danausmc
11-28-2007, 07:12 AM
Honor the ghosts in front of you
By Doug Sibbald For The Register-Guard
Published: Nov 11, 2007 09:47:42AM
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am a veteran.
I am right in front of you.
I am a ghost.
I walk among you, visible only to my fellow ghosts. I am not alone. We are all possessed by the warrior spirit. We look each other in the eye and we know. Some of us look healthy. Some are in wheelchairs or on crutches. We all have scars. Some of us hide our scars better than others. We are the world’s largest brotherhood and sisterhood. We are your neighbors and co-workers. Some of us are homeless on the corner. Some of us are not really home yet. Some of us may never make it home.
I am a veteran.
I am a son.
I am a ghost.
I voluntarily served in the military for 25 years. I joined with the purpose of righting my life. I did not join to kill. I swore to protect every person in this country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I swore to defend the Constitution. I believed that the discipline and structure would be good. I did not know what I would carry around in my head for the rest of my life. I believed that performing service to my country was honorable. I believed that it was my obligation as a citizen. I believed that my elected officials would work to provide for the best interests of the people. I believed that the United States of America was a shining city on the hill.
I am a veteran.
I am a brother.
I am a ghost.
I see, and hear, all of the other ghosts. Some are here. Some are gone. Some I have simply lost touch with, and I wonder if they ever think of me. I remember faces and names. Sometimes I remember only the faces. Sometimes I remember the laughs, the good times, the tattoos, the quirks that made us individuals, and the nicknames. I try not to remember the bad things. I can’t forget the smells.
I am a veteran.
I am a father.
I am a ghost.
I served overseas building goodwill. I built schools and hospitals in Central America while black helicopters delivered curious green and black crates on the other side of the road. I built roads and bridges around the world. I visited former Soviet Bloc countries and worked to the point of exhaustion helping rebuild and clean up the waste generated by their military. I cleared land mines around small villages with hard-to-pronounce names that did not appear on a map. I gave Tootsie Rolls to small children who had nothing, and swelled with joy at their smiles. I have also seen absolute terror in the eyes of grown men as I rose up out of the shadows, my face painted with camouflage flames and a weapon in my hand. I reveled in that feeling of power. I gave C-rations, and later MREs, to foreign soldiers and children around the world. I invited the people, frequently our former opponents, from other countries to come to my shining city on the hill.
I am a veteran.
I am a grandfather.
I am a ghost.
Sometimes the Army put me in harm’s way when no shots had been fired. I worked hard to keep my body at peak physical fitness. I ran like the wind for miles. Now I walk with a cane and a brace on my legs. Now my back and all my joints ache constantly. I have eaten meals that I would not feed my pets. Now I have an ulcer. I have lived in old barracks that have been condemned due to mold spore contamination or asbestos. Now I have a cough. I worked in environments polluted by chemical weapons. I cleaned up ordinance, oil, fuel and unidentifiable muck on military posts around the world. Now I have cancer. I worked in areas that were so loud that earplugs worn inside hearing protection earmuffs were not enough to prevent severe hearing loss. Now I have to ask people to repeat themselves.
I am a veteran.
I am a daughter.
I am a ghost.
Through it all we stood tall. We knew that some would curse us. We knew that some would not understand that our service was a reflection of our love for America and our fellow Americans. Through the years the military has awarded me more medals and decorations than will fit on my uniform. I have received awards for doing what I thought was my job. I have been overlooked for awards that I knew were mine by right. That is not why we serve. We do not expect the crowds to part for us. We know that flight attendants were kind to us because they knew where we were going to or coming from.
In churches I hear requests for prayers for the men and women serving overseas. I have not heard a single request for prayers for the veterans. We see that those who challenge the patriotism of those who have served rarely understand the concept of citizenship or selfless service. Those of us who served have earned the right to speak about our experience, no matter how horrific, without being condemned. All veterans are truly patriots and, above all, citizens.
I am a veteran.
I am a sister.
I am a ghost.
I have listened to battle-scarred and tattooed soldiers crying in their sleep. I have treated the bloody injuries of young, fuzzy-faced soldiers while they grinned bravely while trying to look tough. I have first-hand knowledge of what is inside of them. I have visited service members in hospitals and physical therapy. I also have handed a flag folded into a triangle, with 21 brass shell casings tucked inside, to parents, spouses and children. These are the same parents, spouses and children I have known for many years. I know their names very well. I have choked on the phrase, “On behalf of a grateful nation.” I tried to keep life sacred. I tried to protect the lives of the young soldiers entrusted to my care. I have tried not to cry. I have tried. Now I can’t stop crying.
I am a veteran.
I am a mother.
I am a ghost.
I have not always been perfect. Those of us who have had to carry weapons cannot always be saints. Military service is not a nine-to-five, five-day-a-week job. I have worked on many Sundays. I have been absent for birthdays and anniversaries. I have missed first steps and first words. I have missed last words as well. Sometimes I have spoken profanely or roughly. If I have offended anyone in all those years, I beg their forgiveness. My profession did not allow for thin skin.
I am a veteran.
I am a grandmother.
I am a ghost.
When I did not follow the rules, I had to stand up and face my superiors. I did not try to make excuses or weasel my way out of any punishment for my errors or blame someone else. When my subordinates had to face me after some indiscretion, I tried to be as fair as I could in deciding their fate and then mete out an appropriate penalty. Frequently I stood beside them and defended them before my commanders. When punishment for my errors was meted out, I accepted it and learned from the experience. My troops knew this was how they were supposed to behave by watching and learning from my example. Suck it up. Drive on. Pain is a teaching tool.
I am a veteran.
I am a husband.
I am a ghost.
As a senior noncommissioned officer I did not always agree with my military or civilian leadership. Even if they asked my opinion, I knew that disagreeing with the opinions or decisions of the officers appointed over me was very likely a ticket to some fairly unpleasant location or task. Occasionally I forgot this, and was too outspoken, and visited some interesting places. I have cleaned my share of latrines and motor pools. I have stood my post for countless hours in the rain, snow, and heat.
I am a veteran.
I am a wife.
I am a ghost.
I know that I was prohibited from publicly commenting on the elected officials while I was in the military. I believed that I was defending the rights of all other Americans to speak freely. I believed that I would, one day, be a civilian again. I believed that when that day came I would be able to speak freely. I believed that I had earned that right. Now I am speaking. I wonder if anyone is listening.
I am a veteran.
I am retired.
I am a ghost.
I believed that there were officers with the courage to speak out against some of the horrible things that we saw and heard over the years. I believed that America would listen to these honorable men and women. I wonder where they are now. I do not hear them.
I am a veteran.
I am married.
I am a ghost.
All of us who have walked these paths know that duty, honor and country are not just words. For us traditions are important. Traditions are forever. Traditions are the reason we are brothers and sisters in arms. Traditions that cost lives are not taken lightly. We know how we feel when we see a flag flying. We also know what a folded flag displayed in a home really means. We are still among you. We still have our honor and integrity. Our dignity, as servicemen and women, has taken a severe beating. We know the fear of losing our friends. We know that we have kept our families at an emotional distance. We tried not to lose them. We have frequently failed at marriage and parenting. We try to protect our loved ones from the pain we feel so deeply. Sometimes we hurt them. Please, forgive us.
I am a veteran.
I am divorced.
I am a ghost.
While in the military I took every course available to be a better soldier and NCO. Then I took that knowledge back to my unit and trained others. I hoped that what I taught them would keep them alive. Now that I am not there, all I can do is pray for them. When I left the military I believed that the education I had been promised would be waiting for me. I proudly took my DD-214 discharge form to the college financial aid office. The polite woman told me, “Sorry. You don’t qualify.” Despite this my education has continued. I have learned the address of the Eugene Mission. I have learned where to go for a food box. I have learned where I can camp when I don’t make it back to the mission in time for chapel.
I am a veteran.
When I left the military they handed me a flag folded properly in a beautiful glass and wood case. What does this mean? Am I dead?
Am I a ghost?
I do not believe that putting bumper stickers on our vehicles that proclaim our support for the troops is the answer. Speak out. Act out. Do something. Don’t just protest the injustices to your friends. Call your senators and representatives. They’re in the phone book. Don’t wait for them to come to your door. Go to theirs. Don’t wait for the next campaign for re-election of the same old garbage and fears to come to your mailbox. Send them a letter demanding the things that you are paying for with your taxes. High-quality health care and education for your children are a right. Privacy is a right. Free speech without fear is a right. Freedom from irrational fears is a right. Don’t accept the same old lame excuses. Don’t be placated. Make them afraid for a change. If they haven’t given you what you have a right to expect, vote them out. Elect a mechanic, a truck driver, a waiter trained in customer service, an organic farmer with absolutely no political experience. Clean out the petri dish. If you don’t demand your rights you won’t get them. Neither will the veterans who put their very lives on the line so you could sleep peacefully. Think about how many of these veterans and ghosts can’t sleep at all.
I am a veteran.
I am right in front of you.
I am a ghost.
If you don’t do something, your apathy and inaction will be why more people, young and old, of all colors, of all religious beliefs, on all sides, will have died.
If you do not teach your children by example they will be the next generation of ghosts. If you do nothing you are responsible for the lives of all of these tortured ghosts.
We don’t need another statue, monument or wall. The names of my brothers and sisters are on too many crosses. I still believe that America can be that shining city on the hill again. I still believe.
I am a veteran.
Can’t you hear me?
I am a ghost.
Can’t you see me?
I’m right here in front of you!
By Doug Sibbald For The Register-Guard
Published: Nov 11, 2007 09:47:42AM
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am a veteran.
I am right in front of you.
I am a ghost.
I walk among you, visible only to my fellow ghosts. I am not alone. We are all possessed by the warrior spirit. We look each other in the eye and we know. Some of us look healthy. Some are in wheelchairs or on crutches. We all have scars. Some of us hide our scars better than others. We are the world’s largest brotherhood and sisterhood. We are your neighbors and co-workers. Some of us are homeless on the corner. Some of us are not really home yet. Some of us may never make it home.
I am a veteran.
I am a son.
I am a ghost.
I voluntarily served in the military for 25 years. I joined with the purpose of righting my life. I did not join to kill. I swore to protect every person in this country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I swore to defend the Constitution. I believed that the discipline and structure would be good. I did not know what I would carry around in my head for the rest of my life. I believed that performing service to my country was honorable. I believed that it was my obligation as a citizen. I believed that my elected officials would work to provide for the best interests of the people. I believed that the United States of America was a shining city on the hill.
I am a veteran.
I am a brother.
I am a ghost.
I see, and hear, all of the other ghosts. Some are here. Some are gone. Some I have simply lost touch with, and I wonder if they ever think of me. I remember faces and names. Sometimes I remember only the faces. Sometimes I remember the laughs, the good times, the tattoos, the quirks that made us individuals, and the nicknames. I try not to remember the bad things. I can’t forget the smells.
I am a veteran.
I am a father.
I am a ghost.
I served overseas building goodwill. I built schools and hospitals in Central America while black helicopters delivered curious green and black crates on the other side of the road. I built roads and bridges around the world. I visited former Soviet Bloc countries and worked to the point of exhaustion helping rebuild and clean up the waste generated by their military. I cleared land mines around small villages with hard-to-pronounce names that did not appear on a map. I gave Tootsie Rolls to small children who had nothing, and swelled with joy at their smiles. I have also seen absolute terror in the eyes of grown men as I rose up out of the shadows, my face painted with camouflage flames and a weapon in my hand. I reveled in that feeling of power. I gave C-rations, and later MREs, to foreign soldiers and children around the world. I invited the people, frequently our former opponents, from other countries to come to my shining city on the hill.
I am a veteran.
I am a grandfather.
I am a ghost.
Sometimes the Army put me in harm’s way when no shots had been fired. I worked hard to keep my body at peak physical fitness. I ran like the wind for miles. Now I walk with a cane and a brace on my legs. Now my back and all my joints ache constantly. I have eaten meals that I would not feed my pets. Now I have an ulcer. I have lived in old barracks that have been condemned due to mold spore contamination or asbestos. Now I have a cough. I worked in environments polluted by chemical weapons. I cleaned up ordinance, oil, fuel and unidentifiable muck on military posts around the world. Now I have cancer. I worked in areas that were so loud that earplugs worn inside hearing protection earmuffs were not enough to prevent severe hearing loss. Now I have to ask people to repeat themselves.
I am a veteran.
I am a daughter.
I am a ghost.
Through it all we stood tall. We knew that some would curse us. We knew that some would not understand that our service was a reflection of our love for America and our fellow Americans. Through the years the military has awarded me more medals and decorations than will fit on my uniform. I have received awards for doing what I thought was my job. I have been overlooked for awards that I knew were mine by right. That is not why we serve. We do not expect the crowds to part for us. We know that flight attendants were kind to us because they knew where we were going to or coming from.
In churches I hear requests for prayers for the men and women serving overseas. I have not heard a single request for prayers for the veterans. We see that those who challenge the patriotism of those who have served rarely understand the concept of citizenship or selfless service. Those of us who served have earned the right to speak about our experience, no matter how horrific, without being condemned. All veterans are truly patriots and, above all, citizens.
I am a veteran.
I am a sister.
I am a ghost.
I have listened to battle-scarred and tattooed soldiers crying in their sleep. I have treated the bloody injuries of young, fuzzy-faced soldiers while they grinned bravely while trying to look tough. I have first-hand knowledge of what is inside of them. I have visited service members in hospitals and physical therapy. I also have handed a flag folded into a triangle, with 21 brass shell casings tucked inside, to parents, spouses and children. These are the same parents, spouses and children I have known for many years. I know their names very well. I have choked on the phrase, “On behalf of a grateful nation.” I tried to keep life sacred. I tried to protect the lives of the young soldiers entrusted to my care. I have tried not to cry. I have tried. Now I can’t stop crying.
I am a veteran.
I am a mother.
I am a ghost.
I have not always been perfect. Those of us who have had to carry weapons cannot always be saints. Military service is not a nine-to-five, five-day-a-week job. I have worked on many Sundays. I have been absent for birthdays and anniversaries. I have missed first steps and first words. I have missed last words as well. Sometimes I have spoken profanely or roughly. If I have offended anyone in all those years, I beg their forgiveness. My profession did not allow for thin skin.
I am a veteran.
I am a grandmother.
I am a ghost.
When I did not follow the rules, I had to stand up and face my superiors. I did not try to make excuses or weasel my way out of any punishment for my errors or blame someone else. When my subordinates had to face me after some indiscretion, I tried to be as fair as I could in deciding their fate and then mete out an appropriate penalty. Frequently I stood beside them and defended them before my commanders. When punishment for my errors was meted out, I accepted it and learned from the experience. My troops knew this was how they were supposed to behave by watching and learning from my example. Suck it up. Drive on. Pain is a teaching tool.
I am a veteran.
I am a husband.
I am a ghost.
As a senior noncommissioned officer I did not always agree with my military or civilian leadership. Even if they asked my opinion, I knew that disagreeing with the opinions or decisions of the officers appointed over me was very likely a ticket to some fairly unpleasant location or task. Occasionally I forgot this, and was too outspoken, and visited some interesting places. I have cleaned my share of latrines and motor pools. I have stood my post for countless hours in the rain, snow, and heat.
I am a veteran.
I am a wife.
I am a ghost.
I know that I was prohibited from publicly commenting on the elected officials while I was in the military. I believed that I was defending the rights of all other Americans to speak freely. I believed that I would, one day, be a civilian again. I believed that when that day came I would be able to speak freely. I believed that I had earned that right. Now I am speaking. I wonder if anyone is listening.
I am a veteran.
I am retired.
I am a ghost.
I believed that there were officers with the courage to speak out against some of the horrible things that we saw and heard over the years. I believed that America would listen to these honorable men and women. I wonder where they are now. I do not hear them.
I am a veteran.
I am married.
I am a ghost.
All of us who have walked these paths know that duty, honor and country are not just words. For us traditions are important. Traditions are forever. Traditions are the reason we are brothers and sisters in arms. Traditions that cost lives are not taken lightly. We know how we feel when we see a flag flying. We also know what a folded flag displayed in a home really means. We are still among you. We still have our honor and integrity. Our dignity, as servicemen and women, has taken a severe beating. We know the fear of losing our friends. We know that we have kept our families at an emotional distance. We tried not to lose them. We have frequently failed at marriage and parenting. We try to protect our loved ones from the pain we feel so deeply. Sometimes we hurt them. Please, forgive us.
I am a veteran.
I am divorced.
I am a ghost.
While in the military I took every course available to be a better soldier and NCO. Then I took that knowledge back to my unit and trained others. I hoped that what I taught them would keep them alive. Now that I am not there, all I can do is pray for them. When I left the military I believed that the education I had been promised would be waiting for me. I proudly took my DD-214 discharge form to the college financial aid office. The polite woman told me, “Sorry. You don’t qualify.” Despite this my education has continued. I have learned the address of the Eugene Mission. I have learned where to go for a food box. I have learned where I can camp when I don’t make it back to the mission in time for chapel.
I am a veteran.
When I left the military they handed me a flag folded properly in a beautiful glass and wood case. What does this mean? Am I dead?
Am I a ghost?
I do not believe that putting bumper stickers on our vehicles that proclaim our support for the troops is the answer. Speak out. Act out. Do something. Don’t just protest the injustices to your friends. Call your senators and representatives. They’re in the phone book. Don’t wait for them to come to your door. Go to theirs. Don’t wait for the next campaign for re-election of the same old garbage and fears to come to your mailbox. Send them a letter demanding the things that you are paying for with your taxes. High-quality health care and education for your children are a right. Privacy is a right. Free speech without fear is a right. Freedom from irrational fears is a right. Don’t accept the same old lame excuses. Don’t be placated. Make them afraid for a change. If they haven’t given you what you have a right to expect, vote them out. Elect a mechanic, a truck driver, a waiter trained in customer service, an organic farmer with absolutely no political experience. Clean out the petri dish. If you don’t demand your rights you won’t get them. Neither will the veterans who put their very lives on the line so you could sleep peacefully. Think about how many of these veterans and ghosts can’t sleep at all.
I am a veteran.
I am right in front of you.
I am a ghost.
If you don’t do something, your apathy and inaction will be why more people, young and old, of all colors, of all religious beliefs, on all sides, will have died.
If you do not teach your children by example they will be the next generation of ghosts. If you do nothing you are responsible for the lives of all of these tortured ghosts.
We don’t need another statue, monument or wall. The names of my brothers and sisters are on too many crosses. I still believe that America can be that shining city on the hill again. I still believe.
I am a veteran.
Can’t you hear me?
I am a ghost.
Can’t you see me?
I’m right here in front of you!