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
Howitzers.
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.
"AUTHOR UNKNOWN"
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