When Johnny Comes Marching Home

As the sun peeks through the clouds this morning I sit here and read of more young soldiers losing their lives in a country that seems so different from us and in a country where fighting over religious beliefs has been going on for centuries and will continue to go on for centuries after we all leave this earth. Why do we feel the need to go into countries and force our beliefs onto citizens who do not want us there? Why are we so certain that our beliefs are right for everyone in this world? How many more young soldiers are going to be sacrificed because of all of this? How many mothers are going to be left wondering what joy was lost because of a sacrifice a child has made all in the name of this country’s beliefs.

I sit and think of a young soldier that went to Viet Nam to fight the communist from spreading their beliefs into this country. His father was a World War Two veteran and told his son it was his duty to fight for this country and there was honor in doing so. He never questioned his father’s wisdom, he never questioned his country, it was his duty and he was going to fulfill his duty.

He was so young, so full of life, a handsome young man with black curly hair. He was my hero as a young boy growing up the older brother I never had. Upon entering kindergarten he was the one who volunteered and walked me to school understanding that I was frightened being away from home by myself for the very first time. He was my protector from children who were looking for mischief; protecting me from older children in the neighborhood who stole my candy from a night of Trick-or- Treating. He taught me to fish, how to spot beehives, poison ivy, poison oak while wandering in the woods. How to act and look cool as he propped me up on my barstool as we drank cokes at the local drug store.


He was two weeks from coming home, two weeks from fulfilling his duty to his country, two weeks from starting his American Dream. All shattered from one bullet, one American Bullet, one night of celebrating a successful tour of duty and forgetting one password. My mentor, my hero, the brother I never had will never be coming home.
He left behind a mother and father, four brothers, one sister, a daughter that never got to know him, and me. I never was able to tell him what he meant to me, I was too young to express those thoughts. But to me he was a hero, someone who I will never forget as long as I live.


I often wonder what he would have done with his life. What contributions to society did we miss because of his untimely death? What did we all miss from so many of those young soldiers that gave so much? How would this country be different today if we never would have gone into a country that was not a threat to this country’s way of life? How will we be different ten, twenty, thirty years from now because of the lives lost today and tomorrow? What young impressionable boy’s life will forever be changed because of another young soldier that will not be coming home today? One decision, one moment, one life means so much to each and every one of us.

Goodbye Johnny,

I still think of you

I still miss your smiling face,









I am the Walrus