The Fourth of July is my husband's excuse for spending a couple of hundred dollars on fireworks. There are bright packages with names like Smoke Bombs, Roman Candles, Smoke Grenades, Lightening Flash, Impact Zone, Air Caps, Urban Assault Vehicle, Night Watch, Argol Shells, Blue Crazy, and TNT fountain. They sound violent, but they're usually only loud and bright. There's the tricky bit about lighting them and running. Once when I was a kid, I lit a bottle rocket and it fell over. It went off as I ran away, whizzing past my knees toward a group of women who were sitting in lawn chairs. Except for one woman who fell sideways and spilled her Coke trying to get out of the way, there were no casualties. Mike likes this kind of excitement, but other than a collection of military video games, the man who has not a single violent bone in his body. Sometimes I wonder if he'd been in the military, if he'd like fireworks as much as he does.
It's a blessing to have lived a life so far without really knowing a single person who has died in a war. My great uncle Joe was headed to Normandy in 1944, but didn't leave with his platoon because he broke his leg playing football the night before they were deployed. He didn't like talking about that. Every single man in his platoon died there. He lived a good life, worked hard, and raised two daughters. He was about as kind and placid a man as you'd ever meet and I'm glad he survived long enough to go fishing and camping with me and my grandpa.
One of my grandpas had a lazy eye and I'm sure that kept him out of the military during WWII, but I'm not sure why the other wasn't involved. My dad was too young for the Korean war. In college, he was ROTC, but not enlisted. By the time the Vietnam war began, he had already worked as as an civilian engineer for the Navy for three years. I'm not sure if this exempted him from the draft or if he was low on the list because he was twenty-eight by then. My brother and Mike were too old for the Gulf War and on different career tracks by then.
Nickie was a toddler when the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began. From the age of four, Nickie was certain that he was going to be a soldier. He's written biographies in school about generals, George Pershing and Colin Powell. He reads military history books. What nine year old does this? I listened to him carefully, tried to tell him that it was a very difficult time for a man to be a soldier for the United States. He was so adamant that finally, I began to believe him and talk to him about going to college and becoming an officer instead of enlisting right out of high school.
Even though I marched among tens of thousands against initiating the Iraq War, I have a great deal of respect for our soldiers. They work hard, are underpaid, don't have medical care that they deserve when they return home, and sometimes are forced extend their tour of duty. I was worried that the circumstances would be the same or worse by the time Nick got old enough to enlist. He even talked to a recruiter. This guy was great. He came to talk to the Cub Scouts and was like a stand-up comic/inspirational speaker. He told me that Nick's asthma might keep him out of service, which was a relief to me, but saddened Nick. I tried to be encouraging anyway, telling Nick that he still had time before the cutoff.
Now a soldier's circumstances have changed. The wars are still going, but they're reduced in size and I think the stress on the soldiers is reduced as well. I'm hoping their pay and medical care is improving, but I haven't heard much about that. So it got a little easier to encourage Nick. He used to tell me that his karate lessons were preparing him to become a soldier. 'Oh please no,' I used to think, but I learned to keep my mouth shut. Nick is a very determined boy when he decides to do something.
About six months ago, Nick and I were talking about Colin Powell and I was trying to be encouraging about Nick's chosen path. "Mom," he said, "I don't want to be in the Army after all. I think I'll be an engineer like Dad. I might even design weapons. Didn't Grandpa design weapons?"
"I think so, hon, but I'm not sure. His work was classified," I told him. My eyes almost filled with tears of relief, but I didn't want him to see. I've never been to a war zone, but I can imagine it well enough. When General Sherman said 'War is hell,' I believe he was right. I'm not sure that my boy doesn't still dream of entering a battle, gun to gun, fist to fist. And I have the typical response of mothers through time. Please, not my boy.
And with that in mind, I will enjoy the lights and sounds of 'the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting midair.' I've been lucky to have lived through peace, hard earned by other mothers. I won't stand there watching and take that for granted.
Thank you for listening, jb
It's a blessing to have lived a life so far without really knowing a single person who has died in a war. My great uncle Joe was headed to Normandy in 1944, but didn't leave with his platoon because he broke his leg playing football the night before they were deployed. He didn't like talking about that. Every single man in his platoon died there. He lived a good life, worked hard, and raised two daughters. He was about as kind and placid a man as you'd ever meet and I'm glad he survived long enough to go fishing and camping with me and my grandpa.
One of my grandpas had a lazy eye and I'm sure that kept him out of the military during WWII, but I'm not sure why the other wasn't involved. My dad was too young for the Korean war. In college, he was ROTC, but not enlisted. By the time the Vietnam war began, he had already worked as as an civilian engineer for the Navy for three years. I'm not sure if this exempted him from the draft or if he was low on the list because he was twenty-eight by then. My brother and Mike were too old for the Gulf War and on different career tracks by then.
Nickie was a toddler when the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began. From the age of four, Nickie was certain that he was going to be a soldier. He's written biographies in school about generals, George Pershing and Colin Powell. He reads military history books. What nine year old does this? I listened to him carefully, tried to tell him that it was a very difficult time for a man to be a soldier for the United States. He was so adamant that finally, I began to believe him and talk to him about going to college and becoming an officer instead of enlisting right out of high school.
Even though I marched among tens of thousands against initiating the Iraq War, I have a great deal of respect for our soldiers. They work hard, are underpaid, don't have medical care that they deserve when they return home, and sometimes are forced extend their tour of duty. I was worried that the circumstances would be the same or worse by the time Nick got old enough to enlist. He even talked to a recruiter. This guy was great. He came to talk to the Cub Scouts and was like a stand-up comic/inspirational speaker. He told me that Nick's asthma might keep him out of service, which was a relief to me, but saddened Nick. I tried to be encouraging anyway, telling Nick that he still had time before the cutoff.
Now a soldier's circumstances have changed. The wars are still going, but they're reduced in size and I think the stress on the soldiers is reduced as well. I'm hoping their pay and medical care is improving, but I haven't heard much about that. So it got a little easier to encourage Nick. He used to tell me that his karate lessons were preparing him to become a soldier. 'Oh please no,' I used to think, but I learned to keep my mouth shut. Nick is a very determined boy when he decides to do something.
About six months ago, Nick and I were talking about Colin Powell and I was trying to be encouraging about Nick's chosen path. "Mom," he said, "I don't want to be in the Army after all. I think I'll be an engineer like Dad. I might even design weapons. Didn't Grandpa design weapons?"
"I think so, hon, but I'm not sure. His work was classified," I told him. My eyes almost filled with tears of relief, but I didn't want him to see. I've never been to a war zone, but I can imagine it well enough. When General Sherman said 'War is hell,' I believe he was right. I'm not sure that my boy doesn't still dream of entering a battle, gun to gun, fist to fist. And I have the typical response of mothers through time. Please, not my boy.
And with that in mind, I will enjoy the lights and sounds of 'the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting midair.' I've been lucky to have lived through peace, hard earned by other mothers. I won't stand there watching and take that for granted.
Thank you for listening, jb
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