This is has become my traditional Memorial Day Post. I think it captures the spirit intended for the holiday.
I have traveled the political spectrum from fairly far left to fairly far right and back toward the middle in my seventy-six years. But as I traveled that broad spectrum, I think I’ve always been a patriot in the sense that I love my country dearly and believe for any faults it may have, it is unique in the world. When I was protesting the war and voting for George McGovern, I believed My Country Right or Wrong, but not America – Love It or Leave It or America, Fix It or &%$* It. Every Memorial Day, I get to think back on my decision to seek a deferment from the draft based upon my employment in the defense industry, a decision that might lead some to question my claim of patriotism. I won’t deny that my motivation wasn’t entirely selfless but I’d offer that some of the systems I helped develop for keeping track of Soviet submarines during the dark days of the Cold War contributed substantially to our National Defense. Just watch The Hunt for Red October. Still, sometimes I feel a little guilt that others served in my place. At seventy-seven, I simultaneously abhor the realities of war (brought to us in gruesome detail by modern media) and resign myself to its necessity in what is, more than ever, a dangerous world. Some of our military excursions have been essential, others have turned out to be unwise. Both fall at the feet of our leaders, those of us that elect them and, sadly, those that don’t bother to vote. (more…)
How are you? Fine, you say. I’m not so sure. Oh, you are still beautiful. Sometimes you take my breath away, like when I sit here looking up at the snow covered Wasatch Mountains. It reminds me of America the Beautiful. Yes, I love the National Anthem but America the Beautiful was always our song, wasn’t it? Purple mountains majesty above the fruited plain. It always brings tears to my eyes when I hear Ray Charles sing it. Crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.
Older Eyes 