IT NEVER CHANGES

[rooter]

It never changes---------.

The embedded NBC correspondent shoves his microphone up into the dirt
smeared face of the young American warrior. The cameraman standing in
back of the renouned correspondent, out of sight as always, pans the scene
so very expertly and catches every bit and particle as clearly as if human
eyeballs were surveying the youngsters dirty face. The light of the midday
desert sun, makes the eyes glow as if they are misting--perhaps they are
misting--perhaps tearful, for the young man has a chance to say a few
words to the folks back home. So very humbly, and almost in a whisper,
the young trooper mumbles. “I just want to say hello to my Mom--my
Mom and my Dad back home---I’m fine Mom and don’t you worry about
me---please call Sally, that girl you like so much and tell her---tell her I
love her Mom”---the final words kind of trail off like turning the volume
down on a radio---the expensive shoulder held camera, detects the flushing
of the embarrassed young face, even thru the smears of the dirt and
perspiration---now the youths wide eyes are really glowing---tearing
unashamedly. The camera suddenly pans wide angle, taking in some of the
young mans comrades standing around him, dirty camoflaged uniforms,
rifles and other weaponry at the sling over their shoulders, feeling really
good for this young teenager as they hammer him on the shouders in a
teasing fashion. “Who’s the hells Sally, Ski---something you want to tell
us---you said you didn’t have a lady back in the world---claimed you were
still a ------”!! “Shut the hell up Rocky---quit hard-assing the kid---can’t
you see we’re still on camera---you dumb ****-for-brains”!
Perhaps other wars, say those six decades ago, such language would have
been offensive to the listeners ‘back in the world’ but not in this day and
age--not even ‘bleeped’ out any more. The age of sense and sensibilities,
have changed---the tell-all camera lens captures the blood on the ground,
probably still warm and red, not dried and rust colored as in days gone by.
Bodies laying around like broken and discarded toy dolls--tanks and other
military vehicles, burned out and shattered by violent acts of war---some
with piles of burned and blackened human remains, still smoking and
smoldering like meat on the BBQ-----. Sure you have seen it---don’t deny
it---shocking and sobering, these acts of war. The youngster Ski, who had
an opportunity to talk into the NBC microphone--his words and feelings
splashed all over the planet almost the same instant that he had uttered
them, perhaps to have perished in the next skirmish---perhaps that same
NBC camera crew would have panned those expensive lenses over his
shattered remains laying there in the desert sand--maybe just by chance, the
NBC commentator would have been sharp enough to discern that Ski had
been the young warrior he had presented up the the world only days or
even hours before---perhaps if he had realized this, his eyes would have
teared up as young Ski’s had--not with the joy young Ski had experienced
earlier, but for this tragedy now ---his well modulated voice would have
caught up in his throat and strangled him to the point he couldn’t talk---the
never blinking eye on the big Panasonic camera would catch the sight of
his tears, furrowing down across his dust covered cheeks---back in the
world, Ski’s parents watching the Evening News with the feeling that they
knew this correspondent personally, being that he had talked to their son so
recently---Mom would be so very concerned about the correspondents
tears---tough old Dad would comment “war is hell on everyone, Dear---pass
the potatoes----”.
I have been gone from the active military now more than thirty years--my
wars were Korea and Vietnam, the latter where I had served two tours of
duty. I sense the feelings are the same---up close and dirty, is far different
than being detached and indifferent. When troopers get that battle scared
look in their eyes---like wild deer caught in a headlights glare at
night----when normal conversational tones between them become hurried and
rambling, it is almost as if that person wants to hurry and tell you
whatever---before the next incoming impacts and vaporizes him or maybe a
silent sniper round,‘punches his ticket’---. More than a few times, in years
gone by, when I’d be in uniform, out and about, some mature looking
woman, or some stately, worried looking man, may stop me on the street
and ask, “you’re in the Navy too---do you know Charles---Charlie Jones is
his name---do you know him, and how is he doing---he doesn’t like to
write home and I’m so worried about him”? Chances are you have done it
yourself, or heard it addressed to you---I am secure knowing the title of this
little write up is accurate---”IT NEVER CHANGES”---. Of course I have
rambled as I penned this for you here---it is an old warriors prerogative to
do so---in these latter years I have attempted to watch the language and the
swearing---watch it but not always endorse it---I shout to you now, “THESE
DAMN WAR NEVER CHANGES”!!!! Wilborn