My neice, USN has been assigned to the gulf, she joins two nephews of mine already there. I now know what it must have felt like to watch those of my age walk down the sidewalk, wearing a Uniform, going in Harms Way. I also worry like an old woman, hoping nothing keeps them from coming home safely.
In Their Honor..........

The old man stretched out his hand, pointing at the hills and short grass. His voice belied his appearance, strong and deep, he words echoed in the young man’s ears.

“Once we were mighty, our lodges covered the grass for two days ride, the buffalo were plentiful. We carried ourselves as Warriors, for Warriors we were. Honor was more than a word, it was what we were, a way of life, deep in our lives, in our hearts.”

A long pause, the Old Man talked in the old ways, careful of his words, choosing his wisdoms. The hand dropped back to his lap, now wrinkled and spotted it had carried a rifle against the Germans in France and Belgium. There he had left part of himself, the slightly worn shine of his wheelchair spoke volumes, the legs stopped at the knees.

The young man glanced at his elder’s face, lines and wrinkle told of a lifetime’s worth of weather. Engraved in deep brown skin the rugged terrain told of Oklahoma summers, hot, dusty and dry, winters when the wind howled across short grass. It spoke to the young man of hard won wisdom, of experience gained through a life lived fully. He waited, there would be more.

The Old Man began again.

“Once we wandered the land at will, free of concrete, steel and asphalt. The Bow and Lance we carried, the shield and knife with us. Only dishonor could take those away, even our enemies left us with something if they won out against us, as we did them. Even in death there was Honor. Now our people no longer step on the old paths in many ways, but you young ones still have a Warrior’s heart, it is in your blood, your bones, your soul. I sit here and see them leave, even girls wearing uniforms, some never come back, my heart yearns to go in their place. But, long ago I wanted to speak of this to an Elder, and found that time had fooled me, I was the Elder, and must pass the wisdom to you youngsters. Now I sit and wait, this is harder than taking the Warrior’s path, there is little I can do but wait. It churns my heart to know this, but life has taught me that much we wish is just that, a wish. The Circle closes for us all.”

He looked directly at the young man, the Uniform, the brass shining softly in the fading sunset’s light. “And now my own blood goes, I am proud, and I will worry. Where you go now has no grass, no water, only sand and heat. I will worry like an old woman until you sit with me once more.”

He extended his hand, a gesture given to an equal, they shook hands. The Young man nodded to his elder, picked up his duffle and began the walk to the highway to catch the bus. He kept the words his great-grandfather had given him close to his heart. His felt the Ancestors walking with him, keeping watch behind, he wondered if they would come with him. And what they might make of an M1/A1 Abrahms.

He liked to think they’d approve.

Under his shirt the wieght of an arrowhead sat, old and worn it was a reminder of his herititage. He hoped he could live up to what it meant.