Author unknown
The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is short haired, tight-muscled kid who,
under normal circumstances is considered by socitety half a 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's a recent High School graduat; 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 jazz
or swing or techno and 155mm Hwoitzers.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than 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 pian for him,
but he can field strip a riffle in 30 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 an 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 diginity.
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 riffle.
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 share 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
then he should have in his short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountians of dead bodies
and helped to create them.
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 rigid attention,
while tempering the burning desire to
'Square Away' those 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, and Grandfather,
he is paying the price for our freedom.
Beardless or not, he's not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free
for over 200 years.
He has asked for nothing in return,
except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always,
for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
