The Christmas season is upon us once again. For many it’s a time of happiness, reflection and giving to others in the spirit of love and in the memory of the gift our God gave to us so many years ago.
I remember as a child on Christmas Eve we would gather round the Christmas tree after church, all the presents under and around the fully lit, fully decorated tree, and read the Christmas story from the Bible before we were allowed, in a very calm and orderly fashion, to begin opening presents. (We read the Christmas story so we’d always remember the true meaning if Christmas and not get too wrapped up (pun intended) in the presents and commercialism.) I have three sisters and a brother so, though we weren’t wealthy by any means, there were always lots of things to open. We normally each got one big gift – something we really wanted, then a lot of smaller, every day “need this” gifts, such as socks, pajamas, underwear, and often a new pair of shoes. There weren’t extravagant toys nor anything really expensive in those days. Even a new bike usually meant one that had been handed down from someone else, repainted and fitted with a new seat and pedals. But we were happy and always felt blessed to receive such wonderful and thoughtful gifts. One grandfather always gave each of us kids a $20 bill. When I was about six that was huge money. It lasted me for months.
An uncle who owned a vending company always gave each of us a box of assorted chocolates. Again, we were in heaven because we each had our own and didn’t have to share. We could, of course, trade our favorites for someone else’s if we wanted.
One of the consistent things about Christmas when I was a kid was the presence and the celebration of God and Jesus in almost everything. People in the neighborhood, the local community, city and statewide had nativity scenes in their yards and in their living rooms. Churches had large nativity scenes outside without fear that someone would vandalize, steal or destroy them. My family and most of our friends went to church regularly and many of us participated in the church Christmas cantata or other presentation. The entire community, with very few vocal exceptions, got caught up in the spirit of the true meaning of Christmas. In fact, while the world even then could be a cruel and even evil place, more people were public about their faith and belief in God and it seemed the world was happier and Christmas was more widely accepted by all. I’m sure there will be those who disagree with me on that but I speak from my own experiences in 54 years of life.
These days it seems it’s becoming a problem just saying “Merry Christmas” to people in public. Schools are banning any kind of Christmas activities in favor of “holiday” activities and some even are preventing the giving of cards and/or gifts from one student to another. Forget about a nativity scene on public property and politicians are proclaiming the Christmas tree to be a holiday tree instead. It’s been “Christmas” for centuries and I truly don’t understand why it’s so offensive to some. I don’t get offended when someone wishes me a “Happy Winter Solstice”, a “Happy Hanukah”, a “Happy Kwanza” or any other holiday greeting. (As of yet I haven’t had an atheist wish me anything in particular, that I know of except maybe “Happy Holidays”, which is generic and has no particular group meaning.) I appreciate the fact that people want to include me in their personal celebration. Yet some people get highly offended at those of us who wish people “Merry Christmas”.
To those of you who get offended I say my greeting of “Merry Christmas” is my own celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ and is in no way threatening to you or your beliefs unless you choose to make it so. I’m not threatened by your beliefs (or non-belief, as the case may be) so please stop feeling threatened and/or offended by mine. My Christian beliefs are not threatening to you in any way. I find it sad that a nation founded on belief in God (or Gods) has now basically removed God from their everyday activities. And please don’t bring up “separation of church and state” because 1) it’s not in the Constitution and 2) the separation to which it refers meant government shall not have or enforce a particular religion. Therefore a government should be allowed to display a nativity scene if it also displays a Menorah and/or any other religious symbols during the same season (or at different times depending on the time of celebration.)
All in all, when I say “Merry Christmas” it is my wish for you to have a happy and love-filled holiday with your friends and family and the God (or no God) of your choice. It is not a threat or an insult so please don’t take it that way. Please.
At this time of year I’m reminded of something I read (and posted) last year just before Christmas. It was Christmas greetings to Democrats and Republicans and still makes me laugh. It reads as follows:
To My Democrat Friends:
Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2012 but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
To My Republican Friends:
Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Whatever your beliefs, may you enjoy the wonderful blessings of the Christmas season with your family and loved ones and may you all have a wonderful new year full of good things.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
"Soon To Be Gone" - a Military Doctor's Opinion
I read this in an e-mail today and thought it worth passing on. If true, it gives me hope that the younger generation might actually grow up to appreciate those who have lived and died before them. I too have met elderly, retired military personnel and have marveled at some of their stories. I once met Daniel (Chappie) James, America’s first black, four-star General and the first black General in the U.S. Air Force. He retired soon after and died within a couple of months but while alive he had a commanding presence and was an amazing man to talk to. I also knew a retired Colonel who was dying of cancer but was full of stories and loved to make people laugh, regardless of rank or position. It was his way. I attended his funeral.
Dr. Ellison’s reference to “Saving Private Ryan” is a lesson for all that those who offered their lives (some made that ultimate sacrifice) in service to the U.S. during past wars should be remembered and honored. It was my pleasure serving in the U.S. Air Force for eight years. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything and even though I never served in a war zone, I have always felt my contribution was important. I respect and honor all people who have served, regardless of how long they did it. Serving your country in the armed forces is an honor and a privilege.
The e-mail is as follows:
This should be required reading in every school and college in our country. This Captain, an Army doctor, deserves a medal himself for putting this together. If you choose not to pass it on, fine, but I think you will want to after you read it.
"Soon to Be Gone"
by Capt. Steven Ellison, MD
A Military Doctor
I am a doctor specializing in the Emergency Departments of the only two military Level One-Trauma Centers, both in San Antonio, TX and they care for civilian emergencies as well as military personnel. San Antonio has the largest military retiree population in the world living here. As a military doctor, I work long hours and the pay is less than glamorous. One tends to become jaded by the long hours, lack of sleep, food, family contact and the endless parade of human suffering passing before you. The arrival of another ambulance does not mean more pay, only more work. Most often, it is a victim from a motor vehicle crash.
Often it is a person of dubious character who has been shot or stabbed. With our large military retiree population, it is often a nursing home patient. Even with my enlisted service and minimal combat experience in Panama, I have caught myself groaning when the ambulance brought in yet another sick, elderly person from one of the local retirement centers that cater to military retirees. I had not stopped to think of what citizens of this age group represented.
I saw 'Saving Private Ryan.' I was touched deeply. Not so much by the carnage, but by the sacrifices of so many. I was touched most by the scene of the elderly survivor at the graveside, asking his wife if he'd been a good man. I realized that I had seen these same men and women coming through my Emergency Dept.. and had not realized what magnificent sacrifices they had made. The things they did for me and everyone else that has lived on this planet since the end of that conflict are priceless.
Situation permitting, I now try to ask my patients about their experiences. They would never bring up the subject without the inquiry. I have been privileged to an amazing array of experiences, recounted in the brief minutes allowed in an Emergency Dept. encounter. These experiences have revealed the incredible individuals I have had the honor of serving in a medical capacity, many on their last admission to the hospital.
There was a frail, elderly woman who reassured my young enlisted medic, trying to start an IV line in her arm. She remained calm and poised, despite her illness and the multiple needle-sticks into her fragile veins. She was what we call a 'hard stick.' As the medic made another attempt, I noticed a number tattooed across her forearm. I touched it with one finger and looked into her eyes. She simply said, ' Auschwitz...' Many of later generations would have loudly and openly berated the young medic in his many attempts. How different was the response from this person who'd seen unspeakable suffering.
Also, there was this long retired Colonel, who as a young officer had parachuted from his burning plane over a Pacific Island held by the Japanese. Now an octogenarian, he had a minor cut on his head from a fall at his home where he lived alone. His CT scan and suturing had been delayed until after midnight by the usual parade of high priority ambulance patients.. Still spry for his age, he asked to use the phone to call a taxi, to take him home, then he realized his ambulance had brought him without his wallet. He asked if he could use the phone to make a long distance call to his daughter who lived 7 miles away. With great pride we told him that he could not, as he'd done enough for his country and the least we could do was get him a taxi home, even if we had to pay for it ourselves. My only regret was that my shift wouldn't end for several hours, and I couldn't drive him myself.
I was there the night M/Sgt Roy Benavidez came through the Emergency Dept. for the last time. He was very sick. I was not the doctor taking care of him, but I walked to his bedside and took his hand. I said nothing. He was so sick, he didn't know I was there. I'd read his Congressional Medal of Honor citation and wanted to shake his hand. He died a few days later.
The gentleman who served with Merrill's Marauders, the survivor of the Bataan Death March, the survivor of Omaha Beach, the 101 year old World War I veteran.
The former POW held in frozen North Korea.
The former Special Forces medic - now with non-operable liver cancer
the former Viet Nam Corps Commander.
I may still groan when yet another ambulance comes in, but now I am much more aware of what an honor it is to serve these particular men and women.
I have seen a Congress who would turn their back on these individuals who've sacrificed so much to protect our liberty. I see later generations that seem to be totally engrossed in abusing these same liberties, won with such sacrifice.
It has become my personal endeavor to make the nurses and young enlisted medics aware of these amazing individuals when I encounter them in our Emergency Dept. Their response to these particular citizens has made me think that perhaps all is not lost in the next generation.
My experiences have solidified my belief that we are losing an incredible generation, and this nation knows not what it is losing. Our uncaring government and ungrateful civilian populace should all take note. We should all remember that we must 'Earn this.'
If it weren't for the United States Military, there'd be NO United States of America!
Steven Ellison, MD
A MILITARY DOCTOR
Dr. Ellison’s reference to “Saving Private Ryan” is a lesson for all that those who offered their lives (some made that ultimate sacrifice) in service to the U.S. during past wars should be remembered and honored. It was my pleasure serving in the U.S. Air Force for eight years. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything and even though I never served in a war zone, I have always felt my contribution was important. I respect and honor all people who have served, regardless of how long they did it. Serving your country in the armed forces is an honor and a privilege.
The e-mail is as follows:
This should be required reading in every school and college in our country. This Captain, an Army doctor, deserves a medal himself for putting this together. If you choose not to pass it on, fine, but I think you will want to after you read it.
"Soon to Be Gone"
by Capt. Steven Ellison, MD
A Military Doctor
I am a doctor specializing in the Emergency Departments of the only two military Level One-Trauma Centers, both in San Antonio, TX and they care for civilian emergencies as well as military personnel. San Antonio has the largest military retiree population in the world living here. As a military doctor, I work long hours and the pay is less than glamorous. One tends to become jaded by the long hours, lack of sleep, food, family contact and the endless parade of human suffering passing before you. The arrival of another ambulance does not mean more pay, only more work. Most often, it is a victim from a motor vehicle crash.
Often it is a person of dubious character who has been shot or stabbed. With our large military retiree population, it is often a nursing home patient. Even with my enlisted service and minimal combat experience in Panama, I have caught myself groaning when the ambulance brought in yet another sick, elderly person from one of the local retirement centers that cater to military retirees. I had not stopped to think of what citizens of this age group represented.
I saw 'Saving Private Ryan.' I was touched deeply. Not so much by the carnage, but by the sacrifices of so many. I was touched most by the scene of the elderly survivor at the graveside, asking his wife if he'd been a good man. I realized that I had seen these same men and women coming through my Emergency Dept.. and had not realized what magnificent sacrifices they had made. The things they did for me and everyone else that has lived on this planet since the end of that conflict are priceless.
Situation permitting, I now try to ask my patients about their experiences. They would never bring up the subject without the inquiry. I have been privileged to an amazing array of experiences, recounted in the brief minutes allowed in an Emergency Dept. encounter. These experiences have revealed the incredible individuals I have had the honor of serving in a medical capacity, many on their last admission to the hospital.
There was a frail, elderly woman who reassured my young enlisted medic, trying to start an IV line in her arm. She remained calm and poised, despite her illness and the multiple needle-sticks into her fragile veins. She was what we call a 'hard stick.' As the medic made another attempt, I noticed a number tattooed across her forearm. I touched it with one finger and looked into her eyes. She simply said, ' Auschwitz...' Many of later generations would have loudly and openly berated the young medic in his many attempts. How different was the response from this person who'd seen unspeakable suffering.
Also, there was this long retired Colonel, who as a young officer had parachuted from his burning plane over a Pacific Island held by the Japanese. Now an octogenarian, he had a minor cut on his head from a fall at his home where he lived alone. His CT scan and suturing had been delayed until after midnight by the usual parade of high priority ambulance patients.. Still spry for his age, he asked to use the phone to call a taxi, to take him home, then he realized his ambulance had brought him without his wallet. He asked if he could use the phone to make a long distance call to his daughter who lived 7 miles away. With great pride we told him that he could not, as he'd done enough for his country and the least we could do was get him a taxi home, even if we had to pay for it ourselves. My only regret was that my shift wouldn't end for several hours, and I couldn't drive him myself.
I was there the night M/Sgt Roy Benavidez came through the Emergency Dept. for the last time. He was very sick. I was not the doctor taking care of him, but I walked to his bedside and took his hand. I said nothing. He was so sick, he didn't know I was there. I'd read his Congressional Medal of Honor citation and wanted to shake his hand. He died a few days later.
The gentleman who served with Merrill's Marauders, the survivor of the Bataan Death March, the survivor of Omaha Beach, the 101 year old World War I veteran.
The former POW held in frozen North Korea.
The former Special Forces medic - now with non-operable liver cancer
the former Viet Nam Corps Commander.
I may still groan when yet another ambulance comes in, but now I am much more aware of what an honor it is to serve these particular men and women.
I have seen a Congress who would turn their back on these individuals who've sacrificed so much to protect our liberty. I see later generations that seem to be totally engrossed in abusing these same liberties, won with such sacrifice.
It has become my personal endeavor to make the nurses and young enlisted medics aware of these amazing individuals when I encounter them in our Emergency Dept. Their response to these particular citizens has made me think that perhaps all is not lost in the next generation.
My experiences have solidified my belief that we are losing an incredible generation, and this nation knows not what it is losing. Our uncaring government and ungrateful civilian populace should all take note. We should all remember that we must 'Earn this.'
If it weren't for the United States Military, there'd be NO United States of America!
Steven Ellison, MD
A MILITARY DOCTOR
Friday, December 16, 2011
Economics and Socialism
I read the following e-mail this morning and thought it quite interesting. I’ve seen interviews of young, liberal college students who think socialism and even Marxism are good ideas but when asked if they are OK with giving up a grade to someone who needs it is OK they all say no because “I worked for mine just as they need to work for theirs.” Funny how that works.
I didn’t write the following article and I have no idea who did. But I like it and thought it worth sharing.
An economics professor at a local college made a statement that he had never failed a single student before, but had recently failed an entire class. That class had insisted that Obama's socialism worked and that no one would be poor and no one would be rich, a great equalizer.
The professor then said, "OK, we will have an experiment in this class on Obama's plan". All grades will be averaged and everyone will receive the same grade so no one will fail and no one will receive an A.... (substituting grades for dollars - something closer to home and more readily understood by all).
After the first test, the grades were averaged and everyone got a B. The students who studied hard were upset and the students who studied little were happy. As the second test rolled around, the students who studied little had studied even less and the ones who studied hard decided they wanted a free ride too so they studied little.
The second test average was a D! No one was happy. When the 3rd test rolled around, the average was an F.
As the tests proceeded, the scores never increased as bickering, blame and name-calling all resulted in hard feelings and no one would study for the benefit of anyone else.
To their great surprise, ALL FAILED and the professor told them that socialism would also ultimately fail because when the reward is great, the effort to succeed is great, but when government takes all the reward away, no one will try or want to succeed.
It could not be any simpler than that. Remember, there IS a test coming up. The 2012 elections.
These are possibly the 5 best sentences you'll ever read and all applicable to this experiment:
1. You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity.
2. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving.
3. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.
4. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it!
5. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that is the beginning of the end of any nation.
Like I said - I didn't write it. But it's worth thinking about.
I didn’t write the following article and I have no idea who did. But I like it and thought it worth sharing.
An economics professor at a local college made a statement that he had never failed a single student before, but had recently failed an entire class. That class had insisted that Obama's socialism worked and that no one would be poor and no one would be rich, a great equalizer.
The professor then said, "OK, we will have an experiment in this class on Obama's plan". All grades will be averaged and everyone will receive the same grade so no one will fail and no one will receive an A.... (substituting grades for dollars - something closer to home and more readily understood by all).
After the first test, the grades were averaged and everyone got a B. The students who studied hard were upset and the students who studied little were happy. As the second test rolled around, the students who studied little had studied even less and the ones who studied hard decided they wanted a free ride too so they studied little.
The second test average was a D! No one was happy. When the 3rd test rolled around, the average was an F.
As the tests proceeded, the scores never increased as bickering, blame and name-calling all resulted in hard feelings and no one would study for the benefit of anyone else.
To their great surprise, ALL FAILED and the professor told them that socialism would also ultimately fail because when the reward is great, the effort to succeed is great, but when government takes all the reward away, no one will try or want to succeed.
It could not be any simpler than that. Remember, there IS a test coming up. The 2012 elections.
These are possibly the 5 best sentences you'll ever read and all applicable to this experiment:
1. You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity.
2. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving.
3. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.
4. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it!
5. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that is the beginning of the end of any nation.
Like I said - I didn't write it. But it's worth thinking about.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
A Hero Died Last Year...
Today is December 1, 2011. One year ago today Corporal Chad Stafford Wade made the ultimate sacrifice for his country and his fellow Marines in Afghanistan. He was 23 years old and on his second tour – a tour he didn’t have to take being an only child. The Marines told him he didn’t have to go. Chad said if his buddies were going he was going too. That’s the man he was.
I have been so caught up in my own personal life that I almost forgot what today is. And that breaks my heart. Chad’s mom, Tami, is very special to me and it hurts me to the core that she’s suffering today. I know that type of suffering – it’s not a good thing. The first anniversary of your child’s death is very painful. They’re all painful but the first is doubly so. The first is when those memories come crashing in – how it happened, who said what, how you found out, what you did and what you felt when you realized it was real. And it hurts. It hurts deeply. And I hate it that Tami is having to go through that today.
Chad Wade was a Marine in every sense of the word. As I said – he didn’t have to go to Afghanistan. He had already been to Iraq. Being an only child with only nine months left on his enlistment he could have stayed behind. He chose to go because his fellow Marines, the ones in his platoon, were going and he didn’t want them to go without him. Chad Wade was a man of courage and honor and he put his buddies before himself. He paid the ultimate price for it but did so voluntarily. He loved his country and his fellow Americans enough to sacrifice his own life for them (us). Those Americans he loved included his mom, his step-dad, Tebo, his Aunt Paige, and everyone else he cared about, as well as those of us he didn’t know. Chad was an exceptional man.
On this day I ask that all of you spend a moment remembering Chad and his sacrifice, as well as his grieving mother and family. No one should have to bury their child. It’s simply not right. Unfortunately, it happens on a regular basis and some of us have to live with it. We don’t ask for pity. We don’t need pity. We ask for understanding of why we sometimes cry for non-obvious reasons and we sometimes smile more broadly watching someone with their children simply because it triggers a good memory for us. We sometimes ask that you honor our deceased children by simply telling yours that you love them. Today I challenge you to tell your children that you love them, in honor of Chad. If you can’t tell them in person, call them. If that’s not possible, send them an e-mail or a letter. If even that’s not possible (if your child is deep in a war zone) then ask God to tell them for you. I have a feeling He grants requests of that sort on a regular basis…
I have been so caught up in my own personal life that I almost forgot what today is. And that breaks my heart. Chad’s mom, Tami, is very special to me and it hurts me to the core that she’s suffering today. I know that type of suffering – it’s not a good thing. The first anniversary of your child’s death is very painful. They’re all painful but the first is doubly so. The first is when those memories come crashing in – how it happened, who said what, how you found out, what you did and what you felt when you realized it was real. And it hurts. It hurts deeply. And I hate it that Tami is having to go through that today.
Chad Wade was a Marine in every sense of the word. As I said – he didn’t have to go to Afghanistan. He had already been to Iraq. Being an only child with only nine months left on his enlistment he could have stayed behind. He chose to go because his fellow Marines, the ones in his platoon, were going and he didn’t want them to go without him. Chad Wade was a man of courage and honor and he put his buddies before himself. He paid the ultimate price for it but did so voluntarily. He loved his country and his fellow Americans enough to sacrifice his own life for them (us). Those Americans he loved included his mom, his step-dad, Tebo, his Aunt Paige, and everyone else he cared about, as well as those of us he didn’t know. Chad was an exceptional man.
On this day I ask that all of you spend a moment remembering Chad and his sacrifice, as well as his grieving mother and family. No one should have to bury their child. It’s simply not right. Unfortunately, it happens on a regular basis and some of us have to live with it. We don’t ask for pity. We don’t need pity. We ask for understanding of why we sometimes cry for non-obvious reasons and we sometimes smile more broadly watching someone with their children simply because it triggers a good memory for us. We sometimes ask that you honor our deceased children by simply telling yours that you love them. Today I challenge you to tell your children that you love them, in honor of Chad. If you can’t tell them in person, call them. If that’s not possible, send them an e-mail or a letter. If even that’s not possible (if your child is deep in a war zone) then ask God to tell them for you. I have a feeling He grants requests of that sort on a regular basis…
Monday, November 14, 2011
OWS And The Real World
Once again I turn to someone else for my post today. This article was written by Marybeth Hicks, Columnist for The Washington Times, on October 20, 2011. It contains a lot of thoughts shared by many Americans. I'm one of those.
Marybeth Hicks:
Call it an occupational hazard, but I can’t look at the Occupy Wall Street protesters without thinking, “Who parented these people?”
As a culture columnist, I’ve commented on the social and political ramifications of the “movement” - now known as “OWS” - whose fairyland agenda can be summarized by one of their placards: “Everything for everybody.
Thanks to their pipe-dream platform, it’s clear there are people with serious designs on “transformational” change in America who are using the protesters like bedsprings in a brothel.
Yet it’s not my role as a commentator that prompts my parenting question, but rather the fact that I’m the mother of four teens and young adults. There are some crucial life lessons that the protesters’ moms clearly have not passed along.
Here, then, are five things the OWS protesters’ mothers should have taught their children but obviously didn’t, so I will:
• Life isn’t fair. The concept of justice - that everyone should be treated fairly - is a worthy and worthwhile moral imperative on which our nation was founded. But justice and economic equality are not the same. Or, as Mick Jagger said, “You can’t always get what you want.”
No matter how you try to “level the playing field,” some people have better luck, skills, talents or connections that land them in better places. Some seem to have all the advantages in life but squander them, others play the modest hand they’re dealt and make up the difference in hard work and perseverance, and some find jobs on Wall Street and eventually buy houses in the Hamptons . Is it fair? Stupid question.
• Nothing is “free.” Protesting with signs that seek “free” college degrees and “free” health care make you look like idiots, because colleges and hospitals don’t operate on rainbows and sunshine. There is no magic money machine to tap for your meandering educational careers and “slow paths” to adulthood, and the 53 percent of taxpaying Americans owe you neither a degree nor an annual physical.
While I’m pointing out this obvious fact, here are a few other things that are not free: overtime for police officers and municipal workers, trash hauling, repairs to fixtures and property, condoms, Band-Aids and the food that inexplicably appears on the tables in your makeshift protest kitchens. Real people with real dollars are underwriting your civic temper tantrum.
• Your word is your bond. When you demonstrate to eliminate student loan debt, you are advocating precisely the lack of integrity you decry in others. Loans are made based on solemn promises to repay them. No one forces you to borrow money; you are free to choose educational pursuits that don’t require loans, or to seek technical or vocational training that allows you to support yourself and your ongoing educational goals. Also, for the record, being a college student is not a state of victimization. It’s a privilege that billions of young people around the globe would die for - literally.
• A protest is not a party. On Saturday in New York , while making a mad dash from my cab to the door of my hotel to avoid you, I saw what isn’t evident in the newsreel footage of your demonstrations: Most of you are doing this only for attention and fun. Serious people in a sober pursuit of social and political change don’t dance jigs down Sixth Avenue like attendees of a Renaissance festival. You look foolish, you smell gross, you are clearly high and you don’t seem to realize that all around you are people who deem you irrelevant.
• There are reasons you haven’t found jobs. The truth? Your tattooed necks, gauged ears, facial piercings and dirty dreadlocks are off-putting. Nonconformity for the sake of nonconformity isn’t a virtue. Occupy reality: Only 4 percent of college graduates are out of work. If you are among that 4 percent, find a mirror and face the problem. It’s not them. It’s you.
Marybeth Hicks:
Call it an occupational hazard, but I can’t look at the Occupy Wall Street protesters without thinking, “Who parented these people?”
As a culture columnist, I’ve commented on the social and political ramifications of the “movement” - now known as “OWS” - whose fairyland agenda can be summarized by one of their placards: “Everything for everybody.
Thanks to their pipe-dream platform, it’s clear there are people with serious designs on “transformational” change in America who are using the protesters like bedsprings in a brothel.
Yet it’s not my role as a commentator that prompts my parenting question, but rather the fact that I’m the mother of four teens and young adults. There are some crucial life lessons that the protesters’ moms clearly have not passed along.
Here, then, are five things the OWS protesters’ mothers should have taught their children but obviously didn’t, so I will:
• Life isn’t fair. The concept of justice - that everyone should be treated fairly - is a worthy and worthwhile moral imperative on which our nation was founded. But justice and economic equality are not the same. Or, as Mick Jagger said, “You can’t always get what you want.”
No matter how you try to “level the playing field,” some people have better luck, skills, talents or connections that land them in better places. Some seem to have all the advantages in life but squander them, others play the modest hand they’re dealt and make up the difference in hard work and perseverance, and some find jobs on Wall Street and eventually buy houses in the Hamptons . Is it fair? Stupid question.
• Nothing is “free.” Protesting with signs that seek “free” college degrees and “free” health care make you look like idiots, because colleges and hospitals don’t operate on rainbows and sunshine. There is no magic money machine to tap for your meandering educational careers and “slow paths” to adulthood, and the 53 percent of taxpaying Americans owe you neither a degree nor an annual physical.
While I’m pointing out this obvious fact, here are a few other things that are not free: overtime for police officers and municipal workers, trash hauling, repairs to fixtures and property, condoms, Band-Aids and the food that inexplicably appears on the tables in your makeshift protest kitchens. Real people with real dollars are underwriting your civic temper tantrum.
• Your word is your bond. When you demonstrate to eliminate student loan debt, you are advocating precisely the lack of integrity you decry in others. Loans are made based on solemn promises to repay them. No one forces you to borrow money; you are free to choose educational pursuits that don’t require loans, or to seek technical or vocational training that allows you to support yourself and your ongoing educational goals. Also, for the record, being a college student is not a state of victimization. It’s a privilege that billions of young people around the globe would die for - literally.
• A protest is not a party. On Saturday in New York , while making a mad dash from my cab to the door of my hotel to avoid you, I saw what isn’t evident in the newsreel footage of your demonstrations: Most of you are doing this only for attention and fun. Serious people in a sober pursuit of social and political change don’t dance jigs down Sixth Avenue like attendees of a Renaissance festival. You look foolish, you smell gross, you are clearly high and you don’t seem to realize that all around you are people who deem you irrelevant.
• There are reasons you haven’t found jobs. The truth? Your tattooed necks, gauged ears, facial piercings and dirty dreadlocks are off-putting. Nonconformity for the sake of nonconformity isn’t a virtue. Occupy reality: Only 4 percent of college graduates are out of work. If you are among that 4 percent, find a mirror and face the problem. It’s not them. It’s you.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Six Seconds To Live
Today I'm once again posting something I didn't write. This was sent to me in an e-mail yesterday, Veterans' Day, November 11, 2011. I didn't get a chance to read it until this morning. Immediately I knew it needed to be shared. Some people in this country bad mouth our military members. Men (and women) like the two men in this story are examples of the type of people who keep America safe from those who would seek to destroy our way of life and take away our freedom. God bless America and God bless our military, all branches in all parts of the world.
In November 2010, 1st Lt. Robert M. Kelly, fell during battle while on his third combat deployment since 9/11. This is part of what his father, Lieutenant General John F. Kelly read during his funeral:
I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they are... about the quality of the steel in their backs... about the kind of dedication they bring to our country while they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans. Two years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry battalions, 1/9 “The Walking Dead,” and 2/8 were switching out in Ramadi. One battalion in the closing days of their deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines. The same broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda. Yale was a dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he supported as well. He did this on a yearly salary of less than $23,000. Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class white kid from Long Island. They were from two completely different worlds. Had they not joined the Marines they would never have met each other, or understood that multiple America’s exist simultaneously depending on one’s race, education level, economic status, and where you might have been born. But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they were born of the same woman.
The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad leader I am sure went something like: “Okay you two clowns, stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” “You clear?” I am also sure Yale and Haerter then rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: “Yes Sergeant,” with just enough attitude that made the point without saying the words, “No kidding sweetheart, we know what we’re doing.” They then relieved two other Marines on watch and took up their post at the entry control point of Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq.
A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the alley way-perhaps 60-70 yards in length-and sped its way through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls. The truck stopped just short of where the two were posted and detonated, killing them both catastrophically. Twenty-four brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed. A mosque 100 yards away collapsed. The truck’s engine came to rest two hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it stopped. Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of 2,000 pounds of explosives. Two died, and because these two young infantrymen didn’t have it in their DNA to run from danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-in-arms.
When I read the situation report about the incident a few hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for details as something about this struck me as different. Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in combat. We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process, if that is what the mission takes. But this just seemed different. The regimental commander had just returned from the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no American witnesses to the event-just Iraqi police. I figured if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their bravery, I’d have to do it as a combat award that requires two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in Washington would never buy Iraqi statements. If it had any chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a general officer.
I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story. The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately sped up as it made its way through the serpentine. They all said, “We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the two Marines began firing.” The Iraqi police then related that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for safety just prior to the explosion. All survived. Many were injured…some seriously. One of the Iraqis elaborated and with tears welling up said, “They’d run like any normal man would to save his life.” “What he didn’t know until then,” he said, “and what he learned that very instant, was that Marines are not normal.” Choking past the emotion he said, “Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood there and done what they did.” “No sane man.” “They saved us all.”
What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.
You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives. Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “…let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” The two Marines had about five seconds left to live.
It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their weapons, take aim, and open up. By this time the truck was half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole time. Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were-some running right past the Marines. They had three seconds left to live.
For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing non-stop…the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers-American and Iraqi-bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground. If they had been aware, they would have known they were safe…because two Marines stood between them and a crazed suicide bomber. The recording shows the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two Marines. In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and Haerter never hesitated. By all reports and by the recording, they never stepped back. They never even started to step aside. They never even shifted their weight. With their feet spread shoulder width apart, they leaned into the danger, firing as fast as they could work their weapons. They had only one second left to live.
The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty…into eternity. That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight-for you.
We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth-freedom. We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious-our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines-to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth can every steal it away. It has been my distinct honor to have been with you here today. Rest assured our America, this experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will forever remain the “land of the free and home of the brave” so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are willing to look beyond their own self-interest and comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us harm.
God Bless America, and….SEMPER FIDELIS!
In November 2010, 1st Lt. Robert M. Kelly, fell during battle while on his third combat deployment since 9/11. This is part of what his father, Lieutenant General John F. Kelly read during his funeral:
I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they are... about the quality of the steel in their backs... about the kind of dedication they bring to our country while they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans. Two years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry battalions, 1/9 “The Walking Dead,” and 2/8 were switching out in Ramadi. One battalion in the closing days of their deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines. The same broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda. Yale was a dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he supported as well. He did this on a yearly salary of less than $23,000. Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class white kid from Long Island. They were from two completely different worlds. Had they not joined the Marines they would never have met each other, or understood that multiple America’s exist simultaneously depending on one’s race, education level, economic status, and where you might have been born. But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they were born of the same woman.
The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad leader I am sure went something like: “Okay you two clowns, stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” “You clear?” I am also sure Yale and Haerter then rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: “Yes Sergeant,” with just enough attitude that made the point without saying the words, “No kidding sweetheart, we know what we’re doing.” They then relieved two other Marines on watch and took up their post at the entry control point of Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq.
A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the alley way-perhaps 60-70 yards in length-and sped its way through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls. The truck stopped just short of where the two were posted and detonated, killing them both catastrophically. Twenty-four brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed. A mosque 100 yards away collapsed. The truck’s engine came to rest two hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it stopped. Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of 2,000 pounds of explosives. Two died, and because these two young infantrymen didn’t have it in their DNA to run from danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-in-arms.
When I read the situation report about the incident a few hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for details as something about this struck me as different. Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in combat. We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process, if that is what the mission takes. But this just seemed different. The regimental commander had just returned from the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no American witnesses to the event-just Iraqi police. I figured if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their bravery, I’d have to do it as a combat award that requires two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in Washington would never buy Iraqi statements. If it had any chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a general officer.
I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story. The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately sped up as it made its way through the serpentine. They all said, “We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the two Marines began firing.” The Iraqi police then related that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for safety just prior to the explosion. All survived. Many were injured…some seriously. One of the Iraqis elaborated and with tears welling up said, “They’d run like any normal man would to save his life.” “What he didn’t know until then,” he said, “and what he learned that very instant, was that Marines are not normal.” Choking past the emotion he said, “Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood there and done what they did.” “No sane man.” “They saved us all.”
What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.
You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives. Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “…let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” The two Marines had about five seconds left to live.
It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their weapons, take aim, and open up. By this time the truck was half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole time. Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were-some running right past the Marines. They had three seconds left to live.
For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing non-stop…the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers-American and Iraqi-bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground. If they had been aware, they would have known they were safe…because two Marines stood between them and a crazed suicide bomber. The recording shows the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two Marines. In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and Haerter never hesitated. By all reports and by the recording, they never stepped back. They never even started to step aside. They never even shifted their weight. With their feet spread shoulder width apart, they leaned into the danger, firing as fast as they could work their weapons. They had only one second left to live.
The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty…into eternity. That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight-for you.
We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth-freedom. We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious-our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines-to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth can every steal it away. It has been my distinct honor to have been with you here today. Rest assured our America, this experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will forever remain the “land of the free and home of the brave” so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are willing to look beyond their own self-interest and comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us harm.
God Bless America, and….SEMPER FIDELIS!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Thoughts On Veterans' Day
There is an old saying that “A veteran is someone who, at some point in his/her life, writes a check payable to “The people of the United States of America” for the amount of “Up to and including my life.” No truer words were ever spoken. Not all service members realize the depth of their commitment to their country when they take that oath but they promise to defend America at all costs. I know I didn’t.
When I joined the Air Force in 1977 I had been out of high school for two years and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was looking for a little excitement, something different, and a start on my future. It was peacetime and even though I knew there could be a war in the future, it never occurred to me that I could possibly be a part of it. The advertisement said the Air Force was “not just a job but an adventure.”
I took my first ride on an airplane on May 30, 1977. I flew from Columbus, Ohio, to San Antonio, Texas, then got on a military bus to Lackland Air Force Base. I don’t really remember getting off the bus or that first meeting with a Training Instructor (TI) but I remember going upstairs to a second floor, brightly lit and spotless barracks with a lot of other guys, most of which sported the long hair style of the mid 70s.
My first day of Basic Training was my 20th birthday. I had no military background as some of my fellow basic trainees did. Some were military brats and ROTC graduates who knew full well what to expect. I had no clue except from what I’d seen on TV. I knew they were going to yell at me, make me do pushups and other exercises and run. That much I knew. I knew they were going to teach me how to use a gun and make me march endless miles with a heavy backpack. And I knew I was going to have to call everyone “Sir”.
Funny thing is – most of that never really happened; or didn’t happen to the extent to which I expected. My first Training Instructor (T.I.) was SSgt Stultz. He was hardcore – like R. Lee Ermey, the retired Marine turned actor who screamed at Private Pyle in “Full Metal Jacket”. SSgt Stultz liked to yell and be impressive. He had an ego problem and I didn’t much care for him. He was replaced about 4 days into our training and on his last day spent about 20 minutes telling us how greatly misunderstood he was. Strange man.
My second T.I. was SSgt John Balson, a man who not only knew his stuff but didn’t have to try to impress anyone. Believe it or not he was personable and while he could be hard when he needed to be, he could also sit and talk to us like a father, or a friend. He never was overbearing and we all enjoyed having him teach us the ropes.
SSgt Balson had an assistant named Sgt. John Kissel. He was the poster child for the Air Force (or should have been, anyway.) Tall, thin, good looking guy, looked good in a uniform. We had several female T.I.’s in our building and they all drooled over Sgt. Kissel. I thought it was hilarious.
I was a bit disappointed in the physical training in Basic. All we really did was stretching exercises and run. The only pushups I did were those I did on my own in the evening. There were no real exercises – only stretching and running. We did get to run the “Confidence Course” one day. It was about 1.5 miles long with a lot of fairly easy obstacles. I had been working out and running before I joined so I was in pretty decent shape. I finished #1 in my group and about a quarter mile ahead of them. I wanted to do it again!
Another day they took us to the firing range and spent one entire day teaching us everything we needed to know about an M-16. We were taught firearm safety, cleaning and maintenance and how to find your sight picture. Once we passed their qualifications course we were done. I didn’t handle another weapon, that I can remember, until I went to Germany 5 years later.
From Lackland I went to Sheppard Air Force Base in beautiful Wichita Falls, Texas, for my technical school. If you’ve never been there I recommend you keep it that way. My parents came to visit me in Tech School. I’d been gone about 8 weeks and was growing up before their eyes. They stayed in Wichita Falls in a hotel just outside the base for two days before announcing “We can’t take it anymore. We’ve got to go find someplace more interesting.” I can’t blame them. It really was a boring town.
About four weeks into tech school I got orders to Wiesbaden, Germany. I knew where I was going. However, a couple of days later that changed. I was doing so well in my classes that I was asked if I’d be interested in being reassigned to the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado. I thought it was a great honor and accepted immediately. I got a controlled, four year assignment to the beautiful campus of the Air Force Academy at the base of the Rockies just North of Colorado Springs. Everyone thought it would be a bad assignment but honestly, I enjoyed it tremendously. I got out after those four years and moved to Connecticut for several months. When I couldn’t find a job I re-enlisted and went back for more. I ended up at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California for about 14 months then went to Germany for three years. In Germany I got a small taste of the real military.
I was issued a gas mask and a helmet and we had training exercises that involved putting that mask on in a timely manner. They also made you sign a piece of paper designating who your children would go to if you didn’t come home. While I was in Germany there were several bombings of military targets and the hijacking of flight 847. There were also service members kidnapped and killed by the Red Army Faction, a terrorist organization founded in Germany in 1970. They were responsible for the deaths of many American service members in the 70s and 80s. I was there when the bombing occurred at the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon in 1983. They brought many of the injured Marines to us.
As I said, in Germany I felt more like I was in the real military but didn’t ever really feel I personally was in danger. I got out of the Air Force in 1985 without ever facing a hostile enemy. I never once felt like I had been a hero or that I’d ever been in any real hazardous situation to justify being called a hero. Then, in 2009, I was reminded by a couple of friends of my initial statement above. I had never thought of it in that respect before and while I still don’t consider myself a hero for serving in the Air Force, I’m extremely proud of it. And I’d do it again in a minute.
Happy Veterans’ Day to all who have served and a special thank you to those who have put themselves in harm’s way for our country. God bless and protect those who are doing it today and may you all return home safely and in one piece. And may God bless and comfort those who's heroes don't make it home. Thank you all for your sacrifice as well.
When I joined the Air Force in 1977 I had been out of high school for two years and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was looking for a little excitement, something different, and a start on my future. It was peacetime and even though I knew there could be a war in the future, it never occurred to me that I could possibly be a part of it. The advertisement said the Air Force was “not just a job but an adventure.”
I took my first ride on an airplane on May 30, 1977. I flew from Columbus, Ohio, to San Antonio, Texas, then got on a military bus to Lackland Air Force Base. I don’t really remember getting off the bus or that first meeting with a Training Instructor (TI) but I remember going upstairs to a second floor, brightly lit and spotless barracks with a lot of other guys, most of which sported the long hair style of the mid 70s.
My first day of Basic Training was my 20th birthday. I had no military background as some of my fellow basic trainees did. Some were military brats and ROTC graduates who knew full well what to expect. I had no clue except from what I’d seen on TV. I knew they were going to yell at me, make me do pushups and other exercises and run. That much I knew. I knew they were going to teach me how to use a gun and make me march endless miles with a heavy backpack. And I knew I was going to have to call everyone “Sir”.
Funny thing is – most of that never really happened; or didn’t happen to the extent to which I expected. My first Training Instructor (T.I.) was SSgt Stultz. He was hardcore – like R. Lee Ermey, the retired Marine turned actor who screamed at Private Pyle in “Full Metal Jacket”. SSgt Stultz liked to yell and be impressive. He had an ego problem and I didn’t much care for him. He was replaced about 4 days into our training and on his last day spent about 20 minutes telling us how greatly misunderstood he was. Strange man.
My second T.I. was SSgt John Balson, a man who not only knew his stuff but didn’t have to try to impress anyone. Believe it or not he was personable and while he could be hard when he needed to be, he could also sit and talk to us like a father, or a friend. He never was overbearing and we all enjoyed having him teach us the ropes.
SSgt Balson had an assistant named Sgt. John Kissel. He was the poster child for the Air Force (or should have been, anyway.) Tall, thin, good looking guy, looked good in a uniform. We had several female T.I.’s in our building and they all drooled over Sgt. Kissel. I thought it was hilarious.
I was a bit disappointed in the physical training in Basic. All we really did was stretching exercises and run. The only pushups I did were those I did on my own in the evening. There were no real exercises – only stretching and running. We did get to run the “Confidence Course” one day. It was about 1.5 miles long with a lot of fairly easy obstacles. I had been working out and running before I joined so I was in pretty decent shape. I finished #1 in my group and about a quarter mile ahead of them. I wanted to do it again!
Another day they took us to the firing range and spent one entire day teaching us everything we needed to know about an M-16. We were taught firearm safety, cleaning and maintenance and how to find your sight picture. Once we passed their qualifications course we were done. I didn’t handle another weapon, that I can remember, until I went to Germany 5 years later.
From Lackland I went to Sheppard Air Force Base in beautiful Wichita Falls, Texas, for my technical school. If you’ve never been there I recommend you keep it that way. My parents came to visit me in Tech School. I’d been gone about 8 weeks and was growing up before their eyes. They stayed in Wichita Falls in a hotel just outside the base for two days before announcing “We can’t take it anymore. We’ve got to go find someplace more interesting.” I can’t blame them. It really was a boring town.
About four weeks into tech school I got orders to Wiesbaden, Germany. I knew where I was going. However, a couple of days later that changed. I was doing so well in my classes that I was asked if I’d be interested in being reassigned to the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado. I thought it was a great honor and accepted immediately. I got a controlled, four year assignment to the beautiful campus of the Air Force Academy at the base of the Rockies just North of Colorado Springs. Everyone thought it would be a bad assignment but honestly, I enjoyed it tremendously. I got out after those four years and moved to Connecticut for several months. When I couldn’t find a job I re-enlisted and went back for more. I ended up at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California for about 14 months then went to Germany for three years. In Germany I got a small taste of the real military.
I was issued a gas mask and a helmet and we had training exercises that involved putting that mask on in a timely manner. They also made you sign a piece of paper designating who your children would go to if you didn’t come home. While I was in Germany there were several bombings of military targets and the hijacking of flight 847. There were also service members kidnapped and killed by the Red Army Faction, a terrorist organization founded in Germany in 1970. They were responsible for the deaths of many American service members in the 70s and 80s. I was there when the bombing occurred at the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon in 1983. They brought many of the injured Marines to us.
As I said, in Germany I felt more like I was in the real military but didn’t ever really feel I personally was in danger. I got out of the Air Force in 1985 without ever facing a hostile enemy. I never once felt like I had been a hero or that I’d ever been in any real hazardous situation to justify being called a hero. Then, in 2009, I was reminded by a couple of friends of my initial statement above. I had never thought of it in that respect before and while I still don’t consider myself a hero for serving in the Air Force, I’m extremely proud of it. And I’d do it again in a minute.
Happy Veterans’ Day to all who have served and a special thank you to those who have put themselves in harm’s way for our country. God bless and protect those who are doing it today and may you all return home safely and in one piece. And may God bless and comfort those who's heroes don't make it home. Thank you all for your sacrifice as well.
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