A Description of the American Military

Copied from America by Heart by Sarah Palin

The average age of the military man is nineteen years.

He is short-haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal

circumstances 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 a

155mm howitzer. (Picture)

He is ten or fifteen 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 thirty 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 than he should have in

his short lifetime. 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”

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-grand-father, 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 his country free for over two hundred 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. And now we even

have women over there in danger, doing their part in this

tradition of going to war when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight, remember this. A short lull, a little

shade, and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.