What a legendary uniform it has been, one that I had the honor of wearing for twenty-one remarkable years. A Marine clad in dress blues is a striking sight, commanding attention and respect regardless of venue. The undeniable strength of discipline and the deep-seated pride radiate from everyone who dons this storied attire. When a proud Marine walks in their distinguished dress blues, they embody the very essence of their nation, leaving no doubt as to where their allegiance lies. With each stride, a Marine carries the rich legacy and heavy spirit of their homeland upon their shoulders.
No matter which uniform I wear during my service, and my branch boasts a myriad of attire, the truth remains - I am still that little boy from Alabama with a tumultuous journey behind me. As I don the iconic legacy of my Corps, I reflect deeply, asking the poignant question: What moments could bring tears to my eyes while I stand proudly in this ceremonial garb?
I met a Marine from Hickory, NC, who became like a brother to me. We often referred to ourselves as Big John and Little John. Brian was a smaller, high-strung Marine, while I was larger in stature with a laid-back attitude. Both of us worked as jet engine mechanics. The Harrier was a challenging aircraft to maintain, but Brian and I were a formidable team.
As mechanics, we had the chance to confront discrepancies noted during a previous flight and were ready to tackle them head-on. Brian could effortlessly wiggle into tight crevices with his agile frame, where my larger build simply couldn't fit. Meanwhile, I would serve as the muscle, using my strength to wrestle with stubborn, torqued bolts or components that would be challenging for Brian.
Together, we formed a dynamic duo, destined to become colleagues and roommates as we embarked aboard a formidable amphibious assault ship. The roar of the sea and the hum of machinery would become our backdrop as we worked on a craft with an unpredictable nature that made our jobs more challenging.
What makes me cry good tears is that Brian and I could have become a poster to America, but just because you are different in outward appearance does not mean you are different internally. I was blessed to meet his entire family; they were as good Americans as Brian. Brian never got over the fact that his mom would kick him out of his bed whenever his friend from Alabama came to stay the night. My brother, I miss you dearly.
America, a land woven with the threads of freedom and courage, stands as a democracy born through immense sacrifice and unwavering determination. It shines like a radiant beacon of hope for its citizens and those who aspire to be part of its tapestry. My heart aches when I hear of books being banned, sacrificing knowledge and understanding, because some may struggle with their self-worth. Such actions reflect a narrow-mindedness reminiscent of a darker chapter in our nation's history, when countless individuals were denied the fundamental right to learn and grow, their voices silenced and spirits shackled.
If I, as a person of color, immerse myself in the haunting echoes of our shared history - the period when our enslaved brothers and sisters were treated like mere livestock, their bodies commodified while their very essence was stripped away - I wonder why we cannot collectively confront this dark chapter. Why can't everyone engage with this past, so we can ensure that such unspeakable barbarism is never repeated?
As tears flow down my cheeks, I acknowledge that delving into this history can be painful. Yet, my love for this country remains unwavering; my devotion to my fellow Americans, regardless of their skin tone, is boundless. I wore my uniform as a badge of honor and a testament to my commitment to serve every American. I stood ready to lay down my life for all, embracing the beautiful idea of diversity that defines us. A land of knowledge, when we finally combine the good and the bad, we can all say I love you, my brother and my sister. How can one say they love their country if they do not know its history?
This heartfelt reflection is dedicated to the brave men and women who have valiantly served our great nation, and to the families who bear the weight of loss, enduring the heartache of separation from their loved ones who made the ultimate sacrifice. In joyful sorrow, I shed tears for your extraordinary courage in giving everything for our country. I also weep for those left behind, navigating a world that feels emptier without you. My time in the Corps unveiled the profound fragility of life, revealing that the number of valiant souls lost cannot simply be counted; each statistic represents a vibrant life extinguished too soon. We must honor their memory by recognizing the depth of our shared humanity.
The haunting images of their faces linger in my mind, forever imprinted like shadows on my soul. As an American service member, I cried whenever there was a loss, and I did all I could to keep our warriors safe. With every aircraft I meticulously tended to, I poured my heart and soul into ensuring their safe return from flight, to honor our unbreakable bond as Americans.
As a Marine, I stood tall, embodying pride and honor in every mission. Yet, a deep, unsettling turmoil stirs within me as I witness my fellow Americans who have forsaken their values, allowing a single individual to undermine the very essence of our democracy. We find ourselves torn apart by an ideology crafted to construct a chasm of division, pulling us away from the unity we once cherished.
Throughout history, a profound and heartfelt refrain has echoed through the ages, whispered by countless Americans: "My family never owned slaves, and I don't own any today. What actions can I take?" This pivotal moment stands before you like an open canvas, beckoning you to paint your unique chapter in the grand tapestry of humanity. It is an invitation to unveil your truth, to weave a compelling narrative whose resonance will ripple across generations, leaving an indelible mark on the world.
Now, as you come to this decisive crossroads, a critical question hangs in the air, shimmering with significance: will your story shine like a brilliant beacon, radiating integrity and courage, or will it falter, slipping into the shadows of obscurity so profound that you feel the need to hide it from the world's gaze? Contemplate the legacy you wish to sculpt with each choice you make. `
I cry when it seems that our great country is being robbed of its spirit when the petulant man-child is seen as being strong.
I find myself in tears, overwhelmed by the memories of our American legacy - a tapestry woven with the threads of valiant heroes, both black and white, whose courage and integrity have shaped the very foundation of our nation. Why do we shy away from sharing these powerful stories and passing them down to our children?
Why not unveil the rich narrative of our true history to the world? This is our origin, a reminder of where we began, yet we stand today with immense pride, united as one people - Americans. Instead, we seem to indulge in narratives of foolishness, constructing an embarrassing national image. Clad in my dress blues, I feel my heart ache and my eyes well up as I witness our great nation regress, longing for the days we forged ahead with unwavering resolve.
No matter which uniform I wear during my service, and my branch boasts a myriad of attire, the truth remains - I am still that little boy from Alabama with a tumultuous journey behind me. As I don the iconic legacy of my Corps, I reflect deeply, asking the poignant question: What moments could bring tears to my eyes while I stand proudly in this ceremonial garb?
I met a Marine from Hickory, NC, who became like a brother to me. We often referred to ourselves as Big John and Little John. Brian was a smaller, high-strung Marine, while I was larger in stature with a laid-back attitude. Both of us worked as jet engine mechanics. The Harrier was a challenging aircraft to maintain, but Brian and I were a formidable team.
As mechanics, we had the chance to confront discrepancies noted during a previous flight and were ready to tackle them head-on. Brian could effortlessly wiggle into tight crevices with his agile frame, where my larger build simply couldn't fit. Meanwhile, I would serve as the muscle, using my strength to wrestle with stubborn, torqued bolts or components that would be challenging for Brian.
Together, we formed a dynamic duo, destined to become colleagues and roommates as we embarked aboard a formidable amphibious assault ship. The roar of the sea and the hum of machinery would become our backdrop as we worked on a craft with an unpredictable nature that made our jobs more challenging.
What makes me cry good tears is that Brian and I could have become a poster to America, but just because you are different in outward appearance does not mean you are different internally. I was blessed to meet his entire family; they were as good Americans as Brian. Brian never got over the fact that his mom would kick him out of his bed whenever his friend from Alabama came to stay the night. My brother, I miss you dearly.
America, a land woven with the threads of freedom and courage, stands as a democracy born through immense sacrifice and unwavering determination. It shines like a radiant beacon of hope for its citizens and those who aspire to be part of its tapestry. My heart aches when I hear of books being banned, sacrificing knowledge and understanding, because some may struggle with their self-worth. Such actions reflect a narrow-mindedness reminiscent of a darker chapter in our nation's history, when countless individuals were denied the fundamental right to learn and grow, their voices silenced and spirits shackled.
If I, as a person of color, immerse myself in the haunting echoes of our shared history - the period when our enslaved brothers and sisters were treated like mere livestock, their bodies commodified while their very essence was stripped away - I wonder why we cannot collectively confront this dark chapter. Why can't everyone engage with this past, so we can ensure that such unspeakable barbarism is never repeated?
As tears flow down my cheeks, I acknowledge that delving into this history can be painful. Yet, my love for this country remains unwavering; my devotion to my fellow Americans, regardless of their skin tone, is boundless. I wore my uniform as a badge of honor and a testament to my commitment to serve every American. I stood ready to lay down my life for all, embracing the beautiful idea of diversity that defines us. A land of knowledge, when we finally combine the good and the bad, we can all say I love you, my brother and my sister. How can one say they love their country if they do not know its history?
This heartfelt reflection is dedicated to the brave men and women who have valiantly served our great nation, and to the families who bear the weight of loss, enduring the heartache of separation from their loved ones who made the ultimate sacrifice. In joyful sorrow, I shed tears for your extraordinary courage in giving everything for our country. I also weep for those left behind, navigating a world that feels emptier without you. My time in the Corps unveiled the profound fragility of life, revealing that the number of valiant souls lost cannot simply be counted; each statistic represents a vibrant life extinguished too soon. We must honor their memory by recognizing the depth of our shared humanity.
The haunting images of their faces linger in my mind, forever imprinted like shadows on my soul. As an American service member, I cried whenever there was a loss, and I did all I could to keep our warriors safe. With every aircraft I meticulously tended to, I poured my heart and soul into ensuring their safe return from flight, to honor our unbreakable bond as Americans.
As a Marine, I stood tall, embodying pride and honor in every mission. Yet, a deep, unsettling turmoil stirs within me as I witness my fellow Americans who have forsaken their values, allowing a single individual to undermine the very essence of our democracy. We find ourselves torn apart by an ideology crafted to construct a chasm of division, pulling us away from the unity we once cherished.
Throughout history, a profound and heartfelt refrain has echoed through the ages, whispered by countless Americans: "My family never owned slaves, and I don't own any today. What actions can I take?" This pivotal moment stands before you like an open canvas, beckoning you to paint your unique chapter in the grand tapestry of humanity. It is an invitation to unveil your truth, to weave a compelling narrative whose resonance will ripple across generations, leaving an indelible mark on the world.
Now, as you come to this decisive crossroads, a critical question hangs in the air, shimmering with significance: will your story shine like a brilliant beacon, radiating integrity and courage, or will it falter, slipping into the shadows of obscurity so profound that you feel the need to hide it from the world's gaze? Contemplate the legacy you wish to sculpt with each choice you make. `
I cry when it seems that our great country is being robbed of its spirit when the petulant man-child is seen as being strong.
I find myself in tears, overwhelmed by the memories of our American legacy - a tapestry woven with the threads of valiant heroes, both black and white, whose courage and integrity have shaped the very foundation of our nation. Why do we shy away from sharing these powerful stories and passing them down to our children?
Why not unveil the rich narrative of our true history to the world? This is our origin, a reminder of where we began, yet we stand today with immense pride, united as one people - Americans. Instead, we seem to indulge in narratives of foolishness, constructing an embarrassing national image. Clad in my dress blues, I feel my heart ache and my eyes well up as I witness our great nation regress, longing for the days we forged ahead with unwavering resolve.
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