Taking over the world by doing nothing, brought to you live from the Command Bunker at the Lightning Man World Propaganda Network....Of all the blogs you've ever read, this one is the most recent.
This year instead of writing something for Memorial Day, I'm going to share something written by my good friend from high school, Tommy McQuade. The son of a Navy veteran, Tommy is a hero in his own right, a career firefighter who just this week worked to put out a fire on the nuclear submarine USS Miami at Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Kittery, Maine.
Memorial Day is not about car sales and deals at the local giant home repair store. And while we celebrate this weekend as the opening of the summer season, with a car race at Indy and burgers in the back yard, remember WHY we have a Memorial Day in the first place. It is to remember the 1.3 million Americans who have died in the service of this nation against enemies both foreign & domestic since this nation was founded.
An
old man looks out among the rows of white marble and remembers faces,
names, friends and buddies. A mother weeps silently as she looks through a
picture album, remembering the laughter and smiles, first fishing trips
and Cub Scout meetings. A father remembers playing ball and first
driving lessons. A son wears a set of dog tags, reminders of a father he
never got the chance to meet. A daughter tearfully recites a poem about
what it means to be a hero. Red and white flags with blue stars hang in
windows, gold stars affixed to some.
The reasons for
enlisting are many and varied; family tradition, a challenge, the desire
for something better, a sense of duty, or simply a chance to get an
education they may otherwise never be able to afford. Some never see
combat, others volunteer for it. All gave us a blank check, made out to
"The American People", and the amount stating "Up to and including my
life".
Every soldier, sailor, Marine, or airman that sees combat is
forever changed. They are never again that innocent that went off to
boot-camp, that write home about lousy food, endless drilling, or how
much of a bastard their drill instructors were. They all come home a
little broken, some with scars so evident, others with scars inside,
scars no one who hasn't walked in their boots will ever truly
understand. Since 1776 Americans have given their lives in defense of
freedom, to defend our shores, our liberties, and our freedoms. To
protect "The Great Republic" so that it "shall not perish from this
earth". Some coming home to be buried by their loved ones, some interred
on foreign soil, others lost at sea. Some whose identities are "Known
but to God".
As you enjoy your bar-b-que this weekend, have
that cold beer around the bonfire, or splash around at the beach keep
this in mind: This is Memorial Day Weekend. This is a time to remember
those soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen who went and sacrificed a little bit
of themselves so you could enjoy the freedom that you have to protest,
to turn your back on them, to turn the channel, to rewrite history so
all the dirty, ugly, repulsive things can be sanitized so no one has their
feelings hurt. This weekend is about our men and women who wear and have
worn the uniform of OUR armed forces.
Don't ever forget that.
Amen, Tommy.
I also want to share a video I made last year, a video that has become my most-commented upon video by far (some with controversy but mostly supportive and even thankful) and also my most viewed, at over 216,000 views.
All over the nation, people have flocked to the beaches, or family cookouts, or made roadtrips to see friends & family. That’s all well and good. I personally celebrated my 42d birthday this weekend , myself. Memorial Day weekend has become the traditional kickoff to the summer season of fun in the sun. In many parts of the country, school is already done for the year, and kids have graduated.
Across my television and in my newspaper, I have been deluged with tacky and tasteless screaming advertisements for Memorial Day sales, hawking everything from cars to mattresses to appliances, which makes me reluctant to ever patronize those businesses. Nothing says “DUTY, HONOR, and SACRIFICE” quite like a cut-rate pillow-top mattress for $999.00, today only…..
As I drove down Dorchester Road in North Charleston on my way home Friday afternoon, I spotted a Harley Davidson at a gas station across from the Air Force base, decorated with a large flag. It suddenly hit me that I’d just seen a rider from the Patriot Guard, and remembered why they were in town.
A young man from North Charleston, South Carolina came home Friday afternoon. It wasn’t the homecoming his family wanted or expected when he left for Afghanistan a short time ago.
I never knew Cheziray Pressley, but I consider him a brother still. Cheziray was a soldier, a comrade, a brother in arms. Just 21 years old, barely 3 years out of high school, graduating in 2008 from Fort Dorchester High School. Six months ago he married his longtome girlfriend, Dawn. He had a little daughter at home waiting for Daddy to come home.
Pressley was assigned to 25th Infantry Division’s 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team out of Fort Wainwright in Alaska. A couple weeks ago, only three days into his tour in Afghanistan, Cheziray Pressley was killed with three fellow soldiers by a roadside IED explosion in Zabul Province.
An honor guard carries the casket of Cheziray Pressley from the aircraft that brought him to Charleston from Dover Air Force Base in Delaware.
The memorial service for Cheziray Pressley will take place at the North Charleston Convention Center on Monday at 3:00 PM. The public is invited to attend.
I was Cheziray’s age roughly when he was born. Twenty one years ago I myself was a 21-year old soldier, freshly back from a tour in Germany. No, I never knew Cheziray Pressley, not personally, but I know a bit of the young man’s character, of his patriotism and devotion to his country and family. It’s the same sort of character that has called young men and women into the armed services of the United States of America since the inception of our country 235 years ago.
No, Memorial Day isn’t about sales at the mall. It’s about remembering the sacrifices of those who went into the breach and who gave their lives so that you could go to those sales, or eat too much at that barbecue, or soak up the sun at the water’s edge. It’s about all the sales and barbecues and sunny days that those brave men and women will never again see.
I’m not telling you to not enjoy your holiday weekend. I’m not telling you to not spend time with your family. I’m not telling you not to stimulate the economy by checking out the sales.
I am, however, telling you to take some time and reflect upon what you have, and who gave up all of their tomorrows so that the rest of us could have today.
I’ve never been a terribly religious man and am not prone to quote the Christian Bible, but Matthew 5:9 says "Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God".
Often times people ask the famous quote from the end of James Michener’s The Bridges at Toko-Ri, “Where do we get such men?” when referring to our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines. The question is most often posed after the loss of one of our brave troops in battle and often in conjunction with a selfless act of heroism.
One need look no farther than their own front door. I don’t think that any region or minicipality or social class has a monopoly of patriotism, love of country, and love for their fellows. I served alongside city kids, suburban kids, country kids, and kids from everywhere in between. I served with guys whose parents barely spoke English, and I served with a guy who was English and working on his American citizenship. I served with guys who spoke more than one language out of necessity long before they joined the Army and learned another. I served alongside guys who barely made it through high school and some who had advanced degrees. We all have the potential for greatness.
It’s another Memorial Day weekend, and everywhere people are cooking on the grill, taking the boat out on the lake, spending time with family and friends. Thousands of families however are missing a member this weekend, a member who paid the ultimate price in the service of our nation so that those left behind could enjoy the freedom to have this long holiday weekend.
Sadly, for one family in Texas, this weekend their hero, ironically born on the Fourth of July, is coming home draped in the flag he defended.
Corporal Jacob C.Leicht, USMC, was the 1,000th American serviceman killed in Afghanistan since hostilities began. Corporal Leicht was on his second combat tour, having served earlier in Iraq in 2007. On that first tour, Leicht drove his Humvee over a hidden IED made from two 500-pound bombs hidden beneath the road.
One detonated, the other didn't. The blast tore through the Humvee, shooting the radio into Leicht's face and knocking him unconscious. The blast also broke his leg in two places, snapping his fibula and tibia, and the recovery was an agonizing ordeal of pins and rods and bolts drilled into his bones.
Leicht, who spent two painful years recovering from the Iraq blast, was killed last week when he stepped on a land mine in Helmand province .He had written letters from his hospital bed begging to be put back on the front lines, and died less than a month into that desperately sought second tour.
Nine days before his brother stepped on that mine, Jacob’s brother Jesse also enlisted in the Marines. Using Facebook to reach a friend stationed at a base not far from his brother, Jesse asked the friend a favor: If you see Jacob, let him know I signed up like him.
"Hopefully," Jesse Leicht said, "he got the word."
A photo of Jacob Leicht is held by his brothers Jonathan and Jesse. Semper Fi.
So yes, it’s Memorial Day weekend. Rather than do his Presidential duty and attend ceremonies at the Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington National Cemetery, the Commander in Chief has opted for a couple vacation days in Chicago to recharge his Leftist batteries and attend a token ceremony at a cemetery locally (Gotta keep his name associated with Lincoln’s y’know), before coming back to Washington for a Paul McCartney concert. Can’t make the memorial on Memorial Day, but he can make it back for a concert….lovely. And not even a concert by an American artist. Figures.
All I heard on the radio this week were sale ads for cars, for golf carts, for jewelry, for other crap that ordinarily I wouldn’t mind. After all, commerce keeps the economy moving forward despite the best efforts of the Left to destroy the economy and everything else we believe in. But Memorial Day was never intended to be a vehicle for selling vehicles, or selling trinkets and baubles. Some businesses get it, and they temper their advertising and their sales to honor those who served, but most just look at it as a 72-hour window in which to separate you and your wallet from the green bills within.
Yeah, nothing says "Thanks of a grateful nation" quite like purple undies and trendy couture. Go commemorate those who perished on USS Arizona by spending a year's salary for some people on an overpriced Japanese-built luxury grocery-getter. A jumped-up Nissan 2-wheel drive, no less. My buddy Wil sent me a poem the other day for me to use on this post.
While cleaning out their father’s basement after he died, Rob Lenihan and his sister Joan found this poem that he wrote about World War II. James Lenihan was assigned to the 413th Infantry Regiment of the Army’s 104th Infantry Division. The 104th was responsible for overrunning the Dora-Mittelbau concentration camp complex near Nordhausen, Germany, and was later recognized as a liberating unit by the U.S. Army's Center of Military History and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. The inmates at Dora-Mittelbau was used as slave labor by the SS to do construction duty and at the facilities making the V-2 rockets.
Lenihan was wounded in action and later received a Purple Heart. Like many vets, he never spoke with his family about the emotions he experienced during the war, and they were very surprised to find this poem. Towards the end of Lenihan’s life, he actively sought out his old war buddies and described his time serving as one of the “worst and greatest experiences” of his life. He wrote the poem after killing a German soldier in Holland.
