tour(s) and return home, these skills don’t serve them well in
regular society. This way of processing is adverse to that of the way society
operates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Soldiers are trained and accustomed to searching out the obscure,
looking through the trees at the trees that are slightly different than the
others. Their survival depends on seeing the hidden, working in difficulty.
That is not how the majority of society operates today. Walk into a department
store and everything is obvious, these are the jeans on sale, everything is
laid out so that you can walk in and purchase what you came for without having
to decipher complex decisions. That is not always an easy transition for
soldiers to make. That causes stress, trust is not given freely, and suspicion
is rampant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">So how does one help a veteran, a soldier, someone suffering from
PTSD? The studies suggest that EMDR (eye movement desensitization response) may
be the very thing they need, as a stand alone or in addition to cognitive
behavior therapies. </span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">EMDR seems
to have a broader positive result and shorter treatment period as shown in a
study conducted by the Journal of Clinical Psychology, wherein it was stated; using
participants with PTSD have found significant decreases in a wide range of
symptoms after two or three active treatment sessions. Treatment effects are
well maintained at follow-up assessments. For example, one study reported an
84% remission of PTSD diagnosis at 15 month follow-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It seems that most of
the treatments used today focus on the symptoms and triggers for the effects of
PTSD as opposed to treating the source or the physiological switches in our
brains.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Think of the trauma
trigger like a light switch, exposure therapy might have you flicking the light
on and off rapidly, exposing you to the strobe effect therefore numbing you to
that experience. EMDR might work like removing that switch eliminating the
experience altogether. This would make EMDR though arguably in some circles,
superior to the other in that it affects the root cause of the dysfunction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my own treatment of
PTSD I tried to focus on the root cause of the symptoms, I had been treated by
various facilities using differing methods, only after implementing EMDR into
my treatment program did I experience extensive and positive results. The triggers
had a less of an effect on me, as an example if<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>a car were to backfire I wouldn’t simply be numb to the sudden noise but
would process the experience differently, noting it, even responding to it but
not in a hyper sensatory manner. I think the power and proven results of EMDR
for so many is too valid and important to not incorporate it in a much wider
spread approach than it is today. It does not require the client or veteran in
this case to conduct homework and it has been suggested repeatedly that fewer
sessions might be in order to enact fruition. According to Spector and Read in </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The
current status of eye movement desensitization and reprocessing</span></i><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">, EMDR has increasingly been proposed as an
effective therapeutic procedure for post-traumatic stress disorder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Although medications such as a selective
serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) has been used to treat PTSD with some
success, along with Prozac and Zoloft, particularly when treating depression
there can be lots of side effects to using medications, and these tend to only
address the symptoms and not the core issue, the very body of the cause to
PTSD. According to the Center for PTSD, EMDR therapy can lessen the symptoms of
PTSD (National Center for PTSD 2011), though the actual contributing factors of
the treatment are fodder for argument among clinical and psychological
professionals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">EMDR has been used and well documented to treat
the rescuers and emergency personnel after the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New
York and the Oklahoma Bombing. In fact, it’s inexcusable that many Americans
will experience PTSD at some point in their lives. The question we all need to
come away with some sort of conclusion to is whether or not EMDR as a treatment
option is better than no treatment, and there are case studies after case
studies that suggest this to be the case. Furthermore as with any treatment,
the outcome is only as fruitful as the patient is motivated to be well. EMDR
used in conjunction with other treatments or as a stand-alone treatment doesn’t
require drugs, or live-in therapy centers, and the effects of the treatment
have shown in just a few sessions, and often times dramatically, with far
reaching and positive outcomes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">That
is why I propose that we enact a program to train personnel to work in the VA
centers and satellite offices nationwide through-out the Veterans Affairs
system, to use EMDR in their therapy programs. EMDR has shown very short term
positive effects without medicinal treatments. With enough of the properly
trained staff we could positively affect so many more of our brothers and
sisters, fathers and children and families’ in need.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RCEhEdgn3D4/U1gfTYwuDSI/AAAAAAAABc8/ZSRmn9t5t5g/s1600/pj+in+italy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RCEhEdgn3D4/U1gfTYwuDSI/AAAAAAAABc8/ZSRmn9t5t5g/s1600/pj+in+italy.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-56513746066299847122014-03-07T09:38:00.003-08:002014-03-07T10:48:37.066-08:00Another hero has gone home
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When
he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile, when the mood was grim, he cast a warm
glow upon it. He was a boy, a brother, a friend and a son to us all. He carried
himself with pride always, was a devout friend and family member and was a
positive influence on everyone whose presence he blessed. He was also a Marine,
and will always be a Marine. Caleb served his country with dignity and honor, remember
today, for like his namesake, another Hero has gone home to rest. We salute
you. Thank you for your sacrifice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Semper
Fi!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">In loving memory of Cpl Caleb Erickson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-298173779179843592014-01-08T09:40:00.001-08:002014-01-08T09:40:23.113-08:00From the front lines to the shadows.
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a recent weekend morning I found myself interviewing some
apparent homeless people in St Paul. This is their story.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking near the railroad tracks along the river below St
Paul there are a few men and one woman, there is a dog, mangy, dirty, and
vigilant in its watch over the people he follows. This group looks disheveled,
grungy, dressed in multiple levels of clothing, two or three coats, mismatched
mittens, worn out boots and each one of them carries a bundle or a backpack
with various implements attached below it and a bed roll strapped atop the
bundle. The air is bitter cold, its 7am, the sun is just coming up and the
temperature hovers around freezing, that’s not including the wind-chill from
the breeze coming off of the river. Each exhale from their lips seems to crystallize
and fall to the ground as they walk. They have to walk at this hour, it’s
always coldest as the sun rises and if they were to remain sleeping at this
hour they might freeze to death where they lay. They’ll sleep in the afternoon
when the temperature is at its warmest.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all see these folks once in a while and wonder where they
are going, why are they here and why don’t they just get a job. They may tell
you that it’s difficult to get a job when you don’t have a place to live, a
place to shower and sleep each day, a place in which to prepare for a day’s
work. Would you hire someone that looks like this, would you trust them with a
job? Jason is the youngest of this group, he is 29, he has long scraggy hair,
his hands are strong, he has wide shoulders and deep concerning eyes that spend
a lot of time scanning the horizon, he appears suspicious and rarely says a
word. He also walks with a serious limp; it looks like his left foot canters
out to the side just a bit allowing his ankle to roll forward each time he
steps. I asked Kevin about Jason’s leg, Kevin is a big man, he stands over six
feet and might weigh in at 230lbs, but it’s not in his stomach, he looks like a
wrestler, and he is very soft spoken, smiles a lot too and likes to crack jokes
about lawyers. He told me that Jason tripped when he tried to jump onto one of
the rail cars last year and broke his ankle, he went to the free clinic but
they said he needed surgery and he couldn’t afford it. Kevin said it is ironic
since Jason served three tours in South West Asia, he was in Pakistan and
Afghanistan, he was in the Marines, he was a squad leader and lost a few men in
a couple of his teams during his time over there. He never sustained any
injuries when he was in, but when he came home he couldn’t hold a job anymore,
he’d lost his patience and his ability to navigate daily life without the parameters
of fear and threat to respond to. Kevin is a veteran, he served his country,
Jason says he speaks of it with pride and doesn’t hold anyone to blame over his
misfortune, he just can’t handle regular life anymore. Says nobody showed him
how when he came home.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kevin’s story is not uncommon, in fact with as many young
men and women as we have coming home now from overseas as we do, we have even
less jobs to offer them. These men and woman have learned skills most of us
never will, they served our country and the country of those less fortunate,
providing a safe environment for children to go to school, making certain our
way of life remains free from tyranny, religious persecution and terrorism. They
stood in the street of Fallujah fighting terrorists from all over the world;
they watched their brothers and sister fall beside them, watched as their
counterparts fell before them in the name of some misguided religious zealot. And
now they walk on the outskirts of downtown, and along the trails in the suburbs
trying to survive within the shadows, battling scrutiny from society and ghosts
of their experiences overseas. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It isn’t only the young and uneducated vets that end up in
this place, it also happens to more distinguished vets like AF Colonel Robert Freniere;
( </span><a href="http://www.military.com/daily-news/2014/01/06/air-force-colonel-goes-from-pentagon-to-homelessness.html?ESRC=army.nl#.Us1sGL4K43s.gmail"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">http://www.military.com/daily-news/2014/01/06/air-force-colonel-goes-from-pentagon-to-homelessness.html?ESRC=army.nl</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">)
with three graduate degrees he served as an aide to pentagon brass before
retiring. Now Colonel Freniere is homeless too, he has no obvious injury or
major battle scars, but he has fallen into a place that seems to be flooded by
educated and uneducated vets alike, who despite trying just can’t seem to get
hired, even with all that they have to offer. The Obama administration has said
it’s a focus of theirs to place these vets back into the workforce, but they aren’t
the ones hiring them, a politician’s promise doesn’t put food in their bellies
or a roof over their heads. It comes down to the responsibility of the business
that fly the American flag outside their doors to seek out and open their doors
to these men and woman, to welcome them back into the world they fought so
bravely to secure. It is also the responsibility of the educational institutions’,
and to each and every one of us to recognize these folks, whether or not you
agree with their sacrifice, it is still a sacrifice; these men and woman did
not serve us, to protect our freedoms and our rights to practice the religions
of our choice, for a profit, they didn’t do it for the fame, they did it
because they believe someone must make those sacrifices, they did it because
they were able to stand up, look into the face of danger and apply a value on
freedom, that value is and was their very own lives. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kevin made that sacrifice, and continues to do so. He isn’t bitter,
but takes pride in that he helped protect the belief that we all are entitled
to the opportunities’ to make something of ourselves, so that his little sister
back in Fargo and his boyhood buddies can go to school and study whatever they
want to, he sacrificed himself so that they, and many of the rest of us wouldn’t
have to. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The names I used in this post, Jason and Kevin, are
not the real names of those individuals, but they and their stories are as they
reported them to me. The one I named Kevin showed me his dog tags without
hesitation. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">According to the National Coalition for the
Homeless</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
fourth of all homeless are veterans. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">40% of all homeless men are Veterans.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3% of homeless veterans are female.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">According to the Department of Veterans Affairs</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">85% of homeless veterans completed high school,
compared to 56% of non-veterans.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are approximately 131,000 veterans whom
are homeless on any given night.</span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-68002856152905142542013-12-27T08:05:00.003-08:002013-12-27T08:05:39.202-08:00Comparing Scars
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span>So
I visited the VA medical center the other day, it was early morning; I was in
the basement blood draw waiting room. Even at this early hour the room was
full, most of the vets there that day were older, but there was quite a few
younger vets present as well. This seems to be a growing change in this scene,
the vets are getting younger and this can cause some distress among those
waiting in the same room, I have to mention that it is my belief that most vets
are pretty careful; they are respectful of each other’s service whether they are
a retired Marine or an Army reservist. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That being said, there still seems
to be an underlying belief by some that anyone who’d served in a conflict other
than theirs, didn’t have it as bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When
you walk for a week through swamps in bug infested jungle in the same grundies while
dysentery creeps through your ranks, then come talk to me about having it rough”
the older vet in the corner would grumble to the two younger vets talking next
to him about their tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The corners of the older vet’s mouth were
turned down, his face shaded in a week’s growth, he wore gray sweat pants
tucked into his snow boots and had on an old Carhart jacket. His arms were crossed,
he was guarded, waiting like everyone else; he had the stare, and looked like
many older vets in the room. The two he spoke to chuckled a bit without looking
at him, then continued their conversation albeit a little quieter. The older of
these two looked to be in his fifties, the other was late in his twenties. The
older one talked about being stuck in the desert in Iraq without bottled water,
half of their equipment; water buffalos and transport trucks having gone
missing on the docks before their company arrived to claim it and having to use
old Fargo school buses to transport POWs back to camps in Saudi Arabia. He
spoke about how they’d have to drive for hours on end and share the task with only
one other soldier to guard the bus packed with Iraqi soldiers that didn’t really
like the idea of going anywhere with these guys, constantly trying to rock the
bus in order to turn it over in hopes of escaping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He talked about them always being undermanned
and undersupplied. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The younger of the two wore jeans
with elaborate patterns on the back pockets, his pants hung low on his hips as
he sauntered in and found a seat. He talked about being caught in cross fire
between two tribes in the mountains of Afghanistan. He spoke about daily
bombardments at sundown around his small encampment far from any civilized
area. He talked about the batteries in his MP3 player dying soon after being in
country and not having his cel phone “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in like
forever”</i>. These two soldiers traded jabs back and forth for a while, they’d
laugh and then one would mention there not being cel phones back in 1990 and
91, and the other would say well at least in Iraq back then not everybody was
shooting at them like they were in Afghanistan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both had good points and they both were adamant
about conveying their individual hardship. Then suddenly another soldier
sitting across the room stated “well at least we are all safe now sitting here
today” as a nurse called out his name to have his blood drawn and the room
filled with laughter.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I have always liked
about the VA is that when I am standing there inside that building I know that
the vast majority of people around me understand to a degree what I have been
through, that when it all comes down to the end result, we all share some of
the same experiences, even if they are in different parts of the world, or in
the snow, or the mountains or somewhere in the desert far from our friends and
family. We all know what it’s like to spend Christmas in a fox hole or a
personnel carrier with eight other soldiers that haven’t showered in weeks. We
all know what it’s like to listen to gunfire at night and wish we could hold our
loved ones hands; feel their soft skin in the desperate grip of ours. We all
know the pain, and the anguish, the long sleepless nights staring off into the
darkness watching shadows for any sign of movement. I know that when I leave
the VA, when I go back out there into the world again, that I can look into the
eyes of those around me and know they don’t get it, they don’t understand the
sacrifices I have made, why I stand there in front of the cereal aisle looking
lost because I can’t figure out how to decide between Captain fucking Crunch
and Count Chocolate, that such a simple task is difficult for me to make, when
I have spent every waking hour on deployment making decisions’ that determine
whether or not I will come home on my feet or in a bag.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sat there in that waiting room
looking around at the faces of men and women, who’ve all lived those
experiences, some seem to be getting by, others appear to be having a more
difficult time with it. We can’t do it alone; we couldn’t do it alone when we
were in the thick of it so why should we think we have to do it alone now. We
need to learn to reach out and lean on each other a bit, find comfort in knowing
that we aren’t alone, that there are others out there that need our help that
need someone to lean on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the nurse came back out and
called the name of the soldier with the fancy pants, he got up slowly, and as
he stumbled to the blood draw room I noticed one of his pant legs had gotten
caught on and was exposing his prosthetic. The older vet in the corner looked
at him and his face relaxed just a little. Our experiences are our own and they
are relative in their severity. Often times those experiences find their way
back home with us, they hitch rides on our perspectives and poke at us when we
try and re-acclimate into society. Whether it’s a loss of a battle buddy, or a
leg, or a loved one long after returning home, because the relationship just isn’t
the same as it was before you left; we all share those hurts, those emotional
distresses. We can compare scars all day long, but it’s the ones we can’t see
that we need to address, that we need to know we share with our brothers and sisters,
reach out and say thank you next time, shake hands with the vet next to you and
look into his or her eyes and know, know that you are not alone.</span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-47019238753901361202013-11-19T13:19:00.001-08:002013-11-19T13:19:28.003-08:00Blessed are those ...
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Blessed are those who’ll stand before
the enemy, to protect their friends and family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sgt P.J. Peterson and other members of
the Red Bull DVN, US Army, WW2<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kNyOOIrwb34/UovVkYp-vzI/AAAAAAAABR8/qO5eo-CZfgw/s1600/20131115_115803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kNyOOIrwb34/UovVkYp-vzI/AAAAAAAABR8/qO5eo-CZfgw/s200/20131115_115803.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpfnB2zv_A4/UovU5cHsX-I/AAAAAAAABRs/m96NNa0oYvo/s1600/20131115_115906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpfnB2zv_A4/UovU5cHsX-I/AAAAAAAABRs/m96NNa0oYvo/s200/20131115_115906.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His ears numb, awkward silence rings loudly as he and his
brothers run through the unforgiving sand, out in the open with rounds striking
the ground around them they crawl slowly, methodically through barbed wire, the
air was thick with the smell of blood, fear and vomit. It was also filled with
uncommon valor, as young men, some not yet shaving cover their buddies wounded
bodies with their own, it’s an odd sound when a bullet hits a soldier, tearing
deep into flesh, and there is a certain soft thud on impact. He continues on,
dragging his fellow soldier along behind him as he makes his way to cover,
somewhere he realizes when he looks back, that he is no longer dragging much.
Just then all the noise hits him like a brick wall, rapid gun fire, mortar rounds
exploding, screams of men yelling for a medic and the others calling out orders
to move on, to charge on, and to survive. He makes his way and joins those
remaining. They are wet, dirty, sweaty, hungry and battered, these young men
will continue on, they will fight; they will give of themselves more than any
of them knew they had to give, and some will give everything. For those whom
return, for those who will again set foot upon their mother’s porch, the innocence
will be gone. They will return something different; they will have faced the
devil himself. They will have sacrificed young boys and become grown men. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eBYLBL-KBIM/UovVLSZ6C4I/AAAAAAAABR0/yw7eXhCrnmE/s1600/20131115_115814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eBYLBL-KBIM/UovVLSZ6C4I/AAAAAAAABR0/yw7eXhCrnmE/s200/20131115_115814.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These men,
and the women who served during World War II to protect everything we have and
enjoy freely, are leaving us again, only they are going to a better place to
join their brothers and sisters, please, don’t let them leave us without saying
thank you, they deserve it, it’s the very least they have earned and we all owe
them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-84397646304585864742013-11-13T09:43:00.001-08:002013-11-13T09:43:57.458-08:00Supporting a soldier; a partner’s sacrifice
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just as I was carefully negotiating a trade with a German
soldier for one of his field ready meals, word was getting around that there
was a group of soldiers manning a satellite phone station about a mile outside
our camp. I had been overseas for about three months, this was early in the
Southwest Asia campaign, we were positioned somewhere in North Eastern Saudi
Arabia along the rail line North of the Kuwaiti border, we had a pallet of
mango juice boxes, little water, and more sand than many of us had ever seen,
not exactly the way I thought I’d be spending Saturday nights before being
deployed. I thought I’d be hanging out with my girlfriend, maybe cruising in my
old Mercury and making out in the park near her home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instead she’s at home wondering where I am. It would be
appropriate here to note that back then we didn’t have cellular phones, the
media was not embedded and we as soldiers at times had even less information as
to what was happening in country than the rest of the nation. We didn’t get to
watch the news updates, read any newspapers and didn’t even know that the North
Stars were leaving Minnesota. So when I had heard of this little satellite
phone operation, I was in. Me and few others snuck out and made our way, and
there tucked in between a couple large sand dunes was the camo netting covered
satellite station. Darkness as far as you can see, a deep cobalt blue sky above
us with no light filtration other than from the stars’ themselves, sometimes at
night I would lie back atop my Humvee and stare into the night sky, it seemed
as though I could almost stand up and immerse myself in millions of tiny little
specs of bright light. Eventually the line of other soldiers’ waned and I had
my turn. When I heard her voice on the other end I had realized then how much I
missed my girlfriend, her sweet voice echoing in my ear. It meant the world to
me that I could talk with her, even just to listen and tell her I was ok. And
just as we figured out the timing of the delay so we weren’t talking over each
other the line went dead and there was only silence except for the whining of
the Scud missile alarms. I quickly closed my eyes tightly trying to lock in the
sound of her voice before it was gone, and then it was gone. And as much as it
pained me to be cut off like that, I have to think that it must have been even
more difficult for her, I would drop back into survival mode, my training
taking over and while everything else is shelved for the time being. But back
home, in her living room, my girl, Angie still holds that phone against her
ear, hoping my voice will return, praying that I will be all right, as tears
begin to stream down her cheeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This isn’t an uncommon event, this happens all the time
wherever our soldiers are deployed, leaving their families behind to wait and
wonder. To pray and hope. Even with all of the media at our disposal today and
the cel phones and such, there is still the pain that finds itself imbedded in
the pit of your stomach as you deploy knowing that back home your wife,
husband, son or daughter has that same pain in their stomach as well. I think
that the families/military families of soldiers do not get enough credit for
the success of their soldier, nor do they get recognized enough for the support
they provide. The military family has a tough life, much like their soldier,
the spouses/partners and their children are often having to leave friendships
they’ve built because they’ve been relocated, moved on to another station. And
then they are left to begin again, find and build new friendships, not easy to
do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The spouse/partner of their soldier is often the one to take
care of their home, their children, correspondence with kid’s schools and
health care providers, any extra-curricular activities, and that’s on top of
emotional and physical support of their soldier. And that’s just an average
day, not to mention what they are left to take care when their soldier has been
deployed on a mission, especially and extended one. And sometimes upon
completion of a deployment, especially after an active conflict over seas, the
soldier comes home and has to re-acclimate to their family and the down time,
this can be especially nerve racking and difficult for family members as well
as the soldier to work through, but there is no opting out just then, and to be
a successful partnership both parties have to come together and work through
it; adapt and overcome. This is where the soldier’s family members and
spouse/partner’s shine, and once all is said and done at the end of the day,
who will support them, the spouse and partner? After the sun has gone down, the
kids are tucked away, their soldier has come home safe, it’s time for that
spouse and/or partner to take stock and take care of themselves. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end, I knew my girlfriend would be there when I
returned, but I would not return the same person as when I had left, however she
would stand behind me, she would be there for me and would learn what it meant
to be the partner of a soldier. Then she would realize the dedication and the sacrifices
she would have to make. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would prevail, she would successfully
navigate those waters and form a relationship that only a soldier’s partner
would know, one to be proud of, one that would change her life forever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we say thank you to a soldier, let us not forget that soldier’s
partner, their family and spouse, and remember that behind every great soldier
there exists a logistically complex support system; they deserve an earnest
thank you as well, our respect and gratitude for their sacrifices’.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Thank you.</span>TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-89124409157094413452013-11-11T07:05:00.005-08:002013-11-11T07:05:59.023-08:00Veterans Day...Thank you.<br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ever since we
as a people claimed what is now the United States of America as a safe haven
for those down trodden, and those looking for a place of protection against persecution
for their beliefs, ever since we uprooted our families and lives in search of a
new home where we could enjoy the fruition of our dreams and hopes for the
future of our children, there have been examples of “Uncommon valor” by those
willing to step up to the line and defend those hopes and dreams for their
selves, and the rest of us whom cannot do so. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today is for
you, today is for those that have sacrificed some and those many who’ve have
sacrificed all. Today we say thank you to our fellow vets, to the wives who’ve
stood next to their husbands and supported them every step of the way, and to those
husbands who’ve stood behind their wives who’ve served or are serving our
country today and proudly supported them. And to everyone else who have and are
today supporting their loved ones, their brothers and sisters, their children
and their parents. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today is the
day we as a society must step forward and say thank you, thank you for putting
everyone else first by sacrificing yourself. Thank you for working to preserve
the freedoms we cherish in America and to all those soldiers overseas, far away
from their families, far away from their loved ones, especially during the upcoming
holiday season, when we sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner, or gather with our
families over Christmas and Hanukah and set a place for those that won’t be
there to share in our revelry. To those that sit alone, struggling to find
their place in the world again after having given so much, we say thank you.
Thank you for your selfless acts of kindness and undeniable virtue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">In your
names, today on Veterans Day, thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-84916326819867787302013-10-25T13:34:00.001-07:002013-10-25T13:35:14.640-07:00My Grandfathers Land<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I visit my grandfathers land once a year or so. I like it there, it’s so peaceful, quiet, and I will sit under an old Oak tree near his property line and gaze out over the rolling hills, the tall waving grasses near the edge of the wood and the big blue sky above it all, the clouds seem to slow down as they pass over this place, as if to respectfully splash a little shade upon my grandfather and all of his friends here, a little respite from the hot summer sun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We talk him and me, about my little girls, the state of things today and sometimes I will just sit and listen, I’ll lay beside him in the cool, neatly trimmed grass there and close my eyes and remember when he used to push me and my cousin on the swings when we were just little. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I will walk across the field to visit with my grandmother from my dad’s side, she just moved in this month. Her voice still echoes in my ears on Sunday afternoons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give her some freshly cut flowers, tied with a ribbon, tell her I miss her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the sun begins it’s decent on another day, and casts an amber glow over everything, highlighting the sea of white stones that blanket these hills, I pay respect to everyone I wander by. Then, as I pass the flag pole and continue on through the iron gates, I pause, giving thanks for the tremendous and inspiring sacrifices of all of the residents there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day I will go back to visit my grandfather, but I won’t leave, and my family will go to visit me there. And though I’ll be sad to see them go, I will be in a good place; I will be in the company heroes.</span></div>
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TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-87786536583237503462013-10-22T06:16:00.001-07:002013-10-22T06:16:22.017-07:00When you walked away <span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;">You walked away, slowly; I could tell that you wanted to look back but didn’t want to see the tears on your daughter’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your son stood proud, strong, believing you’d come back soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said just before you turned to leave that he would take care of mom and his sister while you are away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We miss you now, every day we think about you, your daughter has stepped up and if it weren’t for her I don’t know what I’d do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your son speaks about you and your job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tells his friends that you are his hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At night he lays awake in bed after dinner, alone, praying for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;">I miss your smell; it has worn off of all of your clothing and it no longer lingers in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried spraying your cologne around the house but it just doesn’t smell like you when you wear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss the feel of your powerful shoulders below my chin as your arms wrap around me, holding me tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I close my eyes some days and pretend you are with me, I can see your beautiful brown eyes and the shape of your soft lips and I picture us sitting under the Birch trees in our yard, and I feel the strength in your hands, your warm hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s amazing how a person can take for granted all the little things their partner does for us, when you’d come home from work, you’d lean in and kiss me with your strong warm hand placed at the small of my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I wouldn’t give to feel that now…it’s been so long though now that I almost can’t remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;">Your son lost another tooth and got into a fight with another kid at school who said what you were doing over there was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your son misses you; he lies in his bed at night wishing you would sneak in and snuggle with him for just a moment, until he fell asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your daughter got another “A” in her class today and prays for you and all of your co-workers each night before bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Darling I miss you also.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray that you come home safely, I know what you are doing is right; I know you feel that you must protect everybody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that your conviction to do what is right is strong and I love you for that. I just wish you could come home and protect me, protect me against the bad dreams at night and the hurtful pangs I get during the day wishing I could see you sitting next to me at the dinner table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids said we couldn’t have pork chops until you come home because it’s your favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to have pork chops again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I know I am not the only one who feels this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your mother cries when we speak, so she doesn’t call too much anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your brother drives by the house periodically to check on us, he’s sick and tired of the people that protest your position, that he’s having a hard time taking that in the news on a daily basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just remind him that your being there serves to protect their rights to protest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are so many of us left behind here at home, we know you believe in what you are doing, and we support you in spite of the fact that we don’t hear reflections of your sacrifice expelled in the news, more often than not it seems it’s just the oppositions views we are subject to, just the bad stuff, just the vanities in people that try and make a name for themselves under the guise of free speech.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am your wife, your mother, your father, your sister and brother and your son and daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am your neighbor who raises a flag in your honor every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the student from another country, an immigrant family who knows that without your service, the freedoms we enjoy here might not exist without your service. I am your kid’s teacher, who sees the pain of your absence in the faces of your children, and the pride in their eyes when asked “why the tears”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a soldier who paid his/her dues and came back home…without you and now must move on with my own life, wishing I could be by your side, as brothers and sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I miss you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-39045152147469323552013-10-11T18:51:00.001-07:002013-10-11T18:51:21.386-07:00Key Lime pieOK, I know this has nothing to do with the military, but circumstances being what they are, I felt obliged to honor my grandmother. I hope you will allow me this. <br />
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She’d lift the fork to her mouth and close her eyes as she did her lips, setting the fork on the table she would then pause, savoring the creamy, lime filling; she often told me how the taste reminded her of the warmer sun of Florida.<br />
We used to play Cribbage, but it had gotten difficult for her to hold playing cards; her fingers knotted by time and years of hard work. So as of late we just sat and ate Key Lime pie and debated the state of the world.<br />
Ilo and me had a special relationship, it was not based on or tied to any outside influences, it was just her and me and that was all, it was simple and it was uncomplicated. Some days I would talk a little too much and she’d never interrupt. Sometimes she would talk and I would listen, I’d watch her eyes roam around the room as she fumbled with her blanket and flatten it upon her lap. Sometimes I would roll her outside and we would just sit in the sun and watch the leaves skid by, carried on a late summer breeze. Nothing need be said between us, her thin gray hair would fall over her eyes and I would brush it back for her, she’d swat at me and tell me she liked the wind and to quit fussing with her hair.<br />
We didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but she always seemed to consider an alternate view, and she never persecuted me for mine. There was an acceptance between us, we could be completely honest with each other and neither of us felt bad, judged nor uncomfortable. I loved that about our time together; there was no editing, it was honest and real.<br />
One day I visited her on my motorcycle and brought Key Lime pie and tea from the café where I always bought it. This time though, under the excited anticipation gleaming in her tired eyes, I opened the carton and to my dismay and embarrassment, the lime green filling had vibrated and mixed together with the frothy, white, whipped topping; It was a huge globby mess. As I began to apologize and stated I’d take the car next time so it wouldn’t happen again, she swiftly stuck her fork right in the middle of the pile. She looked at me and said “Tracy, it’ll taste just as beautiful as it always does…”, then as she placed a helping in her mouth and closed her eyes, she continued “…besides, I have already punched my ticket and given it to the conductor, so don’t bother with pie next time”.<br />
We ate in silence until all of the crust was gone, she sipped her tea and I gazed at her. She was intensely calm, quiet, beautiful. We sat for a long time that day, side by side staring out the window through her row of flowers sitting along the window sill.<br />
I went to Birchwood Café this morning, when I placed my order for a single piece of Key Lime pie at the counter, the girl that knew me paused, she struggled to maintain her smile as her eyes began to well, as did mine. As I sat among the flowers on the patio, in the sun and the wind, I lifted a forkful of pie to my mouth and closed my eyes. I sat there listening to the leaves rustle, feeling the sun caress my face, imagining Ilo sitting across from me…I knew then, that Key Lime pie would never taste as fine again.<br />
I will miss Ilo, I loved everything about her, I loved her honesty, I loved her smile, I loved her level of integrity, and I shared her love of Key Lime pie.TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2664251339159110954.post-33940390282825302152013-10-10T09:34:00.001-07:002013-10-10T09:34:10.786-07:00Honor Thy Sacrifice
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s easy to
tell others they ought to honor those who’ve sacrificed, but have you, one
who’s made the sacrifice, honored yourself? It’s difficult for many of us
who’ve sacrificed so much, to be ok with giving ourselves a pat on the back. I
know I know, we are supposed to remain non-celebratory about our sacrifice, our
service, but we deserve it, you deserve it. But look around, there are so many
service members, they go without so much as a hand shake, a thank you, they go
without recognition for the sacrifices they have made. They have sacrificed
their lives, their friends, brothers and sisters. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those that
have made the ultimate sacrifice and have died have their memorial; they have
family members that cry for them, they have friends and comrades who pray for
their souls. But those who’ve come back without their partners, friends, fellow
veterans, who prays for them, who cries for them? Much of the time these vets
come back changed, they feel bitter, they feel guilty, and they come back
alone. Often they are difficult to understand or deal with, so those around
them step back and give them room, they are treated like they have some sort of
contagion. Let me be clear here when I say that this is not the case for
everyone, however, if it the case for one veteran, it is the case for too many.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So as a
veteran, I say be ok with slapping yourself on the back, and to honor those
whom did not make it back, or those that are stuck in turmoil, celebrate the
sacrifices you have made. Recognize those sacrifices; look them in the eye as
you have so many of your adversaries and say thank you. Be proud of those
sacrifices you have made, can you do that in the mirror? Can you look yourself
in the eye and say thanks?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t allow
the Meagan Lyn Mays’ of this world to disparage all that you have given to this
world, even to her. And I for one will stand beside you, proud to be your
brother in arms, to be a fellow veteran, I for one will be grateful. I cannot
and will not lose sight of those that have made the ultimate sacrifice, I think
of them daily, I will remember them; I will honor them by honoring myself and
by celebrating their service and sacrifice. I will do this by telling others of
their service, of their heroisms, of their decision to stand the line, to
protect our freedoms. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And to those
like Meagan Lyn May, to those that oppose our way of life and our means of
servitude, to those I say you are welcome. Come forth and speak your mind, for
I have stood toe to toe with my enemy to preserve the right for you to do so.
Whether I follow your line of thinking, your beliefs or not, and I will not
persecute you for them but celebrate your freedom to speak them. This is how we
honor those that have sacrificed. I would also ask that in return, whether or
not you agree with my line of thinking, or beliefs, come stand next to me,
share your beliefs with me, let’s come together and commemorate our freedom of
speech, lets honor those responsible, lets honor our children in your name, and
in the names of our brothers and sisters let’s pay tribute to those
individuals. Then ask yourself, what sacrifices have you made, what sacrifices
will you make?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02653744166263541455noreply@blogger.com1