Soldier's point of view
This is sort of interesting. Yes, I know, I should be writing about the construction project right now and I am in between surfing the net. I often write better when I clear my brain for a bit here and there.
But, I digress.
Interesting blog I stumbled upon today. From my position is pretty gritty and he doesn't beat around the bush. I like that. He is recovering from injuries he sustained in Iraq and he even has a pretty gross pic of himself up on the blog. So, if for nothing else than to see what a blown up leg looks like in a hospital bed, go have a look-see. He talks about the jerks protesting outside Walter Reed Army Hospital, too.
I lifted this from his blog, I love it:
And finally, she mentioned Cindy in Texas. I figured it was about time I weighed in on that for the loyal readers of this blog...
Nobody held a gun to my head 13 years ago when I signed the papers to join the Army. It's an all volunteer force, and I reckon her son forgot to mention that he volunteered to join the Army. He wasn't a conscientious objector when he went, more than likely he was excited to go, and he was going with his buddies... buddies who would soon become like brothers.
I doubt that he would be proud of what his mother was doing right now.
I know that my mom respects my choice to be a soldier; I know that my wife understands why I do what I do. As much as it hurts them to see me lying in bed in pieces, literally blown apart, they also understand why when I wake up in that condition, my first thoughts and my first questions are about my men, my concern for them, and my desire to return to them as soon as possible.
Mrs. Sheehan and has my deepest sympathies. She's lost a son. Her son died on the altar of freedom. The medal that they pinned on my chest and they gave her when her son was put in the ground is the same, and did little to ease my pain, and I'm sure it did little to ease hers. I always looked at my command as the care of 63 sons. There were 126 mothers and fathers out there, who had loaned their boys to me. I would take care of them as best I could, and I would hope that I can return them back when it was all over. But the first sad fact of war is that young men die-- and the second sad fact of war is that nobody can do anything to change fact number one.
People call her "crazy cindy”, people make fun of her, people say mean things about her and people generally try to drag her through the mud for trying to understand, trying to ease her pain, trying to scream out into the void because nothing seems to help... she lost her son. How many people can say that they understand what she must be going through? You can sympathize, you can empathize, but how many people can say that they understand? That they know how she feels?
----
I like the way this guy thinks. Here's hoping you have a speedy recovery dude!
But, I digress.
Interesting blog I stumbled upon today. From my position is pretty gritty and he doesn't beat around the bush. I like that. He is recovering from injuries he sustained in Iraq and he even has a pretty gross pic of himself up on the blog. So, if for nothing else than to see what a blown up leg looks like in a hospital bed, go have a look-see. He talks about the jerks protesting outside Walter Reed Army Hospital, too.
I lifted this from his blog, I love it:
And finally, she mentioned Cindy in Texas. I figured it was about time I weighed in on that for the loyal readers of this blog...
Nobody held a gun to my head 13 years ago when I signed the papers to join the Army. It's an all volunteer force, and I reckon her son forgot to mention that he volunteered to join the Army. He wasn't a conscientious objector when he went, more than likely he was excited to go, and he was going with his buddies... buddies who would soon become like brothers.
I doubt that he would be proud of what his mother was doing right now.
I know that my mom respects my choice to be a soldier; I know that my wife understands why I do what I do. As much as it hurts them to see me lying in bed in pieces, literally blown apart, they also understand why when I wake up in that condition, my first thoughts and my first questions are about my men, my concern for them, and my desire to return to them as soon as possible.
Mrs. Sheehan and has my deepest sympathies. She's lost a son. Her son died on the altar of freedom. The medal that they pinned on my chest and they gave her when her son was put in the ground is the same, and did little to ease my pain, and I'm sure it did little to ease hers. I always looked at my command as the care of 63 sons. There were 126 mothers and fathers out there, who had loaned their boys to me. I would take care of them as best I could, and I would hope that I can return them back when it was all over. But the first sad fact of war is that young men die-- and the second sad fact of war is that nobody can do anything to change fact number one.
People call her "crazy cindy”, people make fun of her, people say mean things about her and people generally try to drag her through the mud for trying to understand, trying to ease her pain, trying to scream out into the void because nothing seems to help... she lost her son. How many people can say that they understand what she must be going through? You can sympathize, you can empathize, but how many people can say that they understand? That they know how she feels?
----
I like the way this guy thinks. Here's hoping you have a speedy recovery dude!
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