Patriotism

[Old Salt]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ETrr-XHBjE]YouTube - US National Anthem by the Academy Choirs[/ame]

[wez]

[ame]

[/ame]

[Old Salt]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3wtUCPWmeI&feature=player_embedded]YouTube - AMERICA'S NAVY ? A Global Force for Good[/ame]

 

(OK, so I'm prejuduced in the Navy's favor.)

[RoyalOrleans]

YouTube - AMERICA'S NAVY ? A Global Force for Good

 

(OK, so I'm prejuduced in the Navy's favor.)

 

I was proud to be the Navy's "mall cops"!

[snafu]

I was proud to be the Navy's "mall cops"!

 

Hay your name would'a been Bob if it weren't for the Navy.

[ImWithStupid]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ak4jFODlj7c]YouTube - Thank Your Military[/ame]

[snafu]

Oh man when that little girl gave that Marine a hug instead of a handshake I started to tear up. .

[snafu]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuZz0_dThN8]YouTube - The Living Room Series Pt 15: GOD BLESS AMERICA[/ame]

[ImWithStupid]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PygHg_zuOlk]YouTube - National Anthem that will give you goosebumps[/ame]

[Old Salt]

Part I

 

Truman Library Speech

September 12th 2009

MG (Ret) Robert H Scales

 

Mr. Skelton, Mr Cleaver, distinguished guests and, most importantly, fellow veterans. What a great thrill it is see my comrades in arms assembled here so many years after we shared our experiences in war.

 

Let me give you the bottom line up front: I?m proud I served in Vietnam. Like you I didn?t kill innocents, I killed the enemy; I didn?t fight for big oil or for some lame conspiracy I fought for a country I believed in and for the buddies who kept me alive. Like you I was troubled that, unlike my father, I didn?t come back to a grateful nation. It took a generation and another war, Desert Storm, for the nation to come back to me.

 

Also like you I remember the war being 99 percent boredom and one percent pure abject terror. But not all my memories of Vietnam are terrible. There were times when I enjoyed my service in combat. Such sentiment must seem strange to a society today that has, thanks to our superb volunteer military, been completely insulated from war. If they thought about Vietnam at all our fellow citizens would imagine that fifty years would have been sufficient to erase this unpleasant war from our conscientiousness. Looking over this assembly it?s obvious that the memory lingers, and those of us who fought in that war remember.

 

The question is why? If this war was so terrible why are we here? It?s my privilege today to try to answer that question not only for you, brother veterans, but maybe for a wider audience for whom, fifty years on, Vietnam is as strangely distant as World War One was to our generation.

 

Vietnam is seared in our memory for the same reason that wars have lingered in the minds of soldiers for as long as wars have been fought. From Marathon to Mosul young men and now women have marched off to war to learn that the cold fear of violent death and the prospects of killing another human being heighten the senses and sear these experiences deeply and irrevocably into our souls and linger in the back recesses of our minds.

 

After Vietnam we may have gone on to thrilling lives or dull; we might have found love or loneliness, success or failure. But our experiences have stayed with us in brilliant Technicolor and with a clarity undiminished by time. For what ever primal reason war heightens the senses. When in combat we see sharper, hear more clearly and develop a sixth sense about everything around us.

 

Remember the sights? I recall sitting in the jungle one bright moonlit night marveling on the beauty of Vietnam. How lush and green it was; how attractive and gentle the people, how stoic and unmoved they were amid the chaos that surrounded them.

 

Do you remember the sounds? Where else could you stand outside a bunker and listen to the cacophonous mix of Jimmy Hendrix, Merle Haggard and Jefferson Airplane? Or how about the sounds of incoming? Remember it wasn?t a boom like in the movies but a horrifying noise like a passing train followed by a crack and the whistle of flying fragments.

 

Remember the smells? The sharpness of cordite, the choking stench of rotting jungle and the tragic sweet smell of enemy dead?

 

I remember the touch, the wet, sticky sensation when I touched one of my wounded soldiers one last time before the medevac rushed him forever from our presence but not from my memory, and the guilt I felt realizing that his pain was caused by my inattention and my lack of experience.

 

Even taste is a sense that brings back memories. Remember the end of the day after the log bird flew away leaving mail, C rations and warm beer? Only the first sergeant had sufficient gravitas to be allowed to turn the C ration cases over so that all of us could reach in and pull out a box on the unlabeled side hoping that it wasn?t going to be ham and lima beans again.

 

Look, forty years on I can forgive the guy who put powder in our ammunition so foul that it caused our M-16s to jam. I?m OK with helicopters that arrived late. I?m over artillery landing too close and the occasional canceled air strike. But I will never forgive the Pentagon bureaucrat who in an incredibly lame moment thought that a soldier would open a can of that green, greasy, gelatinous goo called ham and lima beans and actually eat it.

 

But to paraphrase that iconic war hero of our generation, Forrest Gump, ?Life is like a case of C Rations, you never know what you?re going to get.? Because for every box of ham and lima beans there was that rapturous moment when you would turn over the box and discover the bacchanalian joy of peaches and pound cake. It?s all a metaphor for the surreal nature of that war and its small pleasures....those who have never known war cannot believe that anyone can find joy in hot beer and cold pound cake. But we can?

 

Another reason why Vietnam remains in our consciousness is that the experience has made us better. Don?t get me wrong. I?m not arguing for war as a self improvement course. And I realize that war?s trauma has damaged many of our fellow veterans physically, psychologically and morally. But recent research on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder by behavioral scientists has unearthed a phenomenon familiar to most veterans: that the trauma of war strengthens rather than weakens us (They call it Post Traumatic Growth). We know that a near death experience makes us better leaders by increasing our self reliance, resilience, self image, confidence and ability to deal with adversity. Combat veterans tend to approach the future wiser, more spiritual and content with an amplified appreciation for life. We know this is true. It?s nice to see that the human scientists now agree.

 

I?m proud that our service left a legacy that has made today?s military better. Sadly Americans too often prefer to fight wars with technology. Our experience in Vietnam taught the nation the lesson that war is inherently a human not a technological endeavor. Our experience is a distant whisper in the ear of today?s technology wizards that firepower is not sufficient to win, that the enemy has a vote, that the object of war should not be to kill the enemy but to win the trust and allegiance of the people and that the ultimate weapon in this kind or war is a superbly trained, motivated, and equipped soldier who is tightly bonded to his buddies and who trusts his leaders.

 

I?ve visited our young men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan several times. On each visit I?ve seen first hand the strong connection between our war and theirs. These are worthy warriors who operate in a manner remarkably reminiscent of the way we fought so many years ago. The similarities are surreal. Close your eyes for a moment and it all comes rushing back?In Afghanistan I watched soldiers from my old unit, the 101st Airborne Division, as they conducted daily patrols from firebases constructed and manned in a manner virtually the same as those we occupied and fought from so many years ago. Every day these sky soldiers trudge outside the wire and climb across impossible terrain with the purpose as one sergeant put it ?to kill the bad guys, protect the god guys and bring home as many of my soldiers as I can.? You legacy is alive and well. You should be proud.

 

The timeless connection between our generation and theirs can be seen in the unity and fighting spirit of our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Again and again, I get asked the same old question from folks who watch soldiers in action on television: why is their morale so high? Don?t they know the American people are getting fed up with these wars? Don?t they know Afghanistan is going badly? Often they come to me incredulous about what they perceive as a misspent sense of patriotism and loyalty.

 

I tell them time and again what every one of you sitting here today, those of you who have seen the face of war, understand: it?s not really about loyalty. It?s not about a belief in some abstract notion concerning war aims or national strategy. It?s not even about winning or losing. On those lonely firebases as we dug through C ration boxes and drank hot beer we didn?t argue the righteousness of our cause or ponder the latest pronouncements from McNamara or Nixon or Ho Chi Minh for that matter. Some of us might have trusted our leaders or maybe not. We might have been well informed and passionate about the protests at home or maybe not. We might have groused about the rich and privileged who found a way to avoid service but we probably didn?t. We might have volunteered for the war to stop the spread of global communism or maybe we just had a failing semester and got swept up in the draft.

[Old Salt]

Part II

 

In war young soldiers think about their buddies. They talk about families, wives and girlfriends and relate to each other through very personal confessions. For the most part the military we served with in Vietnam did not come from the social elite. We didn?t have Harvard degrees or the pedigree of political bluebloods. We were in large measure volunteers and draftees from middle and lower class America. Just as in Iraq today we came from every corner of our country to meet in a beautiful yet harsh and forbidding place, a place that we?ve seen and experienced but can never explain adequately to those who were never there.

 

Soldiers suffer, fight and occasionally die for each other. It?s as simple as that. What brought us to fight in the jungle was no different than the motive force that compels young soldiers today to kick open a door in Ramadi with the expectation that what lies on the other side is either an innocent huddling with a child in her arms or a fanatic insurgent yearning to buy his ticket to eternity by killing the infidel. No difference. Patriotism and a paycheck may get a soldier into the military but fear of letting his buddies down gets a soldier to do something that might just as well get him killed.

 

What makes a person successful in America today is a far cry from what would have made him a success in the minds of those assembled here today. Big bucks gained in law or real estate, or big deals closed on the stock market made some of our countrymen rich. But as they have grown older they now realize that they have no buddies. There is no one who they are willing to die for or who is willing to die for them. William Manchester served as a Marine in the Pacific during World War II and put the sentiment precisely right when he wrote: "Any man in combat who lacks comrades who will die for him, or for whom he is willing to die is not a man at all. He is truly damned."

 

The Anglo Saxon heritage of buddy loyalty is long and frightfully won. Almost six hundred years ago the English king, Henry V, waited on a cold and muddy battlefield to face a French army many times his size. Shakespeare captured the ethos of that moment in his play Henry V. To be sure Shakespeare wasn?t there but he was there in spirit because he understood the emotions that gripped and the bonds that brought together both king and soldier. Henry didn?t talk about national strategy. He didn?t try to justify faulty intelligence or ill formed command decisions that put his soldiers at such a terrible disadvantage. Instead, he talked about what made English soldiers fight and what in all probably would allow them to prevail the next day against terrible odds. Remember this is a monarch talking to his men:

 

This story shall the good man teach his son;

 

From this day ending to the ending of the world,

 

But we in it shall be remembered;

 

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother;

 

And gentlemen in England (or America) now a-bed

 

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

 

And hold their manhood?s cheap whiles any speaks

 

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin?s day.

 

You all here assembled inherit the spirit of St Crispin?s day. You know and understand the strength of comfort that those whom you protect, those in America now abed, will never know. You have lived a life of self awareness and personal satisfaction that those who watched you from afar in this country who ?hold their manhood cheap? can only envy.

 

I don?t care whether America honors or even remembers the good service we performed in Vietnam. It doesn?t bother me that war is an image that America would rather ignore. It?s enough for me to have the privilege to be among you. It?s sufficient to talk to each of you about things we have seen and kinships we have shared in the tough and heartless crucible of war.

 

Some day we will all join those who are serving so gallantly now and have preceded us on battlefields from Gettysburg to Wanat. We will gather inside a firebase to open a case of C rations with every box peaches and pound cake. We will join with a band of brothers to recount the experience of serving something greater than ourselves. I believe in my very soul that the almightily reserves a corner of heaven, probably around a perpetual campfire where some day we can meet and embrace? all of the band of brothers throughout the ages to tell our stories while envious standers-by watch and wonder how horrific and incendiary the crucible of violence must have been to bring such a disparate assemblage so close to the hand of God.

 

Until we meet there thank you for your service, thank you for your sacrifice, God bless you all and God bless this great nation

[Old Salt]

Duplicate post, sorry.

[snafu]

Salute...

Ready...

TWO!

Carry on gentleman.

[Old Salt]

The Navy

 

I liked standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe - - the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drove her swiftly through the sea.

 

I liked the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill of the boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC, and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work.

 

I liked Navy vessels -- nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries and amphibs, sleek submarines and steady solid aircraft carriers.

 

I liked the proud names of Navy ships: Midway, Lexington , Saratoga , Coral Sea, Antietam, Valley Forge - - memorials of great battles won and tribulations overcome.

 

I liked the lean angular names of Navy "tin-cans" and escorts - - Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy, Damato, Leftwich, Mills - - mementos of heroes who went before us. And the others - - San Jose , San Diego , Los Angeles , St. Paul , Chicago - - named for our cities.

 

I liked the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers as we pulled away from the oiler after refueling at sea.

 

I liked liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port.

 

I even liked the never-ending paperwork and all-hands working parties as my ship filled herself with the multitude of supplies, both mundane and to cut ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there was water to float her.

 

I liked sailors, officers and enlisted men from all parts of the land, farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England , from the cities, the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me - for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word, they were "shipmates"; then and forever.

 

I liked the surge of adventure in my heart, when the word was passed: "Now set the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port," and I liked the infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pier side.

 

The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the "all for one and one for all" philosophy of the sea was ever present.

 

I liked the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flitted across the wave tops and sunset gave way to night.

 

I liked the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead and range lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and joined with the mirror of stars overhead. And I liked drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that told me that my ship was alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch would keep me safe.

 

I liked quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee -- the lifeblood of the Navy permeating everywhere.

 

And I liked hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed kept all hands on a razor edge of alertness.

 

I liked the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations," followed by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the resounding thump of watertight doors as the ship transformed herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war -- ready for anything.

 

And I liked the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognize.

 

 

I liked the traditions of the Navy and the men and women who made them. I liked the proud names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones and Burke. A sailor could find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent could find adulthood.

 

In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea, they will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all its moods - the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and mess decks.

 

Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon.

 

Remembering this, they will stand taller and say,

 

 

 

"I WAS A SAILOR ONCE AND WOULD DO IT AGAIN."

[snafu]

My favorite movie of all time "Band of Brohters"

 

And a true strory of many many many true hero's. the "Pick your movie" thread inspired me to post the hero I wish I was, Major Richard Winters.

 

 

Heroesforever.nl - Richard D. Winters

[timesjoke]

messed up, fixing

[Old Salt]

Reflections of a Blackshoe

 

by VAdm Harold Koenig, USN Ret

 

I Like the Navy

 

I liked standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe-- the destroyer beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drove her swiftly through the sea.

 

I liked the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill of the boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC, and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work.

 

I liked Navy vessels -- nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries and amphibs, sleek submarines and steady solid aircraft carriers.

 

I liked the proud names of Navy ships: Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea, Antietam, Valley Forge - memorials of great battles won and tribulations overcome.

 

I liked the lean angular names of Navy "tin-cans"--Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy, Damato, Leftwich - mementos of heroes who went before us.

 

I liked the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers as we pulled away from the oiler after refueling at sea.

 

I liked liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port.

 

I even liked the never ending paperwork and all hands working parties as my ship filled herself with the multitude of supplies, both mundane and exotic, which she needed to cut ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there was water to float her.

 

I liked sailors, officers and enlisted men from all parts of the land, farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities, the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me - for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word, they were "shipmates" --then and forever.

 

I liked the surge of adventure in my heart, when the word was passed: "Now set the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port", and I liked the infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pier side.

 

The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea was ever present.

 

I liked the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flitted across the wave tops and sunset gave way to night.

 

I liked the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead and range lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and joined with the mirror of stars overhead. And I liked drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that told me that my ship was alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch would keep me safe.

 

I liked quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee -- the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.

 

And I liked hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed kept all hands on a razor edge of alertness.

 

I liked the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations," followed by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the resounding thump of watertight doors as the ship transformed herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war -- ready for anything.

 

And I liked the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognize.

 

I liked the traditions of the Navy and the men and women who made them. I liked the proud names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones and Burke. A sailor could find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade.

 

An adolescent could find adulthood.

 

In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea, they will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all its moods - the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and messdecks.

 

Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon.

 

Remembering this, they will stand taller and say,

 

I was a sailor. I was part of the Navy, and the Navy will always be part of me.

[snafu]

"No disrespect should be shown to the flag of the United States of America." Section 8

 

"The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing." Section 8j

 

 

I think the regulations of displaying the flag should be enforced but that maybe should be revised. One mans disrespect of the flag is another’s honor and respect of it.

 

 

I want to get the “War Paint” tattoo ( my avatar) but I want to respect the flag. I guess using my avatar could be considered to some as disrespectful.

 

Can the American flag be used as the background for a bulletin board display with notices tacked on it?

No. According to the Flag Code, Section 8g: "The flag should never have placed upon it, nor on any part of it, nor attached to it any mark, insignia, letter, word, figure, design, picture, or drawing of any nature." Section 8: "No disrespect should be shown to the flag of the United States of America." Section 8j: "The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing."

 

I'm not trying to disrespect the flag. I want to wear it proudly and I find the "War Paint" painting highly patriotic.

 

 

I am thinking of getting a flag tattoo. Is it okay?

There is nothing in the Flag Code about tattoos. The question is one of respect for the flag. In this case one person's respect is another's disrespect, and we advise against a flag tattoo. Perhaps an American eagle would look good?

 

Flag Frequently Asked Questions

 

 

Flag Rules and Regulations

[timesjoke]

According to UNITED STATES v. EICHMAN, 496 U.S. 310

 

As long as your expressing yourself, your protected under the first amendment for free speach to do whatever you want with a flag. You can burn it, stomp on it, shove it up a cows azz if you want, just say it is for free speach and you can do whatever you want with the flag.

[Old Salt]

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IP4KcO7AK8U]YouTube - Born Again American High Quality Video [/ame]

[Old Salt]

Copied from another forum I belong to:

 

The link below is a virtual wall of all those lost during the Vietnam war with the names, bio's and other information on our lost heroes.

 

First click on a state then scroll down to the city and the names will appear. Then click on their names. It should show you a picture of the person, or at least their bio and medals.

This really is an amazing web site. Someone spent a lot of time and effort to create it. I hope that everyone who receives this appreciates what those who served in Vietnam sacrificed for our country.

Those who remember that timeframe, or perhaps lost friends or family can look them up on this site. Pass the link on to others if you like.

http://www.virtualwall.org/iStates.html

[snafu]

Copied from another forum I belong to:

 

The link below is a virtual wall of all those lost during the Vietnam war with the names, bio's and other information on our lost heroes.

 

First click on a state then scroll down to the city and the names will appear. Then click on their names. It should show you a picture of the person, or at least their bio and medals.

This really is an amazing web site. Someone spent a lot of time and effort to create it. I hope that everyone who receives this appreciates what those who served in Vietnam sacrificed for our country.

Those who remember that timeframe, or perhaps lost friends or family can look them up on this site. Pass the link on to others if you like.

http://www.virtualwa...rg/iStates.html

 

Wow that is pretty cool.

[ImWithStupid]

[ImWithStupid]

Sadly indefensible in my opinion...

 

In Defending Barack Obama Skipping Memorial Day, the Left Calls Dead Soldiers ‘Political Props’

 

Posted by Erick Erickson (Profile)

 

Tuesday, May 25th at 6:55PM EDT

5 Comments

 

Barack Obama is skipping the Memorial Day tradition of the President laying a wreath at the tomb of the unknowns. It is not unprecedented. George H. W. Bush was on the campaign trail in 1992 and scheduled to speak at an American Legions event in Maine on Memorial Day.

 

Ronald Reagan was in the midst of a contentious economic summit in 1983 and so sent George H. W. Bush on his behalf.

 

Barack Obama wants to go on vacation — the second vacation he has had since oil began spilling out of the gulf. That’s okay though because the oil spilling is George W. Bush’s fault, just like all the new dead soldiers are George Bush’s fault too. Why should he care?

 

The problem for Barack Obama is simple.

 

The troops don’t like him no matter how much the White House propaganda machine tries to gin up staged pictures of Obama voting soldiers fawning all over him. But see the tepid response from cadets at West Point or talk privately with lots of soldiers and sailors and you get something else — they fundamentally do not respect their Commander in Chief.

 

There was no question they respected and loved Ronald Reagan. Same with George H. W. Bush, the last veteran of World War II to serve as President.

 

Obama? Not so much. And what does the left do when you point this out? They equate dead soldiers to political props/ Seriously.

 

By suggesting this President, in the midst of a war, should probably be going to Arlington National Cemetery for Memorial Day instead of taking his second vacation in a month, conservatives are somehow suggesting he use dead soldiers as political props.

 

After eight years of the left demanding publicity of flag draped coffins returning to Deleware from overseas to use as political props against George W. Bush, it is more than a little humorous to have the left now accuse the right of doing the same. It also ignores a fundamental point leftists too busy calling our soldiers “war criminals� and our dead soldiers “political props� miss — going to Arlington National Cemetery to lay a wreath at the tomb of the unknowns has nothing to do with using dead soldiers as political props and everything to do with a Commander in Chief who seems to not like the military showing some basic respect to the men and women, alive and dead, who have actually kept us free.

 

Obama may talk about the government in the first person, but the men and women lying at Arlington know differently.

 

Of course, Obama really doesn’t like the military, does he. [A period there, not a question mark, is intentional]

http://www.redstate.com/erick/2010/05/25/in-defending-barack-obama-skipping-memorial-day-the-left-calls-dead-soldiers-political-props/

[ImWithStupid]