Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys...
...Or soldiers, or rock stars. Okay, the rock star part I can get on board with; it just ain't that easy to achieve. In March of 2003, when this war in Iraq began, I remember voicing my concerns about my oldest son who was six at the time, at some point having to go off and fight. People laughed at me, belittled me and verbally pat me on the head..."He's six!" they scoffed. "You're being ridiculous" they're eyes read. Yet, here we are over four years later, and my son is now eleven; and no end in sight when it comes to the war in Iraq. President Bush won't be calling it quits; he's already admitted to leaving that to future administrations. Why should he clean up the mess he started? Seven years from now my son will be eighteen. Is there anyone out there who can say with absolute certainty that my fears are unfounded?
The recruitment commercials to join the armed forces that air on my television illustrate quite a rosy picture of what it means to be a soldier. They're dressed in their finest, travel to exotic lands, go to college, and apply their learned skills to their military branch of choice. Yeah, sure, that all goes on during a time of peace. They should also affirm the reality (one that I took upon myself to explain to my son) that you will have to kill someone at some point and is that something you are willing to do? You may be killed yourself, are you cool with that?
My thoughts are often about the mothers of our soldiers. The wives too, but there is a love and bond that is unique to the parent/child relationship. If my husband were a soldier and were to die, I would be devastated, yes but eventually I'd be able to pick up the shattered pieces of my life and persevere. There isn't enough Prozac in Beverly Hills to get me through seeing my son(s) off to war. If a child of mine were to die in that war, it would completely and utterly destroy me; I would spiral into an abyss and never return. I think of these mothers that are currently sinking further into this abyss and how torturous the pain must be.
It's easy to be a cheerleader for this war when it isn't your children that are sacrificed. And you need to be "rah-rah-rah" when it IS your child on the front line because you NEED them to LIVE.
It's 4 1/2 years later; am I still being a hand-wringing hysterical ninny?
Bring their children home.
Now.
The recruitment commercials to join the armed forces that air on my television illustrate quite a rosy picture of what it means to be a soldier. They're dressed in their finest, travel to exotic lands, go to college, and apply their learned skills to their military branch of choice. Yeah, sure, that all goes on during a time of peace. They should also affirm the reality (one that I took upon myself to explain to my son) that you will have to kill someone at some point and is that something you are willing to do? You may be killed yourself, are you cool with that?
My thoughts are often about the mothers of our soldiers. The wives too, but there is a love and bond that is unique to the parent/child relationship. If my husband were a soldier and were to die, I would be devastated, yes but eventually I'd be able to pick up the shattered pieces of my life and persevere. There isn't enough Prozac in Beverly Hills to get me through seeing my son(s) off to war. If a child of mine were to die in that war, it would completely and utterly destroy me; I would spiral into an abyss and never return. I think of these mothers that are currently sinking further into this abyss and how torturous the pain must be.
It's easy to be a cheerleader for this war when it isn't your children that are sacrificed. And you need to be "rah-rah-rah" when it IS your child on the front line because you NEED them to LIVE.
It's 4 1/2 years later; am I still being a hand-wringing hysterical ninny?
Bring their children home.
Now.
posted by Tootsie Farklepants at 10:30 PM
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