Flying Into Columbus, Ohio…

Flying into Columbus, Ohio, late last night, around 11pm, we shared the plane with four soldiers. Positively embryonic, they couldn’t have been more than 19 years old. I wanted to talk to them, with their suede heads and dusty khaki uniforms. “Are you coming home? Do you have to go back? What did you see?” But I didn’t. I don’t know why. I should have. They were sort of sad looking, silently sitting in the back of the plane. Didn’t say anything. Heads down, they walked off the plane, without luggage, except for identical backpacks. I said silent prayers for them; that they could be home for good; that whomever they were going home to was happy to see them; that they didn’t have to go back, ever.

Feeling sorry for soldiers lately, just with all the terrible pictures and the big abuse scandal. All in all, the war must end, and I hope that the rest of the world will see that sooner than later. If not, I hope they reinstate the draft, because I know the upper class citizens of this nation would never sacrifice their sons and daughters to a war, no matter how patriotic they are. How easy it is for them to fight for ‘freedom’ with other people’s children.

Start the selection process at the highest level tax brackets. You know it would end the war in seconds. No CEO in the nation would allow their first born anywhere near Fallujah. It’s fine when the photos of the casualties of this war resemble a Benetton ad and not a graduating Ivy League class.

The Bush Administration will leave no millionaire’s kid behind. Do you actually think his daughters would be plucked from the front row of an Armani runway show and put into camos? Not this or any other season. They will never wear camos, not even when Posh was doing camos. When I see these kids, they are kids you know, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it, like kids have to fight with machine guns and grenades, but they are kids. You know it when you see them. They should be at the mall, or in class, or playing flag football. Even hazing each other.

Can you believe Rush Limbaugh? I am paraphrasing because I couldn’t even imagine listening to that blustering, detoxing windbag . He said that the Iraqi prison torture was no worse than what happens in frat houses in America. I think he needs to go back to rehab. But it isn’t the fault of any one soldier you’d see in an airport, with red, tired eyes, making connections to cities farther than you’d ever dream of going to, knowing that they might not be going home at all, and might not make it home, ever.

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