The Yellow Ribbons Are Out
The yellow ribbons are out. Right or wrong, American lives are again placed into the terrible world of combat. While we still might question the reasons for this or might still debate the purpose or lack thereof for it, is there anyone that doesn’t support our troops? Every life lost to the insatiable hunger of war hurts us all. They’re our people, Americans, these GI’s, these men and women who are willing to live tired and dirty, carrying out orders and doing now what will someday seem impossible, even to them.
The roots of America's armed forces were planted by its citizenry. The Minutemen, Green Mountain Boys, and State Militias were all founded by common men who placed their plows down, and stepped up with rifle in hand, when the call to arms was raised. Once the crisis was over, these part-time soldiers went back to their homes and their livelihoods. It became clear that America needed a professional fighting force, and the services went about recruiting and training full-time soldiers, sailors, marines, and later, airmen. For many years, this full-time force provided the lion's share of America's safety net, with little assistance from the part-time military.
The core of the Armed Forces has begun transforming over the past several decades, and returning, in a sense, to its roots. The Reserve Components (made up of the Federal Reserve and State National Guard forces) now fill an ever-increasing role in the security of our nation. Today’s wars are fought in large part, by the people around us. These so-called "Citizen-Soldiers", (a phrase coined by Winston Churchill) are none other than our neighbors, friends and co-workers. Nowadays they are viewed on an equal footing as the full-time forces. Some of these part-timers have roles so critical that many military missions cannot be accomplished without their mobilization in times of war or other national emergencies.
This war seems surreal in its actuality. Our forces are in Iraq, that far off place, so alien in its environment that it could well be the result of some imaginative writer’s fiction delivered to the television screen. But it isn’t that at all. The dead and broken bodies are real. Each one represents a potential that will never be realized, each one represents some family’s sorrow and despair.
Years from now the war will become just a dim memory. But it’ll remain forever fresh in the minds of everyone that loses someone dear to them. To the husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters and the friends of those lost, the war will never fade, never seem completely over. To those unfortunates, the silenced voice of a vanished loved one will never stop echoing and the lost touch will always linger on. The emotional wounds left in place of the dead will never quite heal.
These are the type of thoughts I have now. I suppose many others do as well. I have to admit a selfish reason in writing this. I need to clear my mind, sort my thoughts and explain my coming actions. You see, the war has suddenly gone from an abstract event held halfway around the world to something much nearer and personal.
I’m
a member of the NY Air National Guard. It seems a relatively safe and almost
minor role to play in the vast machine that is the U.S. military. This past
week, my commander called. It wasn’t a social call. Suddenly my part has
become more significant; suddenly the war has become much more real to me, and
suddenly I’m faced with things I didn’t think possible.
I am being activated. I always knew this could happen, I accepted the possibility of it when I raised my right arm and swore to defend the “Constitution against all enemies, both foreign and domestic…” But somehow it just never seemed this would come to pass. I could’ve gotten out. I have over 20 years in the military. I could’ve left at the first sign of trouble, sat on the sidelines and eventually collected my retirement. But I can’t do that now; the option is no longer open to me. I’ve spent half my life saying I’d be there when called. It’s no longer obligation but rather honor that requires my continued military participation. I just hope those that love and care about me understand this in the days ahead.
I don’t yet know in what capacity I’ll serve. I don’t know where I’ll be or for how long I’ll be there. Perhaps I’ll remain at my home station, perhaps I’ll be sent to some Air Force Base here in the country, filling in for another who has been sent over to the war. Or perhaps I’ll be sent overseas to do my part in the Middle East. I would be less than truthful in saying I’m not feeling nervous and even a little scared about all this. Like so many others, me and my family’s lives are about to change. The future is no longer certain for us.
I’m 42 years old now, by military standards I’m nearly over the hill. I no longer have the illusions of immortality that come with youth. I don’t find the thought of going into an area of the world where danger is a real, ever-present threat exciting, thrilling or any of the other misguided notions youth normally associates with war. To me it seems a grimy and exhausting business in which death strikes down a number of lives and the suffering is pervasive in all its aspects.
Should I be called upon to go, I will do what I have to do. But I have no illusions; there will be no glory in it, no gallant and heroic last words, in short no Hollywood dreams of romanticism or bravado. There will just be fear, misery and the overwhelming desire to return home unscathed. I’ve never been in such an environment, not even Ground Zero, in all its mind-boggling death and destruction equals this. There we didn’t fear for our lives. I imagine every man and woman now in the war is on intimate terms with this fear, the worst fear of all, the fear of death.
This has been my last normal weekend. Earlier today, I took my daughter to Red Lobster for her 14th birthday meal. Right now the Sunday race is on and I’m warm and safe in my home watching it. For the moment everything is as it should be. Soon it will all change. I’ve said my goodbyes to friends and co-workers; shook hands and received well wishes. Only hours remain until I once again put on my uniform and take my place in the war effort.
Should I, in the coming days, find myself on hostile foreign soil, I hope I’m able to serve in a manner that will make those who know me proud. I hope I’m able to act in a similar manner as all those who have gone down this difficult path before me, who did what they had to do. I’ve heard it said that bravery is the ability to continue on in the face of utter terror. Should it come down to that, most of all, I hope and pray that I am a brave man.