American Holidays are kind of weird. We celebrate the birth of a poor Jewish child by decorating trees and spending feverishly on consumer goods at Christmas. We celebrate the death of that same Jewish child by coloring hard-boiled eggs and eating ham and marshmellow bunnies. We celebrate our soldiers who have given young lives for our country by having picnics and barbecues. And maybe that's how our young soldiers would want to be remembered, at a picnic table, with really cold beer and grilled hot dogs. I didn't celebrate today, I work nearly every holiday, and today in particular, I did not want to remember the death of any soldier, nor did I want to think about those I know that I hope are still living, two in Iraq, one in Afghanistan. What I would most love to celebrate today is the thought of bringing them home so that they can drink beer and eat hot dogs with those of us who love them most.
The celebration of bringing them home is something that is not likely to happen any time soon.
One of the guys that worked for me at the coffee shop a couple of years ago enlisted in the Army because after two years in Iraq, he would become a US citizen. His name was Miguel, he was a Christian, and not afraid of dying, and he believed that being a soldier was an honorable profession. I tried to get him to understand the idea of the Commandment that says "Thou Shall Not Kill", but he seemed to believe that soldiers were exempt. I brought him a necklace back from Italy, a cross with a dove taking flight, but he was deployed before I saw him again, and today, I don't know where he is, or even if he's alive. I worry, he was young, he barely spoke English, and he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, so I hope he has kept himself out of harms way, and will someday find me so that I can give him his cross.
A mother of a 3 year old is stationed in Afghanistan. I had thought that Kabul was a safe place to finish an Army tour, and I was elated to know that the mother had transferred from Iraq. The mother is afraid of the guns she carries. The 3 year old, who's name is Tatiana, is happy, and much loved by her aunts and uncles while her mother is away. Tatiana sings and dances, and I think will someday star on American Idol, and I hope that her mother lives to see the day.
I was truly distressed when I heard that a fellow blogger, Armand, had re-enlisted in the Army, and was deployed in Iraq. Although Armand and I are at opposite ends of the political spectrum, and we disagree quite frequently, I worry for his safety. I understand a soldier's need to believe in his mission. I understand that a man or woman who voluntarily risks the only life they have for the defense of their country does not need to wonder if they are dying for a cause that is right and true. I am proud of our soldiers and proud to be an American, where Armand and I can disagree about just about everything, and we can still call each other Patriots. I am grateful for the sacrifices that these men and women make, I am proud of their bravery.
I'm not proud that we have sent these Americans into danger for a reason that has nothing to do with defending our nation. I'm not proud that our military leaders didn't plan properly for an occupation in a hostile country. I'm not proud that we sent these young people to war without the best body armor and vehicles that American's tax money could buy. I'm not proud that Americans cannot admit to a huge mistake and bring these soldiers home.
I'm not proud that America celebrates this holiday with hotdogs and picnics.
Tonight, I am lighting three candles, not in memory, but in hope. I wish for three soldiers to celebrate the next Memorial Day with me, in my own backyard. I'll buy beer, I'll make hotdogs, hey, I can even bake an Apple Pie. I want my soldiers home, with crazy stories, and a vibrant future ahead.
There is a fourth candle. I light it and pray for peace.
