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Oo-Rah Baby

Tuesday, November 11, 2014 9:08 AM

It’s “In Memory Of” that veterans bond around Veterans Day—

remembering those intense, hellish struggles of combat, when “me” and “we” were synonymous for survival. We simultaneously lived out the American Dream and Nightmare all at once. The dream of “We the People” and the nightmare of “Me Alone” bleeding away life.

In today’s ideological divide, we’ve all become victims of personal combat engaged around beliefs and ideas about this American Dream. But going to war and burying the fallen is an American WE affair” like the photograph here. That’s my personal reflection that gets lost in the ME preoccupation that typifies parades and parade pontification. 

As I “raised the colors” yesterday and today: The US Flag and the Marine 

Corps Flag, I could still hear that voice at Cracker Barrel from another table a few months ago. “Did you serve with the Marines or are you just wearing the cap?”— like a New England Patriots fan might sport a logo cap, in admiration of how Tom Brady rifles those bombs downfield. The rifles and bombs I bore for Corps, God, and country were more of a blood sport than the NFL could ever be. I wasn’t a fan; I was a target and dealer of death. Serious business with serious consequences.

“Yes” was my reply—after mentally tying down the inner Marine that knew the price I had paid to wear that cover. “I was with Alpha 1/7 in Nam.” (He didn’t have a clue about that alphabet soup I just served up to him.) … “You, a Marine?”  

“No, I was 4-F” (draft category of ineligibility). I was then given a begrudged nod and a half-ass two-finger salute. Guess I passed his litmus test for Real American. I just wanted to have lunch and to be left the f--- alone. Marines know the difference—or should. Wearing that cover is having earned it as WE THE PEOPLE. 

No, I don’t usually do ME parades in Prescott. I do quiet reflection at home. I look out of my window at the American Flag, at the Marine Corps Flag, and I see those faces of all the different human colors that beat the bush and turned it red. Makes me proud and sad at the same time. Then I turn to my wife: “Oo-Rah!” I exclaim. 

“Oo-Rah, Baby! she replies, in perfect call and response.

Carl