That band of 100-or-so vets that marches in our local parade chokes me up every time. The eldest among them--the few WWII vets still alive--walk so proudly, their uniforms so carefully preserved and assembled on bodies that stoop and limp. The younger ones--still older than I--from Vietnam and Korea are a mixed lot: some visibly proud, some a little sheepish, grinning and slouching. I didn't see a younger vet--none who might have been in Iraq in the early 90s or now. I stood up as the assembly approached us. "Why are you standing," M asks? My neighbor chimes in before I can respond, "Those men fought for you, and we stand up to show respect." Which is a fair enough answer for a child. I stood because I could feel the weight of all the ones who weren't there marching, and I couldn't breathe sitting down. All those boys.
L learned last week that if the government needs soldiers and there aren't enough volunteers, they can draft more. "So they could MAKE me go and fight??" he asks, utterly incredulous. What do you tell your 8-year old when they ask you that one?
2 comments:
Your kids ask such great questions. I don't know what I'd say.
This day always fills me with sadness. I don't know anyone personally who fought or died over the course of history, but the aspect of it all just overwhelms me.
I would rather go back myself than have either of yours or my grandkids there...
I hope the draft doesn't come back!
alan
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