On November 11 at 11 AM please take a moment to remember those that died and those that fight for peace.
‘All gave some, some gave all’.
Remembrance Day (Australia, Canada, United Kingdom), also known as Poppy Day (Malta and South Africa), Veterans Day (United States), and Armistice Day (France, New Zealand, and many other Commonwealth countries; and the original name of the day internationally) is a day to commemorate the sacrifice of veterans and civilians in World War I, World War II, and other wars.
It is observed on 11 November to recall the end of World War I on that date in 1918. The observance is specifically dedicated to members of the armed forces who were killed during war.
Please remember those that are still with us and say a little prayer for the ground troops, sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for all those in Afghanistan, Iraq and wherever there’s conflict.
Of all the gifts you could give a Soldier, Sailor, or Airman, prayer is the very best.
The average age of the Canadian military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s; but he has never collected unemployment either.
He’s a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away.
He listens to rock or hip-hop or jazz or and 155mm howitzer. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.
He may have trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation,
but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other.
He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humour in it all.
He has seen more suffering
and death then he should have in his short lifetime.
And now we have women over there in danger also,
doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
They have stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. They’ve wept in public and in private, for friends and enemies who fell in combat.
They feel every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to ‘square-away’ those around them who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, our soldiers defend the rights of others to protest, criticize and be disrespectful.
All of you fighting for peace, I salute you. RESPECT!
