1369
06-05-2008, 12:39 PM
"We take care of our own."
I noticed on the bulletin board at work that my company had donated $5K to the Injured Marine Semper Fi Fund (http://www.semperfifund.org/index.html) and reading the thank you letter stirred something in me I hadn't thought about for too long of a time.
When I was about 12 or 13, a man I had never met came to live with my family for a while. We didn't know too much about him other than he was a friend of my father's and had served with him in the Marine Corps. Chief (That's what I call my father) called him Dutch. He stayed in the spare bedroom for a few months, joined us in the evening for dinner at the table, and one of the few things I remember about him was him buying my sister and I presents for no obvious reason (I don't really recall what they were other than my sister's was a soccer ball). I remember that we got him a flannel shirt of some sort that he really liked, but I don't recall why. I remember that some evenings Dutch wouldn't join us for dinner, he would just retire to the spare bedroom and sleep. If I remember right, he came and stayed with us twice, but this being close to 20 years ago, the memory is a touch fogged. One day Chief was packing for a trip, but it wasn't one of his normal business trips, he was packing for Dutch's funeral. Come to find out, Dutch was in San Antonio getting treatment for some kind of ailment (Cancer, I think), and when he touched base with my father (Who used to be his Commanding Officer in Southeast Asia, while I believe that Dutch was the old man's platoon Gunny), Chief basically ordered him to stay with us instead be confined to the VA hospital unless it was absolutely necessary. Even years down the road from when they last spoke, an old friend was in trouble and with disregard to his own family and what impact it might have, Chief knew and embraced the responsibility he had to his people and brother.
"We take care of our own."
Fast forward to 1989 and I found myself standing stock still (and scared to death) on the yellow footprints outside MCRD San Diego and I began my own journey into the Corps. I relished the discipline (Although I would have called you a damned liar if you had asked me at the time), ate up the history, and drank the Kool-Aid that is the mythos of the United States Marine Corps. And it was constantly drilled into our head that regardless of your differences, warts and all, we were all Marines and that warrior or your right and on your left was the most important thing in your Universe.
"We take care of our own."
Fast forward to today and I find myself wrapped up in the here and now. Worried about the wife and two crumbsnatchers at my house, thinking about the mortgage and wondering where the economy is going. Every so often I catch a blurb on the news or read something online about some goings on in places I can't pronounce and see a glimpse of some shouldn't be shaving yet kid toting a rifle and a too heavy rucksack into harm's way, but it's only a ten-second soundbite in our fast paced world and soon leaves my mind.
And that is a crime of unconsciable depth on my part.
At the beginning of the year, soon after I turned 40 I decided to register and attempt to finish the San Antonio marathon. Training started a couple of weeks ago, and then I saw the letter on the bulletin board at the company. I checked out the website and saw where us mere mortals can volunteer to run for the cause and raise funds for injured Marines and their families, and that "thing" that I had forgotten bout years ago and buried under countless layers of useless minutae dug its way to the surface.
"We take care of our own."
So that's what I'm doing, I'm volunteering to raise funds for the fund and run on their behalf come November and when I get all the information I will post (with Kori's permission) how anyone can donate to those injured and fallen warriors. Politics aside, they deserve our help.
"We take care of our own."
And I am ashamed that I had forgotten that.
I noticed on the bulletin board at work that my company had donated $5K to the Injured Marine Semper Fi Fund (http://www.semperfifund.org/index.html) and reading the thank you letter stirred something in me I hadn't thought about for too long of a time.
When I was about 12 or 13, a man I had never met came to live with my family for a while. We didn't know too much about him other than he was a friend of my father's and had served with him in the Marine Corps. Chief (That's what I call my father) called him Dutch. He stayed in the spare bedroom for a few months, joined us in the evening for dinner at the table, and one of the few things I remember about him was him buying my sister and I presents for no obvious reason (I don't really recall what they were other than my sister's was a soccer ball). I remember that we got him a flannel shirt of some sort that he really liked, but I don't recall why. I remember that some evenings Dutch wouldn't join us for dinner, he would just retire to the spare bedroom and sleep. If I remember right, he came and stayed with us twice, but this being close to 20 years ago, the memory is a touch fogged. One day Chief was packing for a trip, but it wasn't one of his normal business trips, he was packing for Dutch's funeral. Come to find out, Dutch was in San Antonio getting treatment for some kind of ailment (Cancer, I think), and when he touched base with my father (Who used to be his Commanding Officer in Southeast Asia, while I believe that Dutch was the old man's platoon Gunny), Chief basically ordered him to stay with us instead be confined to the VA hospital unless it was absolutely necessary. Even years down the road from when they last spoke, an old friend was in trouble and with disregard to his own family and what impact it might have, Chief knew and embraced the responsibility he had to his people and brother.
"We take care of our own."
Fast forward to 1989 and I found myself standing stock still (and scared to death) on the yellow footprints outside MCRD San Diego and I began my own journey into the Corps. I relished the discipline (Although I would have called you a damned liar if you had asked me at the time), ate up the history, and drank the Kool-Aid that is the mythos of the United States Marine Corps. And it was constantly drilled into our head that regardless of your differences, warts and all, we were all Marines and that warrior or your right and on your left was the most important thing in your Universe.
"We take care of our own."
Fast forward to today and I find myself wrapped up in the here and now. Worried about the wife and two crumbsnatchers at my house, thinking about the mortgage and wondering where the economy is going. Every so often I catch a blurb on the news or read something online about some goings on in places I can't pronounce and see a glimpse of some shouldn't be shaving yet kid toting a rifle and a too heavy rucksack into harm's way, but it's only a ten-second soundbite in our fast paced world and soon leaves my mind.
And that is a crime of unconsciable depth on my part.
At the beginning of the year, soon after I turned 40 I decided to register and attempt to finish the San Antonio marathon. Training started a couple of weeks ago, and then I saw the letter on the bulletin board at the company. I checked out the website and saw where us mere mortals can volunteer to run for the cause and raise funds for injured Marines and their families, and that "thing" that I had forgotten bout years ago and buried under countless layers of useless minutae dug its way to the surface.
"We take care of our own."
So that's what I'm doing, I'm volunteering to raise funds for the fund and run on their behalf come November and when I get all the information I will post (with Kori's permission) how anyone can donate to those injured and fallen warriors. Politics aside, they deserve our help.
"We take care of our own."
And I am ashamed that I had forgotten that.