Ourselves, Our World

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#006699" TEXT="#080000" background="04f085a3.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>The Astrolabe</B></FONT><B>    </B><B> |     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Astrolabe"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>Ourselves, Our World</B>   |   <A HREF="id47.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Conversations"><U>Conversations</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id46.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Creative Spirit"><U>Creative Spirit</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id48.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="About the Authors"><U>About the Authors</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="050d2e83.jpg"> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id34_electronic_pen.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Electronic Pen: A Student Journal"><U><B>Electronic Pen</B></U></A></div> <div> <B><IMG SRC="1999d730.png" border=0 width="157" height="115" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Ourselves, Our World</B></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#reflections" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Reflections</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>A Tribute to Safia and Nawaz Khan</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#mohammed_khan" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Mohammed Khan</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>My Contribution to Society</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#craig_hanson_1" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Craig Hanson</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>Incoming</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#_craig_hanson" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>*Craig Hanson</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#opinions" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Opinions</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#essays" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Essays</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>A</B><B> </B><B>Community That Has Changed My Identity</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#joseph_kanani" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Joseph Kanani</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>12 Miles of Walking</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id44_m.htm#craig_hanson" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Ourselves, Our World"><U><B>Craig Hanson</B></U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="05107073.jpg"> <div> <I>Ourselves, Our World</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="essays"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Essays</B></div> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="joseph_kanani"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Joseph Ka</B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#000099" FACE="Arial" ><B>nan</B></FONT><B>i</B></div> <div> <I><B>United States and Kenya</B></I></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>A</B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#000080" FACE="Arial" ><B> </B></FONT><B>Community That Has Changed My Identity</B></div> <div>         Two young men, dressed sharply in white uniforms that I had seen only on television, came to my parents' house asking for my brother, who was about to graduate from high school. My brother wasn't there but I was. They introduced themselves as Navy recruiters and went on to explain to me what the Navy was all about. I decided to trust their word and enlisted in the Navy. Looking back, this was one decision I made that changed my identity. It was a different experience and challenging, but I was motivated to see myself through. I am now a team player, responsible, an outspoken leader, enthusiastic, and more confident. I can honestly say that I gained this and more from the Navy.  The Navy community has definitely shaped my identity.</div> <div>         “Kanani, what are you doing listening to adult conversation--don't you have something else to do?” my mom would ask me when I was younger.</div> <div>         I was a very shy and kept to myself then, never the one to strike up a conversation with others unless they initiated it. This was because in the society in which I was raised, kids were there to be seen and not to be heard. This had an effect on me, for I did not know how to communicate with adults as a young man. As I grew older, it became abundantly clear to me how much I needed to get to a level where I could express myself. I remember vividly coming to the USA from Kenya and witnessing a big change in social environment. I was forced by circumstances to independently do things which I had not done before. To make matters worse, I had to adapt to a new accent that was difficult for me to understand. The jobs I had forced me to engage in conversations with people. At one time I worked at a gas station as a cashier and in the morning during rush hour, I would be caught up with long lines of customers waiting to be served only because I could not understand their accents. My confidence level was low, and the way I got introduced to dealing with people was not the best. Customers were rude, but I kept on; I persevered because I understood that I would be better in the future.</div> <div>        Often I would think about the weaknesses I had and what I could do to improve.  My family helped me realize that I was not alone and had people around me that could help. The weekday afternoon a couple of Navy Recruiters came to our house changed the way things were for me. They persuaded me to join a community that would help me grow, give me technical and leadership skills, motivate me and make me more confident in my life.</div> <div>        "This sure is some good food mom may I have some more?” </div> <div>        “Wake up, wake up you bunch of lazy idiots. What do you think this is? Your mommas'house?” </div> <div>        I opened my eyes, realizing I was just dreaming.  A scary face, barely touching mine, was yelling like a man possessed into my ear. I jumped up, got off of my rack and hoped that I would not be punished for oversleeping.  It was the Company Commander in boot camp, waking us up on a hot and humid day. Boot Camp was a two month ordeal that was made to break recruits from the society mindset that they had in order to instill a teamwork minded one. The Company Commander's job was to instill the concept of interdependency into our lifestyle whether we liked it or not. If I did my part and the other person did his or hers, I would not have to waste time doing both; thus relying on each other makes life easier. </div> <div>        Life was beginning to make sense and becoming a bit easier for me. I had a job that allowed me to be independent and not rely on my parents. I liked it a lot, but it came with a price. I was now a man who was supposed to think of not only himself, but the rest of his family.  I started seeing the responsibility when I had to help out the family financially and emotionally. This was all new to me. I wondered if there ever would be a time that things would get easier. I often found myself asking this question. I thought that to be independent and have a job would be it. However, this was only the beginning of the responsibility I had assumed along with a full time job that paid a salary. Everything I did from then on affected not only me, but the rest of my family, so I had to be very careful of what I did.</div> <div>        I am now part of this community, new faces all around me and a new culture. “Underway--shift colors” resonates around the steel hull of USS Callaghan, a Navy Destroyer. This was my first time on a ship, not just any ship, a destroyer. I wondered if this was really happening. During the Gulf War, two years prior in Kenya, my dad would sit us down and give us lectures on the strength of the United States military. He would talk for hours about all the ships and tanks the US military had, but we never paid much attention to him. Look at me now! I'm part of the crew of this ship that dad used to talk about, which carries enough weaponry to destroy a small country like Kenya. My job, then, was to maintain and fix the four main engines and its auxiliary equipment that cost over a million dollars each. That is about 70 million Kenya shillings; I felt it was a huge responsibility. Life couldn't be more exciting. But little did I know. </div> <div>        The sun is shining and temperatures are above 70 degrees Fahrenheit, better than what I have been used to for the last year and a half. I transferred to California from the destroyer. I'm higher ranked, which means that I have greater responsibility and am allowed to give opinions. Now I had people that worked under me and needed my direction to get the work done. My superiors gave me a chance to develop my leadership abilities by putting me in charge of a group of highly motivated sailors.  I decided  I was going to be a different leader than what I had experienced before. The military has a command and control style of leadership. I don't necessarily agree with that, but on some occasions it is needed. Here my job was to maintain a hovercraft with help of three other junior sailors. I learned and applied a leadership style that was welcomed. My style of leadership is to hear everyone's opinion because the junior person may know something that I might not and if that would make things easier for us why not listen to them.      However, I came to realize that to be a leader is not as easy as it sounds. I learned a valuable lesson from an incident I had with one of my subordinates. I just needed him to listen to me and do the job, but he kept on ranting and not listening to me. I was so upset that I ended up hitting him. This was a big mistake. My superior was annoyed by my actions and told me if it ever happened again, my responsibility of being in charge would end. It was an altercation that was an eye opener for me. I worked hard to be where I was, and I almost lost it in a just a few minutes of immaturity. I just could not make everybody happy. Nevertheless, I realized what it takes to be a leader. Leadership is gained through experience, and the more experience you gain, the better you become.</div> <div>       There was a time I was anti-social and lacked confidence. It was hard for me to engage in any sort of communication with people whom I did not know. To be able to live with fellow human beings, confidence is a trait that is needed.  I had to learn this the hard way. I had four people that I was supervising and maintaining a hovercraft that cost over twenty million dollars, and as the one in charge I was required to show a substantial amount of confidence for my subordinates to believe that I would lead them the right way. I did not have it in me. I was forced by my position to have the confidence needed to be a good leader for me to succeed in this profession.</div> <div>        If the two young gentlemen had not shown up in my parents' house, I would probably not be the same person today. My identity has truly been shaped by the Navy community. I input the concept of a team in my family such that we feel that we are very strong, and working together makes it easy to deal with the stresses of life. As a unit we are stronger than a single entity. Responsibility has become part of my vocabulary. The trust I received in my ability to be responsible for the critical and expensive equipment built my ego and helped me realize that I could do the things I could not do before. Nowadays I can't wait to be invited to any social gatherings. I can mingle and get to know people more easily. I have this aura surrounding me that people who knew me before I joined the Navy are always surprised to see. I'm a team player, responsible, outspoken, and very confident.  My identity in adulthood has been influenced by the Navy community. </div> <div> <I>  </I><I><B>--Joseph Kanani </B></I><I>(posted February 2004)</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="craig_hanson"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Craig Hanson</B></div> <div> <I><B>United States</B></I></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>12 Miles of Walking</B></div> <bR> <div>      Most people can easily walk 12 miles, but to force-march it in 3 hours with over 100 lbs of gear in all climes is a challenge that one must prepare for. There are numerous technical and how-to books out there that are designed to inform the reader on how to get ready to take a leisurely stroll through the forest with their family and a camera. These are great reads for the know how on what to pack, what to wear and what to eat. However for a soldier who is told what to wear, eat and to pack on a march over rough terrain with no apparent end in sight, these books are worthless. There is a Field Manual (FM 41-10) which deals in foot marches and how to carry them out,  and another book called <I>Soldiers load and the Mobility of a Nation </I>(written in 1918 by CS Fuller). These are full of useful and useless information that is quickly forgotten by all in command and responsible for the force-march. I will bridge the gap for you between” family fun day “books and” you are all going to die<I>”</I> books by laying out a few hard learned lessons.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Lesson 1</B></div> <div> <B>What Is and Why Someone Wants to Force-March</B></div> <div>      A force-march or, in Army terms, “A Tactical Road March” is a movement of 200 plus soldiers with ALL of their equipment (100 lbs+) from point A to point B in the quickest amount of time. There is a definite reason why it is called “force-march”--if you were to add flogging and bayoneting to the march, then it would be called a “death march.” These two similarities are not lost on the average soldier and constantly remind us that we could indeed have it worse. So how is the force applied? Usually a well meaning and good tempered senior sergeant with lots of years in handling young minds will fall into the back of the formation and threaten soldiers about to drop out with flogging, bayoneting or more likely a boot straight up their ass. A very effective method considering most soldiers are far more scared of their sergeants than of the enemy. This is how it has been done for thousands of years and will continue for a thousand more.</div> <div>      One usually will state a perfectly logical and legitimate question: “With all of the modern modes of transportation why must we walk?”  I am quite sure that this question was probably asked to Lewis and Clark by their soldiers as well. The short answer is “This is how it has been done for thousands of years and will continue for a thousand more.” The fact of the matter is that soldiers never count on the transportation to be when and where it was said to be, and it is often more efficient just to walk it rather than wait. There are not enough trucks, helicopters, planes and boats to move all the equipment, stores and ammo around, let alone doggies (infantrymen) whose job it is to walk. When my unit landed in Saudi Arabia in the summer of 1990, there was no transportation available to move our regiment to the front, so we gathered up our gear and set forth in 100° plus heat through the desert for four and a half days until we arrived at our operational area. In my first four years in the Marines, I rode in a military vehicle four times; any other time we needed to go places we walked.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Lesson 2</B></div> <div> <B>Anatomy</B></div> <div>      Our bodies are designed to walk with weight. As a human we can outpace a horse in three days, an ox in two and a mule in four. In the not too distant past when armies went on campaign the infantry would leave later every day and end earlier every day because the cavalry's horses did not have the endurance to walk with weight every day. So why can we? Two key reasons: the first is that a human's weight is distributed on two legs vertically rather than on four horizontally. This natural design makes it the perfect machine for distance travel with weight.  Most beasts of burden walk on basically their fingernails, and any crack or break in their hooves will render that animal lame and useless. A human has padded feet and does not need to be shoed to walk. The second reason is free will: a human will do things that animals can't or won't. A great example of this is when I went to mule handler's school; we learned that a mule will not move if it is carrying more than one third of its weight. No matter how much we yell or threaten the mule with flogging or bayoneting, it will not budge if it feels that it has too much of a load. Humans, however, respond very well to the threats and will gladly pick up their own weight, gleefully put it on their sore backs, and continue to move. So who's smarter now?</div> <bR> <div> <B>Lesson 3</B></div> <div> <B>Age, Diet, and Physical Fitness</B></div> <div>      During a force-march I will often utter the insult to the troops, “You young'ns walk like my grandmother.” In actuality, I just gave them a compliment that most are worthy of but not aware of. My grandmother came down from Northern Alberta to the Spokane Valley in the early 1900's, walking with her family next to the wagon. As always during the migratory wave to the West, families walked and furniture rode. My grandmother was around five when they made the journey, and she never thought twice about walking next to the four legged animals rather than sitting on them. This hardiness is not lost with the ages, but is honed through age. I am by no means as strong or as fast as a 19-year-old soldier, but I can regularly walk or run circles around them just as my senior sergeants did to me when I was 19. As we age and do things more and more we know what our body will and won't do. More important than that is that one's mind knows what it can or can't do. Those young soldiers are very capable of walking the twelve miles in three hours with as much stamina as I possess, but they have not learned that fact yet. As a result, little nagging problems like blisters become major issues; the doubt of <I>can I do</I> <I>this</I> becomes more of a pessimistic and eventually fatal thought that allows the soldier to succumb to the pain. I am not saying that I do not have pain when walking long distances, but I have learned with age when to feel the pain and to never show that pain to the young soldiers.</div> <div>      Bananas and Gatorade are the two most important foods during a march. Sure there is a lot to be said for an all-around healthy diet but that never works. Soldiers like to drink a profuse amount of alcohol, take a strong liking to tobacco, and mix it all with pizza.  An occasional salad in the chow hall helps only for digestive purposes and is not to be mistaken for healthy eating. To counter all of the hops, nicotine, and fat that soldiers have swelling through their bodies, soldiers will eat bananas and drink Gatorade during any march. I have no scientific research as to why we can abuse our bodies so much and counter it with B & G, but I do know it works. Being in good physical shape goes beyond walking far distances in an insane amount of time; it is soldiers' keeping themselves physically fit that allows them to overcome all sorts of challenges.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Lesson 4</B></div> <div> <B>Foot Care</B></div> <div>      There are a lot of tricks that soldiers use when they are prepping for a foot march, and each has its merits and drawbacks. Some soldiers wrap their feet in plastic to avoid blisters from forming, and others wear nylons under their black socks for the same reason. There has always been a great deal of barrack room debate about wool or cotton socks-- which allows our feet to breathe more and which blisters less. I, however, do not use any tricks. I am a firm believer in using what the Army has issued me. The reason behind this philosophy, which extends past my Army issue wool socks, is that when your fancy gear wears out, you are S.O.L., and if you happen to be on a deployment when it happens, your feet are now going to suffer. In order to keep your foot tough, it is helpful to walk around as much as possible with no shoes or socks on. The harder you can get the soles of your feet, the less likely you will blister. Be forewarned--I am not telling you to show in formation looking like Jethro Clampet, but when you are on your own time, take off those shoes and trample over some gravel (doesn't that sound fun). During the march you should take a ten minute break every fifty minutes. At this time sit on your butt, take off your boots, and change your socks. Experienced soldiers do this regularly and tie the sweaty socks on the back of their rucksack to dry so that they can be put back on during the next stop. If time does not allow for this, at the very least lie down and put your feet high up. These simple procedures will save a soldier's feet. However, many will not do it on their own; only with the threat of flogging and bayoneting do some soldiers change their socks. This means that the well tempered sergeant cannot spend time on his own feet because he is getting the <I>young'ns who walk like my grandma</I> to take off theirs. This is okay, however, because the sergeant has the age thing going for him. </div> <div>      Unlike the family friendly stroll through the woods, the march does not allow a soldier time to recover when the march is over. The end of the march is just the beginning of other training involving walking or running. The march is just a way to get to your training, not the training itself. Most marches, when finished, are rewarded with another the next day or for several days. Remember, the soldiers with Lewis and Clark could never ask, “Are we there yet?”</div> <bR> <div> <B>Lesson 5</B></div> <div> <B>Religion and the “Zone”</B></div> <div>      Yes, religion plays a very important role in your force-march. I remember on day three of a grueling march up the mountains of Bridgeport training area that with every step I said, “Oh God.”  I have no doubt he heard my 3,000 calls for mercy that day because I made it almost entirely intact. Okay, so this is not exactly an epiphany about the meaning of life, but it scratches the surface of what we call the “zone.” At every point during a march your mind shuts out the fact you are walking way too fast with way too much stuff and starts to ramble through your life. Some of the best conversations with fellow soldiers are after a long march when they have had the time to mull over every random thought that came into their mind. The conversations range from religion to mother's cooking but always provide a deep look into the soldiers themselves.  The more quickly one gets into the zone, the more quickly the march will pass.  All sense of time goes away as you stare at your legs putting one boot in front of another. This is always the quietest time of the march when all the wisecracks are done and even the sergeant's rumblings have subsided; only the sound of clanking gear and shuffling feet are left. Truly a religious experience for some.</div> <div> <B>     </B>Now most people will not go out and walk 12 miles in 3 hours or 24 miles in 7 hours with 100 lbs of gear, but most people are not in the Infantry.  And those of us who are probably would have not joined it if we knew how much walking we'd have to do. It's like the young man who joined the Navy to see the world but was not informed that two-thirds of the world is water.  With all said and done and the miles of earth trodden under my boots, I have found a greater respect for those who spent their lives walking across the continents for one reason or another, and even more respect to those who faithfully and diligently march towards the sounds of battle and, possibly, their own death.</div> <div> <B>Craig Hanson (posted June 11, 2006)</B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="reflections"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Reflections</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="mohammed_khan"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Mohammed Khan</B></div> <div> <I><B>United States</B></I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>A Tribute to Safia and Nawaz Khan</B></div> <bR> <div> My aunties and uncles always compliment me on my personality. I always tell them I am who I am because of my parents. Anything I do or say was influenced by my parents. My parents have played a key role in my life. Parents should do whatever it takes to feed their kids. Parents should always bring out the best in their kids. Parents should be a role model for their children. My parents have always done that for me.</div> <div> On April 9th 1981, Nawaz Khan and Safia Khan were married. Before I was born, my parents lived in a one-bedroom apartment in downtown San Francisco. My dad worked a single shift job at the Hyatt Regency, just enough to pay rent and feed the family. Life was hard for them back in those days because my mom had just come to America and she knew no<B> </B>English, and my dad worked for minimum wage. When I was born, the landlord raised the rent. My dad couldn't afford to pay rent and feed the three of us with one job, so he started working nights along with the regular morning shift. My dad's work schedule would look like this: Monday to Saturday, 6 to 2 for the morning shift and back at 4 to 1 at night for the late shift. My dad worked long hours for 10 years for his family. I respect my dad for what he did; his job was to put food on the table and shelter his family, and he did whatever it took, even if it meant working long hours.</div> <div>      When my dad started working two jobs he had very little time for my mom and me, but we made the best of it. My dad was doing what he had to do; he wasn't doing anything wrong. I remember my mother telling me stories, that when my dad worked two shifts people would make fun of her. They would say, “Look, your husband doesn't want to be with you, he doesn't love you, he wants to work and he's greedy for money.” But my mother stayed strong and ignored the negative comments people made. Unfortunately, those people were her friends at that time. Everyone was shocked when my dad bought a 3-bedroom house within 5 years. We were the first family to buy a house, and in such a short time, too. All the friends who said negative comments had their mouths shut. I respect my mom so much because those were her friends goading her, but my mom kept a strong heart and didn't fall into the trap set by their words. She believed in my dad.</div> <div>      I'm not saying we're a perfect family--yeah my parents have argued and fought before, but they pulled out of it. There were times when my mom had it really bad. My mom is a strong person; I've seen it with my own eyes. The trials she's been through, I don't think any other mom would have gone through; they would have probably bailed out. But I stood by my mom at all times and gave her support. When times got tough for her and she had nowhere to go, she relied on GOD. She would pray to GOD every day. My mother told me, “If you're ever having trouble in life or stressed out, pray to GOD and GOD will answer your prayers.” I learned this from my mom because GOD answered her prayers. When things get tough for me, I always pray to GOD for answers, and he sends them back.</div> <div>      My parents have done so much for my sister and me. I respect my parents for what they have given us. My dad worked long hours just to provide us a home and food, and he cared more about OUR future than about the pleasures of the moment. My mother kept strong and didn't give up when times got worse. My parents have been role models for me, so I always think about the future; I just don't think for the moment. I've always been strong when times have gotten tough for me. I've picked up these qualities from my parents. I love my parents and I will always will. Mom and Dad, thank you for being there at all times; thank you for showing me the way of life. Thank you for everything.</div> <div> <I><B>--Mohammed Khan </B></I><I>(posted May 2004)</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="craig_hanson_1"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Craig Hanson</B></div> <div> <I><B>United States</B></I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>My Contribution to Society</B></div> <bR> <div>      Is it a contribution to society that I have given for the last 20 years, or is it a devaluation of another society that I have contributed to?  As I look back at my life, I see a conundrum of conflicting values.</div> <div>      <I>Locate, close with and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver</I>--this is the mission of the Infantryman. I have practice this art since I was 18 and have attained a journeyman expertise in it. But who is the “enemy”?  Are they the evil Anti-Christ that we believe want only to destroy our families and well being? Or are they the brightest, most promising individuals of their society?  What if I was the one killed--would I have been the evil Anti-Whatever bent on the destruction of their society?  Would the young enemy soldier be their nation's hero for preserving and contributing to their society?</div> <div>       To me, the definition of selfless service is this: contributing to your society by sacrificing your own beliefs and morals in order to preserve your nation's. And when you kiss your children good-night and settle in for another sweaty night of illusionary horrors, you know you did it all for your society. Keeping my and my nation's freedom at any cost to other nations is a contribution that is given at the expense of personal liberty, serenity, and internal peace. This is the contribution that has been given for the last 230 years by men, women and children who have put a better sense of “being” above themselves. This is my greatest contribution to the "Great Society," a contribution that I would rather forget and that I wish I'd had nothing to do with.     </div> <div> “Go forth and multiply” is the command that was given to us, and this I have fulfilled. A smile always shines in me at the laughter, crying, and understanding of my children. This higher command is not what my country has asked of me but it is what drives my life. To hug, hold, and wipe away the tears and to love and be loved is more than a blessing, but a gift that helps erase the pain of contributing to society.</div> <div> <I><B>--Craig Hanson </B></I><I>(posted June12, 2006)</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I> <A NAME="_craig_hanson"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></I></div> <div> <B>*Craig Hanson</B></div> <div> <I><B>United States</B></I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Incoming</B></div> <bR> <div> Heat waves of distorted light dance above the sand in a wavy, unrelenting motion. Tan as far as I can see in every direction, broken only by the straight dividing line of blue, marking the end of the world. Flat, never ending. The fine course of sand pebbles grouped together to make ground, never solid, never liquid, and never still. Sun beating down on my Kevlar helmet, applying pressure as if a hot hand is pushing down on me. Peaceful, serene, calm, tranquil, losing me in a blissful trance as I stare from my fighting hole into the desert, waiting. </div> <bR> <div> Then it happens again as we all new it would--thoomp, thoomp, thoomp, and the fowling half panicked scream “INCOMING.” The last seconds of movement as my body tenses up and waits. An eternity of seconds as my mind wonders “Is it me this time? Is it someone else?” Waiting, waiting…”BAMB” the world around me turns into a grey/tan haze. The power of the sun swept aside for a new power, heat. Scorching heat-- the pressure of air hits my body like a kick in the gut and then quickly retreats taking all that is breathable with it, leaving only sand. Coarse sand pelting my face like a thousand needles at once, leaping straight off the side of my protective hole onto my face, stopping only to adhere to fresh tears on my cheek.  Never stopping, again and again the thunderous concussion of the devil's drum, pounding and pounding, louder and louder, closer and closer, till the symphony mixes together in an evil crescendo, not relenting for the audience or conductor, creating a life of its own. Oh, to have the never ending nothingness return. To be burdened once again with the heat of the sun on my neck, and watch the dance of the heat on the desert floor. </div> <bR> <div> Between the roars of the artillery's bosom, a new horrific sound emerges, a sound from the inner soul crying out for no one to hear: the cry for “MOM.” Young men, strong and brave, driven to their last moments with sanity, call out for the only one who can deliver them from their nightmare: “MOM.” The desire for a divine hand to stop the pain, the bleeding from my ears and restore my breath. “MOM.” Bring me home and away from this purgatory for sins I have not committed. “MOM.” </div> <bR> <div> The cries only stop when the thunder stops. The desert quickly sucks up the destruction it has received and returns to its normal, shifting self as if nothing had ever happened to it. I wipe my face, check my wounds of both my soul and body. I return to stare out into the desert, watching the waves of light and wait.</div> <bR> <div> <I><B>--Craig Hanson </B></I><I>(posted July 1, 2006)</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div>      </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="opinions"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><B>Opinions</B></div> </td> </tr></table></body>