young men

This is for my Dad C W HUTCHINGS sr. who passed away April 14 2003

Dad was a member of the 2nd Battalion of Princess Patrica Canadian Light Infantry
(2 PPCLI) in Korea in 1950-1952...were he earned a Presential Citation from the US President for his efforts during the Battle of Kapyong in April of 1952 ...this is were the 2nd offensive by the North Korean's and Chinese ended , and Helped the Allied forces achieve Victory.

LEST WE FORGET





The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal
circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind
the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his
country.
He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own
car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment
either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average
student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy,
and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or
swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away.

He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and
155mm Howitzers.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was
at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after
dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but
he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time
in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade
launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a
professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to
march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not
without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one
and wears the other.
He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his
rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own
hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are
hungry, his food.
He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when
you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they
were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and
still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and
death then he should have in his short lifetime.
He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create
them.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in
combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body
while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he
defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is
paying the price for our freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not "just" a boy. He is the Fighting
Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration
with his blood.
Prayer wheel for our military...please don't break it. Please send
this on after this short prayer.

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they
protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for
us in our time of need. Amen."

[Edited on 30/4/2003 by HUTCH SC95]

I'm sorry to hear about your father passing Calgary. Hang in there bud.

Deepest sympathies from my home to yours Hutch.

Here before us elderly lies
Wearied, worn and very wane,
Died of good health gone with age
With youth and vibrancy all defunct.

Though once a time he was a gem
A man of manly manners made,
A king and a champion all in one
Of fresh and newly blood and bones.

Here before us lies the past,
Now stripped of any presence kept
A history stripped and only left
With memories lit in faded colors.

Though of an era past and distant,
He was a thing dearly desired
More than gems and diamonds too
No price ever could match his worth.

Here before us indifference lies
In a static state and stagnant
In this world, lifeless and listless
Lethargic, languid and torpid.

Once in him was greatly action
Ambition, toughness and talent,
In many ways inspiring and funny,
He loved to fly, though now he lies.

Here before us lies the flesh
Yet we think and talk of greatness,
Could he then be gone and done
By just an end to the flesh he wore?

thanks MYST , DEIGO AND Blue

Sorry I haven't been on Hutch. Sorry for your loss. Remember now he gets to go up there and keep an eye on you and yours to make sure your doing it right. God bless you and your Dad.

Bon courage mon ami pour la perte de ton paternel,
mais la vie est fait en sorte que tu sois paternel pour les tiens aussi pour prolonger l,esprit familiale.

I can only say it in french,
hang in there dewd :)

À bientôt:)

hang in there duder i was 17 when i joined the army us armoured cav cav scout 19D10

A protest raged on a courthouse lawn,
round a makeshift stage they charged on.
Fifteen hundred or more they say,
had come to burn the Flag that day.

A boy held up the folded Flag,
cursed it and called it a dirty rag.
A man pushed through the angry crowd,
with an old gun shouldered proud.

His uniform jacket was old and tight,
he had polished each button, shiny and bright.
He crossed the stage with military grace,
until he and the boy stood face to face.

Then the old man broke the silence.

"Freedom of speech, is worth dying for,
Good men are gone, they live no more.
All so you can stand on this courthouse lawn,
and ramble on from dusk to dawn.

But before the Flag gets burned today,
this old veteran is going to have his say.

My father died on a foreign shore,
in a war they said would end all wars.
Tommy and I weren't even full grown,
before we fought in a war of our own.
Tommy died on Iwo Jima's beach,
in the shadow of a hill he couldn't reach.

Where five good men raised this Flag so high,
that the whole world could see it fly.

I got this bum leg that I still drag,
fighting for this same old Flag.

There's but one shot in this old gun,
so now it's time to decide which one.

Which one of you will follow our lead,
to stand and die for what you believe?"

The boy who had called it a dirty rag,
handed the veteran the folded Flag.

The crowd got quiet as they walked away,
to talk about what they heard that day.

So the battle for the Flag this day was won,
by a loyal veteran with a single gun.
Who for one last time, had to show to some,
That these colors will never, never run.

It is the veteran, not the preacher,
who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the veteran, not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the veteran, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the veteran, not the campus organizer,
who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the veteran, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the veteran, not the politician,
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the veteran, who salutes the Flag,
who serves under the Flag,
whose coffin is draped by the Flag.

**** I think i'm gonna cry.....Thx CV5

[Edited on 5-6-2003 by Bluetiereign]

Hey Pacman, I might be from the UK not the USA, but I live by the same code.

Anyone wants to burn my country's flag.. I'll face em down first, and bury them afterwards. ;)

Thanks everyone for your kind words and thoughts.......knowing that I have never met any of you .......having friends around the globe that take time to express condolances to someone outside their own family .... really ....now thats PRICELESS

[Edited on 24/5/2003 by HUTCH SC95]

AMEN BROTHERS!

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