Got this in an email, passing it along, move along if it's a repost. I did a search for infantry and infantryman, nothing came up.
THE INFANTRYMAN
I cannot help myself from feeling pride and being proud for all our service
personnel each time
I read this. Just heard Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld say today, "Our
troops are ready to go.
We just need the word from the President," or words to that effect. The
days ahead will bring
a lot of hardship and death to many people on all sides. Only God can help
them now, as it
appears a war is at hand.
The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is
considered by society
as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a
beer, but old
enough to die for his country.
He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than
wash his father's;
but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student,
pursued some form of
sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend
that either broke up
with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a
world away.
He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm
Howitzers.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is
working or fighting
from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can
field strip a rifle
in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher
and use either one
effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without
spirit or individual
dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears
the other. He
keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If
you're thirsty,
he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even
split his ammunition
with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his
hands. He can save
your life -- or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still
find ironic humor in
it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his
short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat
and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at
rigid attention,
while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who
haven't bothered to
stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and
day out, far from
home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the
price for our
freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200
years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his
blood.
[Let us not forget our Infantry women also.]
THE INFANTRYMAN
I cannot help myself from feeling pride and being proud for all our service
personnel each time
I read this. Just heard Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld say today, "Our
troops are ready to go.
We just need the word from the President," or words to that effect. The
days ahead will bring
a lot of hardship and death to many people on all sides. Only God can help
them now, as it
appears a war is at hand.
The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is
considered by society
as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a
beer, but old
enough to die for his country.
He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than
wash his father's;
but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student,
pursued some form of
sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend
that either broke up
with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a
world away.
He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm
Howitzers.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is
working or fighting
from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can
field strip a rifle
in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher
and use either one
effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without
spirit or individual
dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears
the other. He
keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If
you're thirsty,
he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even
split his ammunition
with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his
hands. He can save
your life -- or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still
find ironic humor in
it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his
short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat
and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at
rigid attention,
while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who
haven't bothered to
stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and
day out, far from
home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the
price for our
freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200
years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his
blood.
[Let us not forget our Infantry women also.]
