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.
