In Remembrance

Update: (6/20/06) Wow! I’ve found the secret to getting lots of blog hits: Post the lyrics to a Big & Rich song!! LOL

I hope those of you who’ve found your way here for the first time will to check out some of my other posts and visit the great folks on the blogroll. Also, take a look around Bloggers Against Torture and learn about Torture Awareness Month.

– Jenn

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I’m not a big country music fan. There are certain songs that have special meaning to me, and certain artists and bands I like listening to, but for the most part I prefer listening to something else – anything else.

Today, I was riding with my sister and listening to her favorite country music station. I started paying attention when I heard Kris Kristofferson speak. Listening to this song for the first time, I was overcome with tears, and reminded once again of the heroes who do what is asked of them without question, for honor and country.

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8th of November – Big & Rich

Hello, I’m Kris Kristofferson.
On November 8th, 1965, the 173rd Airborne Brigade on Operation Hump, War Zone D in Vietnam, were ambushed by over 1200 V.C. Forty-eight American soldiers lost their lives that day. Severely wounded, and riskin’ his own life, Lawrence Joel, a medic, was the first livin’ black man since the Spanish-American War to receive the United States Medal of Honor for savin’ so many lives in the midst of battle that day. Our friend, Nialls Harris, retired 25 years, United States Army, the guy who gave Big Kenny his top hat, was one of the wounded who lived: This song is his story. Caught in the action of kill or be killed, greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend.

Said goodbye to his Momma as he left South Dakota,
To fight for the Red, White and Blue.
He was nineteen and green with a new M-16,
Just doing what he had to do.
He was dropped in the jungle where the choppers would rumble,
With the smell of Napalm in the air.
Then the sergeant said: “Look up ahead.”
Like a dark evil cloud, 1,200 came down on him and 29 more.
They fought for their lives but most of them died in the 173rd Airborne.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.

Now he’s 58 and his pony tail’s gray,
But the battle still plays in his head.
He limps when he walks but he’s strong when he talks.
‘Bout the Shrapnel they left in his leg.
He puts on a gray suit over his Airborne tattoo.
And he ties it on one time a year,
And remembers that fallen as he orders a tall one,
And swallows it down with his tears.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.

Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965. (1965.)

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.
8th of November. (8th of November.)

Said goodbye to his Momma as he left South Dakota,
To fight for the Red, White and Blue.
He was nineteen and green with a new M-16,
Just doing what he had to do.

These Honored Dead

This Memorial Day, take time to remember and honor those who gave all, and those who are in harm’s way.Take time to reflect upon the sacrifices still being made upon the altar of Ares; all those yet to die in our name.

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Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

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Memorial Day is supposed to be a day set aside to remember the sacrifices of our military in wars – popular and unpopular – throughout our history.

Far too many people forget the meaning of the day, just as they forget the meaning of Flag Day, and Veteran’s Day. To most Americans, this weekend will be about prepping the house for summer, planting gardens, and barbequing. It will be about beer and friends, races and baseball.

I was raised to remember all those who gave ‘that last full measure of devotion’. My father was a lifetime member of the American Legion, and a Post Commander. He was a stickler for the rules of flag-handling, and many other solemn events related to the military and honoring their sacrifices. Before I was ten, I knew more about military ritual than most kids.

When I was eight years old, I was given the honor of leading the attendees of the Legion’s Memorial Day remembrance in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. I remember little of the experience, except that my father looked very handsome in his Post Commander’s cap, and that there seemed to be a million people in the audience.

From my father, I learned a lot about ritual, but it was from my mother that I learned about the cost of war.

My paternal grandmother sent four sons to war. Three returned to her; the fourth buried with his comrades on a small plain in France. Her mother waited in vain for her son to return from World War I, but like so many, he perished in a foreign land, his final resting place unknown.

My maternal grandmother watched her brothers leave to fight in World War II. Of the four, two came home; one later to become an instructor at the Air Force Academy. Later, she saw her youngest son drafted, in 1964. My mother was fourteen and remembers vividly the pride and the fear the family felt as they watched him leave for US Navy boot camp. She remembers the eighteen months of terror spent waiting for any word, after the Navy reported him missing in action. She remembers the sense of relief and guilt that assailed them all, but especially him, when he came home injured, but not maimed or crippled. Alive, unlike so many others.

Many people often express surprise that I am very pro-military. I understand this – it’s hard for most people to understand that you can hate wars and the reasons for fighting them, but still love, honor, and support the US military.

Servicemen and women do not choose their battles, they do not choose their enemies. They are told where to go and what to do by leaders that may or may not have their best interests at heart, by leaders who may or may not have seen combat themselves. And they do the very best they can, under circumstances the rest of us will never be able to comprehend.

My problem is not, and never has been, with the men and women in uniform. It is with those who send those men and women into harm’s way without valid reason, without proper equipment and supplies. It is with those who scream themselves hoarse about supporting the troops, but cut veterans benefits in wartime and order them – in America’s name – to violate international law and their own moral code.

It is those who mistreat the American soldier while calling the rest of us unpatriotic.

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Arlington – Trace Adkins

I never thought that this is where I’d settle down.
I thought I’d die an old man back in my hometown.
They gave me this plot of land,
Me and some other men, for a job well done.

There’s a big White House sits on a hill just up the road.
The man inside, he cried the day they brought me home.
They folded up a flag and told my Mom and Dad:
“We’re proud of your son.”

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
I’m thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done.
I can rest in peace;
I’m one of the chosen ones:
I made it to Arlington.

I remember Daddy brought me here when I was eight.
We searched all day to find out where my grand-dad lay.
And when we finally found that cross,
He said: “Son, this is what it cost to keep us free.”

Now here I am, a thousand stones away from him.
He recognized me on the first day I came in.
And it gave me a chill when he clicked his heels,
And saluted me.

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
I’m thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done.
I can rest in peace;
I’m one of the chosen ones:
I made it to Arlington.

And everytime I hear twenty-one guns,
I know they brought another hero home to us.

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
We’re thankful for those thankful for the things we’ve done.
We can rest in peace;
‘Cause we are the chosen ones:
We made it to Arlington.

Yeah, dust to dust,
Don’t cry for us:
We made it to Arlington.

Friday Anti-War Song with bonus!

After yesterday's hoot of a post about the National Review's "Top 50 Conservative Rock Songs" I figured y'all might need a little extra dose… or a couple.

Actually, I couldn't pick decide which one to post today, so I'm posting all three: 

Mothers of the Disappeared – - U2

Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

In the wind we hear their laughter
In the rain we see their tears
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

In the trees our sons stand naked
Through the walls our daughters cry
See their tears in the rainfall

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Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2 

I cant believe the news today
Oh, I cant close my eyes and make it go away
How long…
How long must we sing this song?
How long? how long…

Cause tonight…we can be as one
Tonight…

Broken bottles under childrens feet
Bodies strewn across the dead end street
But I wont heed the battle call
It puts my back up
Puts my back up against the wall

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday…)
(allright lets go!)

And the battles just begun
Theres many lost, but tell me who has won
The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday

How long…
How long must we sing this song?
How long? how long…

cause tonight…we can be as one
Tonight…
Tonight…

Sunday, bloody Sunday (tonight)
Tonight
Sunday, bloody sunday (tonight)
(come get some!)

Wipe the tears from your eyes
Wipe your tears away
Wipe your tears away
I wipe your tears away
(Sunday, bloody Sunday)
I wipe your blood shot eyes
(Sunday, bloody Sunday)

Sunday, bloody sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
Sunday, bloody sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
(here I come!)

And its true we are immune
When fact is fiction and tv reality
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die

The real battle yet begun (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
To claim the victory jesus won (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
On…

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday…

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Blowin' in the Wind – - Bob Dylan 

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man
How many seas must the white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they are forever banned
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

Yes, and how many years can a mountain exist
Before it washed to the sea
Yes, and how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

Yes, and how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky
Yes, and how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind