Pamela Foster says it all in this poignant post:
Today, Memorial Day, a day set aside to honor those who have died in my country’s many, many wars, I am publishing the same post on both this blog and my wounded warrior wife blog.
I grew up with images of fire hoses turned on protestors. Helmeted men on horseback beating those willing to put their bodies on the line for change. Napalmed children screaming on dirt roads. Boys who, a couple years earlier, sat beside me in Mrs. Conner’s fourth period English or Mr. Cobine’s American Civics class, returned from Vietnam as long-haired wanderers. My sisters fiancée returned from Hamburger Hill in a box. A sealed box.
It was common, in those days, to see Cronkite or Huntley report on a flag-draped funeral. God, how I hated all that fluttering red, white, and blue, lined up in a row, the snap of the bigger flag in the distance…
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