While the loudest among Europe and North America’s chattering and abusive attention seekers busy themselves with convincing themselves of one thing or another, there are the real people living the experience of the War on Terror through those fighting it. While the chatterers rattle on about Americans and Texans, finding convenient details to dwell their hatred on and telling themselves that these folks are unthinking, less than human and unfeeling, unsophisticated, selfish, and the like, they also impose on them the slight of also being the opposite of those very things: conniveing, TOO emotional, NOT cynical enough, and the rest of that nonsense.
When Molly anf Geert, two of this blog's good friends and visitors sent me this tale of a Soldier’s funeral in a small town, I wanted to share it. It typifies the small town America that I love – the one that visits an elderly neighbor, does charity locally, around the country, and internationally, and shows its’ love for people through its’ personal actions, not calculated lectures and dependence on a distant disembodied Government worried about its' image.
What follows is a message from Vicki Pierce about her nephew James' funeral (he was serving our country in Iraq):
"I'm back, it was certainly a quick trip, but I have to also say it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. There is a lot to be said for growing up in a small town in Texas.
The service itself was impressive with wonderful flowers and sprays, a portrait of James, his uniform and boots, his awards and ribbons. There was lots of military brass and an eloquent (though inappropriately longwinded) Baptist preacher. There were easily 1000 people at the service, filling the church sanctuary as well as the fellowship hall and spilling out into the parking lot.
However, the most incredible thing was what happened following the service on the way to the cemetery. We went to our cars and drove to the cemetery escorted by at least 10 police cars with lights flashing and some other emergency vehicles, with Texas Rangers handling traffic. Everyone on the road who was not in the procession, pulled over, got out of their cars, and stood silently and respectfully, some put their hands over their hearts, some had small flags. Shop keepers came outside with their customers and did the same thing. Construction workers stopped their work, got off their equipment and put their hands over their hearts, too. There was no noise whatsoever except a few birds and the quiet hum of cars going slowly up the road.
When we turned off the highway suddenly there were teenage boys along both sides of the street about every 20 feet or so, all holding large American flags on long flag poles, and again with their hands on their hearts. We thought at first it was the Boy Scouts or 4H club or something, but it continued .... for two and a half miles.
Hundreds of young people, standing silently on the side of the road with flags. At one point we passed an elementary school, and all the children were outside, shoulder to shoulder holding flags ... kindergartners, handicapped, teachers, staff, everyone.
Some held signs of love and support. Then came teenage girls and younger boys, all holding flags. Then adults. Then families. All standing silently on the side of the road. No one spoke, not even the very young children.
The last few turns found people crowded together holding flags or with their hands on their hearts. Some were on horseback.
The military presence… at least two generals, a fist full of colonels, and representatives from every branch of the service, plus the color guard which attended James, and some who served with him ... was very impressive and respectful, but the love and pride from this community who had lost one of their own was the most amazing things that I've ever been privileged to witness.
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