My
dad was telling me a story yesterday about his basic training in July in
Kentucky…He doesn’t have fond memories of the experience, at least doesn’t
share them. However, he has a very tender and compassionate loyalty to
veterans, their families, and their stories.
He
was sharing a story of their 14 miles ONE WAY trek to the shooting range, after
a morning of other training. On the way
home, in this heat one of his comrades who wasn’t quite yet physically fit for
the military training, needed to pause and drink water, but the platoon sergeants
would not allow them to stop marching, nor would any other man share his own
water. I can see my dad asking and wondering and questioning why someone wouldn’t
just think of another person for five minutes. As soon as they arrived back to
base, this man that my dad was passionate to advocate for, passed out beneath a
tree and then subsequently died in my dad’s arms.
Even
now this story moves me to tears because I am visualizing my dad who is
passionate about justice and passionate about the underdog, just sitting there
a quasi-naïve, 19 year old from farmland Minnesota embracing death in the form
of a comrade.
The
land of the free, this America we live in. We have much liberty and I am very grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment