- Dec 3, 2013
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Just thought I'd post this for everyone who thinks Marines are all about just killing people.
He is still working out issues from some of the kids he loved and were killed there that were locals.
" We were the ones who didn't stink of fear or anger as we passed through their home every day, turtled-up in our helmets and armor, and bristling with weapons. We were simply new targets for their endless supply of cheap, beaded bracelets, Pakistani chewing gum, and Pashmina scarves.
We were simply the latest of that endlessly streaming grey herd, but we were the ones who talked to them, whom they trusted with their exotic names: Eesa, Nawab, Khorshid...
We were the ones who didn't slap or kick them away, who bought their cheesy wares. Instead of slaps and kicks, we passed out candy... at least we did at first.
We were the ones who asked them what they needed, and then began bringing them that; who gave them the cheap little Light House of the Blind clicky-pens that fascinated them, and the little green Army notebooks that just fit their little hands. And when the weather turned cold, we were the ones who bought all of the tube socks that our little PX carried, and passed them out to keep their feet warm. And we were the ones who bought toothbrushes and toothpaste for them when we found out there were none to buy outside of our gates.
We were the ones who became regulars on their mulberry-lined street, whose schedule they memorized, and on whom they waited to emerge from the armored gates each day. I was the one they told of their little triumphs and tragedies, of their successes with their school lessons, and the latest English words they had learned. And I was the one into whose pockets they began slipping little gifts.
We were the ones they began telling their families and friends about, the kind Americans who played with them and brought them gifts, and whom their parents would sometimes come to meet and thank... these strange ferenghi who were so different from the others. And we were the ones they protected from the other street urchins who weren't of their tribe.
At Nowruz, we were the ones to exchange gifts with them, and after Ramzan, we were the ones who passed out boxes of old books, clothing and toys that our families and friends had sent from America just for them.
We were the ones who had skateboards shipped from America for them, paying more money for the shipping than for the skateboards themselves. We were the ones who taught them that girls could ride skateboards as well as the boys, and that girls could be anything they wanted, as long as the mullahs didn't know.
I was the one for whom they made little drawings of American flags with the markers and paper we bought them. And I was the one who told them to draw Afghan flags instead, and who enthusiastically shouted "Shabash!" when they did.
We were the ones they wept for when we told them we were going home. And we were the ones who promised to remember them always and tell our family and friends about them.
And they were the ones for whom I wept after the senseless attack that took them: Eesa, Nawab, Khorshid..."
I'd post his name, but it's personal and haven't asked so I won't.
He is still working out issues from some of the kids he loved and were killed there that were locals.
" We were the ones who didn't stink of fear or anger as we passed through their home every day, turtled-up in our helmets and armor, and bristling with weapons. We were simply new targets for their endless supply of cheap, beaded bracelets, Pakistani chewing gum, and Pashmina scarves.
We were simply the latest of that endlessly streaming grey herd, but we were the ones who talked to them, whom they trusted with their exotic names: Eesa, Nawab, Khorshid...
We were the ones who didn't slap or kick them away, who bought their cheesy wares. Instead of slaps and kicks, we passed out candy... at least we did at first.
We were the ones who asked them what they needed, and then began bringing them that; who gave them the cheap little Light House of the Blind clicky-pens that fascinated them, and the little green Army notebooks that just fit their little hands. And when the weather turned cold, we were the ones who bought all of the tube socks that our little PX carried, and passed them out to keep their feet warm. And we were the ones who bought toothbrushes and toothpaste for them when we found out there were none to buy outside of our gates.
We were the ones who became regulars on their mulberry-lined street, whose schedule they memorized, and on whom they waited to emerge from the armored gates each day. I was the one they told of their little triumphs and tragedies, of their successes with their school lessons, and the latest English words they had learned. And I was the one into whose pockets they began slipping little gifts.
We were the ones they began telling their families and friends about, the kind Americans who played with them and brought them gifts, and whom their parents would sometimes come to meet and thank... these strange ferenghi who were so different from the others. And we were the ones they protected from the other street urchins who weren't of their tribe.
At Nowruz, we were the ones to exchange gifts with them, and after Ramzan, we were the ones who passed out boxes of old books, clothing and toys that our families and friends had sent from America just for them.
We were the ones who had skateboards shipped from America for them, paying more money for the shipping than for the skateboards themselves. We were the ones who taught them that girls could ride skateboards as well as the boys, and that girls could be anything they wanted, as long as the mullahs didn't know.
I was the one for whom they made little drawings of American flags with the markers and paper we bought them. And I was the one who told them to draw Afghan flags instead, and who enthusiastically shouted "Shabash!" when they did.
We were the ones they wept for when we told them we were going home. And we were the ones who promised to remember them always and tell our family and friends about them.
And they were the ones for whom I wept after the senseless attack that took them: Eesa, Nawab, Khorshid..."
I'd post his name, but it's personal and haven't asked so I won't.
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