The Miseducation of Me II

The dinner conversation took that familiar turn; I knew everyone meant well, but all the same I felt defensive. "Why do you like movies with manufactured camraderies? Why fight for people that aren't willing to fight themselves? Why die for liars and not get paid shit for it?" I shut myself down; I've been through this a million times. I know to pick the battles that count, and the dinner table has not proven to be a worthy battlefield. But deep down, I know why, and this is what I would've say to the haters had I thought it worth my breath and the ensuing unpleasantry.

When the political table turns and you find some other target for your arrows (and you will), we'll still be in the blistering heat or the mind-spinning cold, encouraging each other to stand ready just a little longer than we thought we could. When you are living fat and happy, sampling foreign cuisines with unpronouncable names and washing them down with bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon, we'll still be eating MRE's made in the U.S.A., trading candies and making ranger puddings.

I'll always remember your words, but they won't be a distraction when one day I airlift supplies to hurricane victims and rescue a stranded boy to safety. This is what I'm willing to do while getting paid shit for it; this is what you are not. Some of us are thinkers; some of us are talkers. Then there are a few of us who are doers. That's the way it's always been.

Thanks to af.mil for the pictures. Even more thanks for those that have taken the step before my peers and me. You are the doers. You are real heroes.