A Military Story -- Don't Close Your Blinds
The other day, my nine year old son wanted to know why we were at war. My husband looked at our son and then looked at me. My husband and I were in the Army during the Gulf War and we would be honored to serve and defend our Country again today. I knew that my husband would give him a good explanation.
My husband thought for a few minutes and then told my son to go stand in our front living room window. He said 'Son, stand there and tell me what you see?'
'I see trees and cars and our neighbor's houses.' he replied.
'OK, now I want you to pretend that our house and our yard is the United States of America and you are President Bush.'
Our son giggled and said 'OK.'
'Now son, I want you to look out the window and pretend that every house and yard on this block is a different country' my husband said.
'OK Dad, I'm pretending.'
'Now I want you to stand there and look out the window and pretend you see Saddam come out of his house with his wife, he has her by the hair and is hitting her. You see her bleeding and crying. He hits her in the face, he throws her on the ground, then he starts to kick her to death. Their children run out and are afraid to stop him, they are screaming and crying, they are watching this but do nothing because they are kids and they are afraid of their father. You see all of this son.... what do you do?'
'What do you do son?'
'I'd call the police, Dad.'
'OK. Pretend that the police are the United Nations and they take your ca ll, listen to what you know and saw but they refuse to help. What do you do then son?'
'Dad.......... but the police are supposed to help!' My son starts to whine.
'They don't want to son, because they say that it is not their place or your place to get involved and that you should stay out of it,' my husband says
'But Dad...he killed her!!' my son exclaims.
'I know he did...but the police tell you to stay out of it. Now I want you to look out that window and pretend you see our neighbor who you're pretending is Saddam turn around and do the same thing to his children.'
'Daddy..he kills them?'
'Yes son, he does. What do you do?'
'Well, if the police don't want to help, I will go and ask my next door neighbor to help me stop him.' our son says.
'Son, our next door neighbor sees what is happening and refuses to get involved as well. He refuses to open the door and help you stop him,' my husband says.
'But Dad, I NEED help!!! I can't stop him by myself!!'
'WHAT DO YOU DO SON?' Our son starts to cry.
'OK, no one wants to help you, the man across the street saw you ask for help and saw that no one would help you stop him. He stands taller and puffs out his chest. Guess what he does next son?'
'He walks across the street to the old ladies house and breaks down her door and drags her out, steals all her stuff and sets her house on fire and then...he kills her. He turns around and sees you standing in he window and laughs at you. WHAT DO YOU DO?'
'WHAT DO YOU DO?'
Our son is crying and he looks down and he whispers, 'I'd close the blinds, Daddy.'
My husband looks at our son with tears in his eyes and asks him...'Why?'
'Because Daddy.....the police are supposed to help people who needs them...and they won't help.... You always say that neighbors are supposed to HELP neighbors, but they won't help either...they won't help me stop him...I'm afraid....I can't do it by myself Daddy.....I can't look out my window and just watch him do all these terrible things and...and.....do nothing...so...I'm just going to close the blinds.... so I can't see what he's doing.......and I'm going to pretend that it is not happening.'
I start to cry.
My husband looks at our nine year old son standing in the window, looking pitiful and ashamed at his answers to my husbands questions and he says...'Son'
'Open the blinds because that man.... he's at your front door...'WHAT DO YOU DO?'
My son looks at his father, anger and defiance in his eyes. He balls up his tiny fists and looks his father square in the eyes, without hesitation he says: 'I DEFEND MY FAMILY DAD!! I'M NOT GONNA LET HIM HURT MOMMY OR MY SISTER, DAD!!! I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM, DAD, I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM!!!!!'
I see a tear roll down my husband's cheek and he grabs our son to his chest and hugs him tight, and says... 'It's too late to fight him, he's too strong and he's already at YOUR front door son.....you should have stopped him BEFORE he killed his wife, and his children and the old lady across the way. You have to do what's right, even if you have to do it alone, before it's too late.' my husband whispers.
THAT scenario I just gave you is WHY we are at war with Iraq. When good men stand by and let evil happen son, THAT is the greatest EVIL of all. Our President is doing what is right. We, as a free nation, must understand that this war is a war of humanity. WE must remove evil men from power so that we can continue to live in a free world where we are not afraid to look out our window so that my nine year old son won't grow up in a world where he feels that if he just 'closes' the blinds the atrocities in the world won't affect him. 'YOU MUST NEVER BE AFRAID TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT! EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO DO IT ALONE!' BE PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN! BE PROUD OF OUR TROOPS!! SUPPORT THEM!!! SUPPORT AMERICA!! SO THAT IN THE FUTURE OUR CHILDREN WILL NEVER HAVE TO CLOSE THEIR BLINDS...'
This should be printed in every newspaper and posted in every school in America. Of course that won't happen so we'll use the internet.
Small, simple, safe price. Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets. This is not a small cut that scabs and dries and flakes and heals. And I am not afraid to die. I\'m not afraid to bleed and fuck and fight. I want the pain of payment. What\'s left but a section of pigmy-sized cuts. Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks. Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand fucks? And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid. To fill and spill over and under my thoughts. My sad, sorry, selfish craft of the cutter. I\'m cutting trying to picture your black broken heart. Love is not like anything, especially a fucking knife!
- Bert McCracken