Mikes Place

By Michael L. Craner

“Once I was a soldier, not afraid to die
Now I’m a little older, not afraid to cry
Everyday I’m thankful just to be alive
When you’ve been where I’ve been any kind of life
Is paradise...”

A chorus from a top country song around here lately, performed by Craig Morgan, a phrase in so many words more or less that has been echoing in my heart for several years now, and a topic appropriate for Veterans Day this month.

Being a veteran myself, I appreciate anything that is a tribute to those who gave. While this song is about the conflict in Panama, which I did not participate, I was enlisted and in training back then. Most folks don’t even remember. I didn’t even know about it ‘til I came home at Christmas and dropped by the old high school and ran into a neighbor of mine who said, “I bet you’re glad you’re not with your buddies in Panama!” I remember the feeling of surprise and feeling of being left out. After all, I was 18 and bullet-proof, I believed that I really made a difference.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a war-monger, even then I was interested in protecting my own skin, but after what was to me a challenging Basic Training, where I got broke down, and built back up again I felt that I was actually somebody. The fact that there was a military movement that didn’t include me was something like an insult. There was also a great sense of relief that I was able to be home that Christmas, where many others could not.

Christmas is a special time for me. I don’t really know why, I can’t think of any truly remarkable years like you read about, but Christmas is Christmas just the same. To me it is a time when families should be together if at not other time. Little did I know that that Christmas was the last of its kind for several years… But that is beyond the scope of where I wanted to go with this article.

While I missed out on Panama, it seems I caught just about everything after that for the next 7 years. I supported Desert Shield/Storm from the “rear” in Germany. Guarding everything from our posts to family housing units, to ammunition bunkers to the PX. I’ll never forget the morning, a week or so after arriving in Germany when SoDamn invaded Kuwait. We had a training alert early in the morning, and I thought it was the real thing. I remember being afraid, because I didn’t know my job well enough (Microwave/Satellite Communications Repair) I hadn’t even fitted my combat gear yet.

I was afraid I wouldn’t have a chance to call my parents and girlfriend back home and tell them what was going down, and that I may never speak to them again. I was a tough enough guy though, I figured God had been pretty good to me so far, I should tighten up and do my job, do my duty, give back a little of the freedom and grace I had been given. Be a “man”. So I hung in there, didn’t cry, didn’t complain, just did my job. Well things slowed down a bit as we saw that we weren’t leaving right away. I looked for mentors and found them, then vowed I would be the best I could be.

When the cease-fire was called, we all breathed a sigh of relief, if only to ourselves. Finally it was over, but it had only begun. I went to support Kurdish refugees in northern Iraq. It was there that I began to write, not because of an assignment from English class, but because I didn’t keep a journal, and poetry was the only way I thought I could really express myself. Of course few of my comrades knew about it. It was pretty much romantic as far as war poetry goes, but it was a release.

I remember how back then, “Proud to be an American” by Lee Greenwood was our theme song. I still choke up and get chills from that song… We volunteered, because we foresaw no danger, but we went anyway when we were called, because of our oath and because we knew we were right.

“Once I was a soldier, not afraid to die
Now I’m a little older, not afraid to cry
Everyday I’m thankful just to be alive
When you’ve been where I’ve been any kind of life
Is paradise...”

Now I hear these words on the radio, and I have to let the tears out. I don’t care much who sees. I’ve been there, and many other places like it since. I regret not a single second, because I KNOW we were doing the right thing, but still I mourn.

I’m sorry for all those who have died fighting for freedom. I’m sorry for that kids parents in Colorado who got the letter when their son stepped on a mine in northern Iraq, at a camp I had been less than a week before…after the “cease-fire”. I’m sorry the world thinks this country is the bully in the world; dictating democracy with our decadent and “capitalist” ways. I’m sorry everyone in the USA hasn’t seen what I have. Maybe we would appreciate what we have more. Maybe we wouldn’t be so quick judge, so quick to complain, so reluctant to take a stand.

I don’t care what anyone thinks. If you haven’t “been there”, if you didn’t serve or support those who did, you don’t deserve the freedom you’ve been blessed with, and I challenge you to finally stand up, take a stand. Even if you don’t agree with me, show some spine and say what you feel, feel what you say. We never got here by being slugs. We got here on the shoulders of giants; the least we can do is stand up…