The Root of All Evil

Being a veteran in this country really doesn’t amount to a pile of beans these days. It’s quite sad how little respect the majority of the population has for those of us who served in the military. This certainly is not true if you live in a military enclave such as San Diego or Fayetteville or even Jacksonville. In these communities their common welfare as well as economic structure depends on each man and woman in uniform. In these areas veterans are recognized to have earned the respect that they deserve and are given it, but outside a military town, most folks just don’t give a crap.

When I was a kid most men were veterans. My Grandpa was a WW II Marine Raider and lots of the local middle aged men were Korean War vets. These men were always treated with honor and respect, even if it wasn’t veterans day. There was always an acknowledgment of the few years they gave in service to their country. Some carried around scars with pride. Other carried scars no one could see, but if your Grandpa or Dad introduced you to a vet, it was a big deal, and being a vet gave you a different standing in the community. A standing of pride.

Today we are creating more and more young veterans every day, yet society fails to see or understand exactly what that means. I guess we can’t blame them because Hollywood has certainly desensitized  the public’s feelings about war, but damn it, yes we can blame them because any knucklehead knows the difference between a Hollywood war and a real war. Maybe it’s that not enough of our population has had to fight, kill and watch people die before that creates this lack of respect for veterans. Hell, my credit score gets more respect than my time spent in the Marine Corps.

I was in the 1st Marine Brigade! The finest and toughest fighting Marine outfits there ever has been. Where our country needed us, we were there. What our country needed us to do, we did well with honor and respect and a brotherhood for each other that  is indescribable. Still, I can’t find an apartment in Burbank, California because of my credit. Excuse me, but no one asked me for my credit score on my way to Lebanon, Columbia or Indonesia, but they did ask for my best and my blood.

So here I am, a Marine with PTSD on the outside of society looking in. I wear my Marine t-shirts with pride once in a while, but only old Devil Dogs notice. I coach kids basketball and raise my two young sons in the honor and teamwork that I believe in, only to watch a consumer driven society scorn such trust and screw the next guy to make an extra buck. What was it I was fighting for again? Honor? Courage? Country?

Yeah, I am pissed of that I can’t find an apartment for me and my two kids, but I’m also very sad and taken by the fact that, not just my service, but that of hundreds of thousands of American men and women will mean so little when they come home from this crazy war in Iraq. They put on the uniform, they answered the call, they risked everything they had and their lives will never be the same, but all that will matter is their credit score.

Grandpa WW II

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