Stevie's AA Speech
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Message from
Hopi Elders
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The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a
short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal
circumstances is considered by society as half man, half
boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a
beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really
cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than
wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment
either.
He's a recent High School graduate;
he was probably an average student,
pursued some form of sport activities, drives a
ten year
old jalopy,
and has
a steady girlfriend that either broke up with
him when he left,
or swears to
be waiting when he returns from half
a world away.
He listens to rock and
roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and
155mm howizzitor. He is 10 or
15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home
because he
is working
or fighting
from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling,
thus letter writing is a pain for him,
but he can field
strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in
less time
in the dark.
He can
recite to you the nomenclature
of a machine gun or grenade
launcher and
use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines
and can
apply first aid like a
professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or
stop until he is told to
march.
He obeys orders instantly and
without hesitation,
but he is not without
spirit or individual dignity. He is
self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he
washes one and
wears the other.
He keeps his canteens
full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his
teeth,
but
never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals,
mend his own
clothes, and fix his own
hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his
water with
you; if you are
hungry, his food.
He'll even split his ammunition
with you in the midst of
battle when
you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like
weapons
and weapons like
they
were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it,
because that
is
his job.
He will often do twice the work of a
civilian,
draw half the
pay
and still find ironic humor in it
all.
He has seen more suffering and
death then he should have
in his short lifetime.
He has stood atop
mountains of dead
bodies,
and helped to create
them.
He has wept in public
and in private,
for friends who have
fallen in combat
and is unashamed.
He feels every note of
the National Anthem
vibrate
through his body
while at rigid
attention, while
tempering the burning
desire to
'square-away' those
around him who haven't
bothered to stand,
remove
their hat, or even stop
talking.
In an odd twist, day in
and day out,
far from home,
he defends their right
to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father,
Grandfather,
and Great-grandfather,
he is paying
the price for our
freedom. Beardless or
not, he is not a boy.
He is the
American Fighting Man
that has kept this
country free
for
over 200 years.
He has asked
nothing in
return,
except our
friendship
and
understanding.
Remember
him, always,
for he has
earned our
respect
and
admiration
with his
blood.
And now we
even have
woman over
there in
danger,
doing their
part in this
tradition
of going to
War when our
nation calls
us to do so.
As you go to
bed tonight,
remember
this shot..
A short
lull, a
little shade
and a
picture of
loved ones
in their
helmets
"Lord, hold
our troops
in your
loving
hands.
Protect them
as they
protect us.
Bless them
and their
families
for the
selfless
acts they
perform for
us
in our
time of
need.
Amen."
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