sendinghome
02-20-03, 02:33 PM
Too Many Names
I visited the Wall again today. Didn't want to, don't like to. I visit because I feel I should. It's too easy to forget, to move on. If it's so easy for us, what about them? The one's that never wore a uniform, never lost someone, never trained to go. They never knew, never understood. So how can they even forget? They just nod, shake their heads and they, too, move on.
As I start at the upper end of the Wall, there's only a handful. I hear a mother stooped over, explaining to her daughter of seven or eight about Them. The Names, she says are for the men who were killed. Killed. Does the little girl even begin to grasp the concept? Killed. A mother, a daughter, maybe a young bride. For them, a memory. A time of grief, a pain that still resides, dulled, in the back of everyday events as they, too, move on. Killed.
For the Name, a forever loss of dreams, of hugs, of football games, of backyard barbecues, of graduations…how do you explain - these Names can't just move on.
Once again, I stop in front of the series of Names. My Names. The ones that will never age. Jim, the goalie for the lacrosse team. Mark --- he could never get the compass readings right. I smile as always at Wally - he almost got kicked off the boxing team for the prank he played on Coach Emerson. I didn't "get" to go. They and a lot of others did. They, and a lot of others, didn't come back.
I have to visit. So long as I do, Mark and Jim and Wally still laugh, still drive too fast, still flirt with the pretty girls at the drive-in. While I and every-one else move on.
I notice that I have fallen behind the little girl and her mother. We're in the "valley". The walls are tall, the Names overwhelming. I normally hear nothing and ignore the crowds. But then I hear the little girl. Finally, after oh so many words, so many debates, so much anger and pain. "Mommy," she says, " This is not good - -- there are too many Names". The little girl, in her own way, did grasp it, she knew.
Her mother doesn't speak, just picks her daughter up and hugs her. My eyes meet her mom's and I know, she too has a Name. A memory on the Wall. Father? Brother? Fiancé? We don't speak but nod just a bit. She moves on as I stand and marvel. Out of the mouths of babes. Too many Names.
With age the intensity of the times has faded. The cause no longer matters, the results do. And there are the Names. I now realize there will be other Walls, other Names. And while even one is too many, we must remember. When the bugle blows, it is too late. If we provide too little training, too few bullets, if the commitment is not full and the effort not true, there will not only be Names, not only too many Names, there may someday be no victory, no Wall, and no one to visit.
Please, Mr. President. Sneak out some night. Leave the press, the crowds. Visit the Wall. Get to know the Names. You and those with the power to put Names on the Wall must understand, even as that little girl knew, that there are always too many Names. They will always answer, will always obey, and always serve. All they ask - just give them a fighting chance to not end up as a Name. Give them the bullets, give them the leaders, give them the training and, most of all, and give them the respect. The Names that have gone before have earned - no demand - at least that.
I visited the Wall again today. Didn't want to, don't like to. I visit because I feel I should. It's too easy to forget, to move on. If it's so easy for us, what about them? The one's that never wore a uniform, never lost someone, never trained to go. They never knew, never understood. So how can they even forget? They just nod, shake their heads and they, too, move on.
As I start at the upper end of the Wall, there's only a handful. I hear a mother stooped over, explaining to her daughter of seven or eight about Them. The Names, she says are for the men who were killed. Killed. Does the little girl even begin to grasp the concept? Killed. A mother, a daughter, maybe a young bride. For them, a memory. A time of grief, a pain that still resides, dulled, in the back of everyday events as they, too, move on. Killed.
For the Name, a forever loss of dreams, of hugs, of football games, of backyard barbecues, of graduations…how do you explain - these Names can't just move on.
Once again, I stop in front of the series of Names. My Names. The ones that will never age. Jim, the goalie for the lacrosse team. Mark --- he could never get the compass readings right. I smile as always at Wally - he almost got kicked off the boxing team for the prank he played on Coach Emerson. I didn't "get" to go. They and a lot of others did. They, and a lot of others, didn't come back.
I have to visit. So long as I do, Mark and Jim and Wally still laugh, still drive too fast, still flirt with the pretty girls at the drive-in. While I and every-one else move on.
I notice that I have fallen behind the little girl and her mother. We're in the "valley". The walls are tall, the Names overwhelming. I normally hear nothing and ignore the crowds. But then I hear the little girl. Finally, after oh so many words, so many debates, so much anger and pain. "Mommy," she says, " This is not good - -- there are too many Names". The little girl, in her own way, did grasp it, she knew.
Her mother doesn't speak, just picks her daughter up and hugs her. My eyes meet her mom's and I know, she too has a Name. A memory on the Wall. Father? Brother? Fiancé? We don't speak but nod just a bit. She moves on as I stand and marvel. Out of the mouths of babes. Too many Names.
With age the intensity of the times has faded. The cause no longer matters, the results do. And there are the Names. I now realize there will be other Walls, other Names. And while even one is too many, we must remember. When the bugle blows, it is too late. If we provide too little training, too few bullets, if the commitment is not full and the effort not true, there will not only be Names, not only too many Names, there may someday be no victory, no Wall, and no one to visit.
Please, Mr. President. Sneak out some night. Leave the press, the crowds. Visit the Wall. Get to know the Names. You and those with the power to put Names on the Wall must understand, even as that little girl knew, that there are always too many Names. They will always answer, will always obey, and always serve. All they ask - just give them a fighting chance to not end up as a Name. Give them the bullets, give them the leaders, give them the training and, most of all, and give them the respect. The Names that have gone before have earned - no demand - at least that.