Posted on 11/11/2005 5:32:33 AM PST by kellynla
The First World War -- optimistically thought at the time to be the War to End All Wars -- was a barbarous passage of blood and tears that ended on a curious note that read like poetry: When the guns officially fell silent in 1918 under the terms of the armistice, it was the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.
The ranks of those who fought in that war have been obliterated by time's passing parade and, 87 years on, we are painfully aware that, short of the promised age when swords shall be beaten into plowshares, there is no war to end all wars. There is only duty, honor and eternal vigilance as the price of liberty.
Yet we live in an age of unequal sacrifice. Thousands of young American men and women are in war zones like Iraq and Afghanistan; thousands more are in uneasy billets in places like Bosnia or the Korean Peninsula or in ships on perilous seas. But at home, the war on terror has become mostly a matter of vague public anxiety, nothing much to interfere with trips to malls or sporting events. The signature discomforts of past wars -- blackouts, food rationing -- are unknown.
Unless a relative is serving somewhere in the military, the average American can easily be detached, living life as a disinterested observer of newspaper headlines or television images. This is not a criticism, not a reflection on anybody, just an observation: How lucky we all are!
Today is the day we honor them, those who have served and those still in the field, and thank God for them.
(Excerpt) Read more at post-gazette.com ...
Ping!
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