Service

I was sitting in the waiting area of a VA hospital and all around me were balding stooped men with deep facial creases of pain. These were the spat upon. These threw their medals of honor into the seas and gutters of our country, and picked up beer cans and bottles for solace. They were the ones immortalized in music at Woodstock by Country Joe and the Fish. Their fingers, the ones who still had theirs were yellow with nicotine.

"1, 2, 3, What are we fighting for.... Don't ask me I don't give a damn. Next stop is Vietnam.."

My nephew is now in Iraq. I hope this country has learned something. I hope when he comes back he won't feel betrayed by his countymen. I hope he isn't vilified and spat upon by the 'conscientious' would-be peace people of his generation as his father was upon his return. I hope he remains proud of his willingness to lay down his life in service in defense of our country and way of life.

I may not agree with our policies. I may not agree that war is ever the answer, but I honor those who sacrifice so much to defend my rights, my land and it's place in the world.

A wheelchair bound aging vet struggled to roll up the incline to xray. "It would be an honor to assist you, Sir." I told him. After our arrival there he thanked me and inclined his head. I shook mine. "It was the least I could do. I thank you again for your service." We smiled. It was the least I could do.