But who is this young man who jumped out of a plane to parachute behind enemy lines in the dark stillness of night, who stormed a broad beach under withering and relentless gunfire, onto blood stained sand, who scaled the cliffs of Normandy under impossible odds, who was more scared than he could ever be again? Who was this kid who stood in water up to his chin, his buddies floating by, the water dyed red from the horror he was facing.
What made him wade through it all, facing uncertainty from one moment to the very next, not knowing when he might be next? And what kept him from crying? What kept him going? What made him even willing to be there that horrific yet glorious day? Who was he?
His name was Peter, Paul, Jim, and John, it was Jose, and Aldo, Stanislaw and Pierre, our great grandfather, or maybe our grandfather, some of us could call him Dad, or uncle, or even cousin. But whatever we call him, he answered ‘The Call’ under the saddest of conditions: nobly! Who was he? If you said to him he was a hero, he wouldn’t necessarily agree with you, after all he would say: “I was only doing my job!” But he was not just a hero: he was a liberator, a protector of freedom, the God-given opportunity for the world to save itself through him, and now he is dying off!
Is there anything in this world that we have done for him? I know we put up some monuments to commemorate the day, I know there are statues in Normandy France, and in the USA, but what have we really done for him? Some of us may have recognized him and said thanks, and some of us may have even shook his hand, but what have we done for him lately?
It seems we have all taken what we own, our freedom for granted, for all those brave young men that died that day on the beaches, and the days before and after, paid for! We need to remember them better than we do, not once a year on Memorial Day, or the anniversary such as today, but everyday. We must respect his valor, his sacrifice, a willingness to die for his country. We need to teach this to our children and grandchildren. They need to know they inherited a world of freedom that no one can repay those kids on the beaches. They need to know how he felt when those amphibious landing craft dropped their doors, the sounds and fury of the war in his ears, how it scared him, his friends and buddies dying all around him. They need to know.
They need to know they can drive anywhere they want, vote for something called a better world, all because of him. They need to know.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
1 comment:
Truer words were never spoken Joe. As that horrific conflict fades into history, it gets harder to help young people understand what was sacrificed for them.
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