Heroes...

There is a church at the end of our street, one house away from me.  Over the years, having churchgoers coming and going several mornings and nights a week becomes fairly routine.  For that reason, I rarely spend any time looking at people as they come and go to and from church.  There are times, though, when someone catches my eye… 

I saw Superman yesterday.  He was very short, with short, curly brown hair.  He was wearing a dark blue tee shirt and light blue pants.  And wearing his Superman cape, of course.  His mom parked her SUV in front of my house.  As mom, baby, and Superman walked up to their car after church, I noticed them.

Superman was walking fast, in front of mom and baby, his hands in fists, his eyes searching, and a crouching-leaping motion to his walk.  Nothing was going to hurt mom and baby; not while Superman was on duty!

Superman was only about two and a half, or three years old.  He caught my eye because he was so serious about what he was doing.  “Protecting Life” is important business, you know. 

Kudos to his mom for letting him wear his Superman cape to church.  And kudos to mom for letting him be Superman, too.  Fostering imagination is an important parenting skill, I think. But the Superman thing is more than that, to me.

This world is full of bad people and bad stuff.  We read about it in the news on a daily basis.  Sometimes, that bad stuff happens to us, or our friends or loved ones.  Isn’t it great that this little guy has signed on to defend “good” against “evil”?

Maybe I’m making something out of nothing, but I don’t think so.  Teaching a child the difference between right and wrong is an important thing for us to do as parents and grandparents.  But being Superman goes beyond the lessons taught: my little Superman friend is learning right from wrong and is actively promoting all that is right and good in this world.

Well, maybe that’s a little far-fetched for a two-year-old, but his acting out the Superman role is further embedding those life lessons in his mind.  So, do you think he would stand up for a kid who was being bullied?  Do you think he would help another child who fell off his bicycle?  Will he grow up to be an honest, law-abiding adult? 

I think so….

Forgotten Heroes...

On Memorial Day, we honor those who died in service to our country.  To all of them, throughout the history of our country, I am grateful.  And to a special group of veterans who are near and dear to my heart, I am especially grateful.

Vietnam was my generation’s war.  Every corner of this country was touched by the loss of sons, brothers, sweethearts, fathers, and husbands.  Some 58,000 Americans gave their lives in the Vietnam War.   They were drafted, or enlisted.  They were America’s future, the generation that would lead the nation into the next millennium.  They were my friends…

Some who went to Vietnam did not carry weapons.  They did not go through Boot Camp.  They didn’t jump out of airplanes, rarely walked through jungles, trying not to be ambushed, didn’t fly choppers, or build bases.

They were the registered nurses who went to Vietnam to care for the troops, to treat the sick and wounded.  They were volunteers.  Whether they felt a patriotic duty to serve, or not, they were committed to caring for those who needed their help and expertise.

As the choppers landed, those nurses rushed out and triaged patients, deciding who could be saved and who couldn’t.  Performing tracheotomies, starting IV’s, infusing blood, giving pain medications and dressing horrific wounds, they spent long hours living with trauma, death, and dying.

Moreover, they became mothers and sweethearts to young men whose lives were cut short.  “Yes, I’ll be right here with you.  Yes, I’m holding your hand.  Yes, I’ll tell your mother that you were brave, and your sweetheart that you love her.”   They saw too many young men die, holding their hands.  They promised too many young men that they would write to their mothers.  They cried more tears than the oceans could hold.

Some died when hospitals were bombed.  Some came back to the States and suffered the consequences of exposure to Agent Orange.  Some woke in the night, sweating and hysterical, as they lived the war in their dreams, all over again. Some came back and furthered their nursing education.  Some quit nursing altogether.  And all of them were/are heroes, too.

To those who ministered to the sick and dying American soldiers serving in Vietnam, I am eternally grateful for your service to your country and to your fellow man.

God Bless all of you!

Cali