The average age of a military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is
considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind
the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his
country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather
wax his
own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate;
he was probably an average student,
pursued some form of sport activities,
drives a ten year old jalopy,
and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with
him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a
world away.
He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or
swing and 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home
because he is working or fighting from before dawn to
well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain
for him,
but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds
and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun
or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid
like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation,
but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He
is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues:
he washes one and wears the other.
He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to
clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if
you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you
in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons
and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his
job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay
and still find ironic humour in it all.
He has seen more suffering
and death then he should have in his short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies,
and helped to create them.
He has wept in public and in private,
for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate
through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the
burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to
stand,
remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home,
he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and
Great-grandfather,
he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or
not, he is not a boy. He is the Proud Fighting Man
that has kept his country free
for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return,
except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always,
for he has earned our respect and admiration with his
blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger,
doing their part in this tradition
of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot..
A short lull, a little shade
and a picture of loved ones in their helmets
Prayer wheel for our military... please don't break it.
Please pass this on after a short prayer.
Prayer Wheel
"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect
them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they
perform for us in our time of need. Amen."
When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say
a prayer
for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on ships,
and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq.
There is nothing attached....
This can be very powerful.......
Of all the gifts you could give a Soldier, prayer is the very best one.
Please dont post in this thread just read it
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is
considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind
the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his
country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather
wax his
own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate;
he was probably an average student,
pursued some form of sport activities,
drives a ten year old jalopy,
and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with
him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a
world away.
He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or
swing and 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home
because he is working or fighting from before dawn to
well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain
for him,
but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds
and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun
or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid
like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation,
but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He
is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues:
he washes one and wears the other.
He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to
clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if
you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you
in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons
and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his
job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay
and still find ironic humour in it all.
He has seen more suffering
and death then he should have in his short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies,
and helped to create them.
He has wept in public and in private,
for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate
through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the
burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to
stand,
remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home,
he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and
Great-grandfather,
he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or
not, he is not a boy. He is the Proud Fighting Man
that has kept his country free
for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return,
except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always,
for he has earned our respect and admiration with his
blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger,
doing their part in this tradition
of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot..
A short lull, a little shade
and a picture of loved ones in their helmets
Prayer wheel for our military... please don't break it.
Please pass this on after a short prayer.
Prayer Wheel
"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect
them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they
perform for us in our time of need. Amen."
When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say
a prayer
for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on ships,
and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq.
There is nothing attached....
This can be very powerful.......
Of all the gifts you could give a Soldier, prayer is the very best one.
Please dont post in this thread just read it
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