I felt compelled to reblog this post because the author said out loud what I hinted at in my Veterans Day post. How nice it must make you feel to walk up to a person in uniform and treat them like something you found on the bottom of your shoe. As if that soldier doesn’t have feelings and he was personally responsible for the violence and death in this war for peace. How nice to sit back in your comfortable little house and pass judgement on the very ones that ensure you have a warm, comfortable home and food on your table and are able to throw your condemnation around freely, without worry that you will be arrested and thrown in jail, if not worse.
It had been a long weekend in the Texas sun. The state guardsman reached for the refrigerator door and a welcome shower of cool air fell over his long military sleeves.
Looking over the grocer’s jugs of milk, searching for the best date, his hand lingered on a handle for just a moment.
That’s when he heard it.
“Kill any babies.”
The tone was aimed directly at him. And it wasn’t in the form of a question.
Quietly the father retrieved the milk his wife asked for and he straightened. He was on the way home from weekend guard duty. They would be deploying for hurricane relief soon. It would mean a pay cut, but that’s what guardsman do. They go where they are needed. Local relief, wars in distant lands, bringing war criminals before the Hague so they can stand trial for their crimes against humanity; guardsmen and reservists…
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