DanR
Diamond Level Sponsor
John Is My Heart
This is a well-written article about a father who put several
of his kids through expensive colleges but one son wanted
to be a Marine.
Interesting observation by this dad. See below.
A very interesting commentary that says a lot about our
failing and fallen society.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Frank Schaeffer of the Washington Post
Before my son became a Marine, I never thought much
about who was defending me. Now when I read of the
war on terrorism or the coming conflict in Iraq, it cuts
to my heart. When I see a picture of a member of our
military who has been killed, I read his or her name
very carefully. Sometimes I cry.
In 1999, when the barrel-chested Marine recruiter showed
up in dress blues and bedazzled my son John, I did not
stand in the way. John was headstrong, and he seemed to
understand these stern, clean men with straight backs
and flawless uniforms. I did not.
I live in the Volvo-driving, higher education-worshiping
North Shore of Boston. I write novels for a living.
I have never served in the military.
It had been hard enough sending my two older children
off to Georgetown and New York University. John's
enlisting was unexpected, so deeply unsettling. I did not
relish the prospect of answering the question, "So
where is John going to college?" from the parents
who were itching to tell me all about how their son or
daughter was going to Harvard. At the private high
school John attended, no other students were going
into the military.
"But aren't the Marines terribly Southern?" (Says a lot
about open-mindedness in the Northeast) asked one
perplexed mother while standing next to me at the
brunch following graduation. "What a waste, he was
such a good student," said another parent. One
parent (a professor at a nearby and rather famous
university) spoke up at a school meeting and suggested
that the school should “carefully evaluate what went
wrong."
When John graduated from three months of boot camp on
Parris Island, 3000 parents and friends were on the parade
deck stands. We parents and our Marines not only were
of many races but also were representative of many
economic classes. Many were poor. Some arrived crammed
in the backs of pickups, others by bus. John told me that a
lot of parents could not afford the trip.
We in the audience were white and Native American. We
were Hispanic, Arab, and African American, and Asian.
We were former Marines wearing the scars of battle, or at
least baseball caps emblazoned with battles' names. We
were Southern whites from Nashville and skinheads from
New Jersey, black kids from Cleveland wearing ghetto rags
and white ex-cons with ham-hock forearms defaced
by jailhouse tattoos. We would not have been mistaken for
the educated and well-heeled parents gathered on the lawns
of John’s private school a half-year before.
After graduation one new Marine told John, "Before I was
a Marine, if I had ever seen you on my block I
would've probably killed you just because you were
standing there." This was a serious statement from one
of John’s good friends, a black ex-gang member from
Detroit who, as John said, "would die for me now, just
like I'd die for him."
My son has connected me to my country in a way that
I was too selfish and insular to experience before.
I feel closer to the waitress at our local diner than to
some of my oldest friends. She has two sons in the
Corps. They are facing the same dangers as my boy.
When the guy who fixes my car asks me how John
is doing, I know he means it. His younger brother
is in the Navy.
Why were I and the other parents at my son's private
school so surprised by his choice? During World
War II, the sons and daughters of the most
powerful and educated families did their bit. If the
idea of the immorality of the Vietnam War was the
only reason those lucky enough to go to college
dodged the draft, why did we not encourage our
children to volunteer for military service once that
war was done?
Have we wealthy and educated Americans
all become pacifists? Is the world a safe place? Or
have we just gotten used to having somebody else
defend us? What is the future of our republic
when the sons and daughters of the janitors
at our elite universities are far more likely to
be put in harm’s way than are any of the students
whose dorms their parents clean?
I feel shame because it took my son's joining the Marine
Corps to make me take notice of who is defending me.
I feel hope because perhaps my son is part of a future
"greatest generation." As the storm clouds of war gather,
at least I know that I can look the men and women in
uniform in the eye. My son is one of them. He is
the best I have to offer. John is my heart.
Faith is not about everything turning out OK. Faith is
about being OK no matter how things turn out."
Oh, how I wish so many of our younger generations
could read this article. It makes me so sad to
hear the way they talk with no respect for what
their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers
experienced so they can live in freedom.
Freedom has been replaced with “Free-Dumb.
'In God We Trust'
This is a well-written article about a father who put several
of his kids through expensive colleges but one son wanted
to be a Marine.
Interesting observation by this dad. See below.
A very interesting commentary that says a lot about our
failing and fallen society.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Frank Schaeffer of the Washington Post
Before my son became a Marine, I never thought much
about who was defending me. Now when I read of the
war on terrorism or the coming conflict in Iraq, it cuts
to my heart. When I see a picture of a member of our
military who has been killed, I read his or her name
very carefully. Sometimes I cry.
In 1999, when the barrel-chested Marine recruiter showed
up in dress blues and bedazzled my son John, I did not
stand in the way. John was headstrong, and he seemed to
understand these stern, clean men with straight backs
and flawless uniforms. I did not.
I live in the Volvo-driving, higher education-worshiping
North Shore of Boston. I write novels for a living.
I have never served in the military.
It had been hard enough sending my two older children
off to Georgetown and New York University. John's
enlisting was unexpected, so deeply unsettling. I did not
relish the prospect of answering the question, "So
where is John going to college?" from the parents
who were itching to tell me all about how their son or
daughter was going to Harvard. At the private high
school John attended, no other students were going
into the military.
"But aren't the Marines terribly Southern?" (Says a lot
about open-mindedness in the Northeast) asked one
perplexed mother while standing next to me at the
brunch following graduation. "What a waste, he was
such a good student," said another parent. One
parent (a professor at a nearby and rather famous
university) spoke up at a school meeting and suggested
that the school should “carefully evaluate what went
wrong."
When John graduated from three months of boot camp on
Parris Island, 3000 parents and friends were on the parade
deck stands. We parents and our Marines not only were
of many races but also were representative of many
economic classes. Many were poor. Some arrived crammed
in the backs of pickups, others by bus. John told me that a
lot of parents could not afford the trip.
We in the audience were white and Native American. We
were Hispanic, Arab, and African American, and Asian.
We were former Marines wearing the scars of battle, or at
least baseball caps emblazoned with battles' names. We
were Southern whites from Nashville and skinheads from
New Jersey, black kids from Cleveland wearing ghetto rags
and white ex-cons with ham-hock forearms defaced
by jailhouse tattoos. We would not have been mistaken for
the educated and well-heeled parents gathered on the lawns
of John’s private school a half-year before.
After graduation one new Marine told John, "Before I was
a Marine, if I had ever seen you on my block I
would've probably killed you just because you were
standing there." This was a serious statement from one
of John’s good friends, a black ex-gang member from
Detroit who, as John said, "would die for me now, just
like I'd die for him."
My son has connected me to my country in a way that
I was too selfish and insular to experience before.
I feel closer to the waitress at our local diner than to
some of my oldest friends. She has two sons in the
Corps. They are facing the same dangers as my boy.
When the guy who fixes my car asks me how John
is doing, I know he means it. His younger brother
is in the Navy.
Why were I and the other parents at my son's private
school so surprised by his choice? During World
War II, the sons and daughters of the most
powerful and educated families did their bit. If the
idea of the immorality of the Vietnam War was the
only reason those lucky enough to go to college
dodged the draft, why did we not encourage our
children to volunteer for military service once that
war was done?
Have we wealthy and educated Americans
all become pacifists? Is the world a safe place? Or
have we just gotten used to having somebody else
defend us? What is the future of our republic
when the sons and daughters of the janitors
at our elite universities are far more likely to
be put in harm’s way than are any of the students
whose dorms their parents clean?
I feel shame because it took my son's joining the Marine
Corps to make me take notice of who is defending me.
I feel hope because perhaps my son is part of a future
"greatest generation." As the storm clouds of war gather,
at least I know that I can look the men and women in
uniform in the eye. My son is one of them. He is
the best I have to offer. John is my heart.
Faith is not about everything turning out OK. Faith is
about being OK no matter how things turn out."
Oh, how I wish so many of our younger generations
could read this article. It makes me so sad to
hear the way they talk with no respect for what
their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers
experienced so they can live in freedom.
Freedom has been replaced with “Free-Dumb.
'In God We Trust'