This page is for all the POW's/MIA's, for ALL the
heroes be they American, British, Austrailian, Kuwaiti, etc.
who have given their best - some giving all, for the
Iraqi gentleman who was so instrumental in the rescue of Jessica
Lynch, for those who led the troops to the other POW's, for the
doctors and staff who are doing their best under the worst of
conditions, and for so many others who have assisted in any
way they could.
I only hope and pray that all of these young people
return home to a much better welcome than did our troops of
the Viet Nam conflict who returned to their homeland to be
greeted at airports by crowds of "Americans" - not waiting
to welcome them - but to SPIT on them! These "Americans" and
the Hanoi Jane's of this country need to realize that there
are many young people who have a sense of responsibility,
duty and pride in their country. They value the freedoms of
this country as freedoms which should belong to all. Many of
them enter the military after high school as a family
tradition and/or as a means of receiving a college education
without their parents having to shoulder all the expense.
Hometown Hero
It was a pilgrimage of sorts, the trip my husband and I recently
took to Washington, D.C. We wanted to visit our nation's capitol
for the usual reasons -- to see the sights and explore this country's
rich heritage -- but we each had more personal reasons for the
visit as well. For me, it was a journey to honor my hometown hero.
Tucked into my purse was a small piece of paper with the name
"Jeffery A. Miller, Panel 8, Row 131". The name had stayed with
me long after most of those of my fellow high school classmates
dimmed into the past. After graduation, he had joined the Marine
Corp and left our small town to fight the war in Vietnam. Less
than a year later, at the age of 18, he died there. I wanted to
honor his memory by visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and
finding his name there.
On our second morning in D.C., we arrive at the Wall, as the
memorial is often called. We view the statue of the three soldiers,
then walk on around to the path that stretches out ahead of us for
the length of the Wall. I'm struck by the large number of people
and the silence that greets us as we make our way down the path.
I count the panels, the first having just a few names, the next
ones an increasing number till the names are etched top to bottom,
their stark white a somber contrast to their black granite background.
We come to panel 8 and step from the flow of the crowd to do
what I've come here for. My eyes begin at the top and slowly make
their way past dozens of names. There, near the very bottom of
the panel, I see it: Jeffery A. Miller. I take a photo, my husband
does a pencil rubbing. I pause, lost in thoughts of this "kid" who
answered when his country called and made the ultimate sacrifice.
I wonder what he might have become, or might have accomplished,
if he were still here. I think of his family, of the pain they must
feel even all these years later. I breath a silent prayer of
gratitude that, because of men such as Jeffery, this world is a
better place and America a land of freedom.
We rejoin the crowd and continue along the path, past tens
of thousands of names, past individuals stopped to trace a name
with their fingers, their heads bowed in silent homage to this
friend or loved one. Somber faces are reflected in the granite,
there are ocassional momentos left at the base of the wall -- flowers,
photos, a neatly-folded note. There's a warmth here, a solemn
feeling, the sadness of those remembering. Finally we reach the
end and walk back into the reality of a busy D.C. day. A dozen
or so Vietnam veterans are nearby, talking and singing, celebrating
a birthday among their group. I take a picture of them, thinking
that if they ask me why, I'll simply tell them that it's
because they are all heroes.
I've thought a lot about what makes a person a "hero". There
are those who set out to claim that title while seeking fame
and fortune that may go with it. There are others who become
heroes by simply doing what must be done. For me, there's no
doubt as to the meaning of the word, or of the young man and so
many others like him, whom it best describes.
Thank you, Jeffery. You're not forgotten.
© 2003 by Karen Briggs - kjbriggs@webtv.net
Karen lives in Western New York with her husband of 34 years and is a
strong supporter of American troops and veterans. She's webmaster for a
troop support program, "The Ships Project".
It's The Soldier
Picture This
I want you to close your eyes and picture
in your mind the soldier at Valley Forge
as he holds his musket in his bloody hands.
He stands barefoot in the snow,
starved from lack of food, wounded
from months of battle and emotionally
scarred from the eternity away from his family
surrounded by nothing but death and carnage of war.
He stands tough, with fire in his eyes
and victory on his breath.
He looks at us now in anger and
disgust and tells us this...
I gave you a birthright of freedom
born in the Constitution and now
your children graduate too illiterate to read it.
I fought in the snow barefoot to give you
the freedom to vote and you stay at home
because it rains.
I left my family destitute to give you
the freedom of speech and you
remain silent on critical issues,
because it might be bad for business.
I orphaned my children to give you
a government to serve you and it
has stolen democracy from the people.
It's the soldier not the reporter
who gives you the freedom of the press.
It's the soldier not the poet
who gives you the freedom of speech.
It's the soldier not the campus organizer
who allows you to demonstrate.
It's the soldier who salutes the flag,
serves the flag, whose coffin
is draped with the flag that allows
the protester to burn the flag!!!
"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."
