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***image1***Editor’s note: Kaiserslautern American High School sophomore Missy Miller was selected in December as the winner of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars chapter essay contest. Missy’s essay took second place in the European district VFW competition. At a VFW banquet in February, she will receive a cash award and a $200 savings bond.
The essay followed the given topic, “Celebrating Our Veteran’s Service,” and was judged on originality.
The old leathery face worn from years turns toward the east. As he sighs, a tear from his own heart falls down his cheek. The distant green hills are marked with strange tales of the past, each white, stone marker echoing its own words. Words of cold nights, blistering sun and the ice cold of the rain ring in the ears of the old face. As he listens he remembers, “God willing these men live!” he cries. “They live in the legacy of their triumphs and in their sons and their daughters.”
He traces his fingers along the names etched into the stone crosses. A sergeant, a lieutenant, general. Old names, old memories. Memories of their boots thick in the mud, their smiles as they receive letters from home. And as they hold the worn pictures of their wives, children and loved ones, they cry. To break a man, to make a soldier cry, there are no words. The old face, worn from years puts his face in his hands and weeps, “God willing these men lived! They lived for what was good, for what was great! God willing they still live!” A young boy, puzzled, pokes the old face in the back. Seeing the boy, the old face pulls up his tears and turns back toward the east. “They were true Son, can you see them? Can you hear their drums of victory that still roll?”
“No sir,” says the boy.
“They speak Son. They speak of the hardships, of the victories, listen. Can you not hear them?”
“No sir,” says the boy, “These men are dead.”
“No, they live. They live in the essence of what they fought for. For you, for your mother, father, for your friends. So that I may survive, for me. War is the devil’s breath. It tears apart families, and it breaks those unbreakable, and yet free from fear and thought, these men took a burden, our burden, and some paid the ultimate price. They give you your life and your freedom, your life. Can you not hear them, can you still not see them?” The young boy stares into the depths of the old face. He sees a story. He sees a whisper of smoke from a flame that once burned strong. It burned in every young man and woman who answered the call. Their cries for remembrance, their threats of forgetfulness and their need for their stories to be told.
Never losing the stare of the young boy the old face asks once more, “Can you?” The boy gazes, glowing in silent admiration, and says, “Yes sir, they are here, and I can hear them.”
To those who have fallen, and to those who live with memories, thank God for you.Your bravery is held dear and is never unappreciated. Our youth will not be blinded. They will hear of you and celebrate what you have given us. You have given America, the world, more than most would dream. And it is because of you, we are American, we are free, we are strong, and God willing we live!
