A Marine’s Birthday Message

      A few weeks ago, I’ve had the unfortunate “ privilege” of watching the on goings of American health care at work in the confines of one of its questionable ERs. No — this is not a political rant upon the pros and cons of hospitals, but more of what I found there during my short stay —  (although mentally it was almost 5 years).  There were a slew of people from the very poor, the half-way middle class, and the occasional lone vagrant who had been dropped off because either the police didn’t know what to do with them, or their care-givers had finally had their last ounce of patience burned out for the day.  There among the chaotic banter, the moaning, groaning and well disserved complaints met with non-caring faces and objective passiveness, a couple was sitting there quietly.  He was an elderly gentleman, with the weather beaten signs of time — his legs could no longer support the rest of his body and he was therefore placed in a wheel chair.  He had breathing tubes in his nose, and it was obvious to me, that the rest of his life was plugged into the various machines and medical gizmos that most likely fueled his body’s processes. 

     The rest of these individuals were the abandoned, the mentally handicapped, and those whom were left to fend for themselves — except for this old man and his elderly wife.  The wife was probably not more older than he was — but she would make sure his medical equipment was working, that he wasn’t cold from the draft that was coming in from the open doors of the ER, she made frequent trips to the help desk to raise hell, and she even used her own handkerchief to wipe the spittle that would come from his nose and the sides of his mouth — fixing anything that had to do with his clothes and raising and lowering his legs for movement and blood flow.  

            This was what human compassion was about — when your down and out, when your body’s functions are slipping from your own control, and the partner you chose in life decides to either cut-and-run — or stay the course of your ailments — regardless of where it may lead to.  Here in lies the immaculate and greatest achievement a brother hood produces from over 200 years of time-honored service. This is the greatest lesson one must learn to truly understand the values and beliefs one steps forward with, whether they choose to stay their 20 years in service, or they leave for their own intended ways through life. This is the lesson of the United States Marine Corps. This is where it all comes down to — whether you are providing a Marine with family support while they are over seas, whether you are a platoon commander and bestowing upon your Jr Marines the lessons he/she needs to learn, or when your brother/sister at arms, is wounded during acts of combat and the only thing amongst the chaos they can depend on, is the Marines to the left, right and center. The training, the duty, your set-backs and your promotions all come down to these moments of truth where everything you’ve earned is put to the final test — the real and ultimate graduation from being a Marine to a complete warrior that walks and displays the colors and traditions the uniform and its working organizations represent. There are no classes of men, there are no selective members that shall receive, and there aren’t groups that are bestowed extra considerations that civilian life is constantly heir to.  Whether you are black, Hispanic, Asian or white — the same justifications of honor, integrity, duty, brotherhood, and command are impressed into each man and woman who slips on the uniform of the United States Marine.  You whom have walked these very weighted set of boots, continue this tradition — and even though you may share and feel the let-downs you may see throughout your life beyond the Corps, the final tests are when your own self is called to do what must be done, when you meet a fellow brother or a person in need — that you act accordingly and with the very same principles you used during your time in the service of the nation.