When I was younger, I used to write songs about Desert Storm. I randomly woke up this morning with the tune of one of said songs stuck in my head. I only remember this particular one and it's when the war was over and everyone got to come home.
They're coming home, they're coming home.
I miss them, but the war is done.
I remember being so terrified during that time that my parents were going to have to leave us and go take care of all of the wounded soldiers because they were nurses. I had a very serious conversation with my Dad once, asking him if he was going to war? He replied that he wasn't going anywhere but if they needed him and asked him to go help out, he would.
At the time, I didn't understand the concept of being a hero, not that type of hero anyway. I just wanted my Daddy to stay with me and be safe; I wanted him to remain my hero and only mine.
Who knew that a 9 year old could harbor such anxiety and morbidity?
Needless to say, I was relieved when the war was over so I wrote the song above, feeling that it's lyrics would make this new-found security permanent and keep everyone safe from the cruelties of war.
I didn't understand how easily wars were started and that for some, they never truly end.
A couple of years later, I went to Washington D.C. for the first time. I was in 8th grade and so excited to be visiting such an historical place. I saw homelessness and dirty streets among the towering Government buildings. One particular image of a homeless man in a wheel chair has never left my memory. Both of his legs were missing from the knee down and he sat outside against the building of The Hard Rock Cafe, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He was freezing and I willed him to look me in the eye, hoping with all of my teenage heart that he could feel my empathy passing through him. He never looked up and it was a harsh lesson to learn, that sometimes pretending to understand didn't make it any better. In fact, it did nothing at all. I stood there staring at him for as long as I could until I finally had to walk away to join my peers. For months, every night before I went to bed, I saw his face before I fell asleep. I can still see him so clearly and I can't help but wonder what became of him.
The first time I saw the names etched on the Vietnam Wall Memorial, I froze and shed tears for the thousands of strangers and their families. I still shed tears for them and the famous memorial continues to haunt me with it's pencil-thin lines etched into human lives with nothing to show for except flowers, tears and so many untold stories.
Sometimes the truth sounds bitter, but it doesn't make it any less true.
I have never known that kind of loss and selfishly, I stood there hoping I never would.
After everything I saw and experienced,I left a little less innocent and feeling a little more wounded. There was so much of the 'real world' that I wasn't prepared to see. It wasn't until this trip that I realized there are people out there who are truly in need and have no where to go at night, no where to keep warm.
When I was in high school, I received a phone call from an army recruit, asking me if I would consider joining. I answered with 4 simple words, 'It's not for me.' I could feel his defense through the lines of the telephone, asking me 'Well, what is for you then?' I remained silent because I didn't have an answer.
I was 15 at the time and I still don't have an answer 18 years later....a whole lifetime ago, an age that some never reached and whose names are on that wall.
When I'm left alone in the silence, with nothing to listen to but my own thoughts, I'm reminded of those who are less fortunate and never had the chance or the choice to follow their own dreams.
Freedom isn't free.
I'm thinking of them today, wishing and hoping that there is something truly special after this life is over. Something more than emptiness.
Something louder than the silence that haunts us all at night.
Something more meaningful than a ghost of a memory.
'And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.'
The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
They're coming home, they're coming home.
I miss them, but the war is done.
I remember being so terrified during that time that my parents were going to have to leave us and go take care of all of the wounded soldiers because they were nurses. I had a very serious conversation with my Dad once, asking him if he was going to war? He replied that he wasn't going anywhere but if they needed him and asked him to go help out, he would.
At the time, I didn't understand the concept of being a hero, not that type of hero anyway. I just wanted my Daddy to stay with me and be safe; I wanted him to remain my hero and only mine.
Who knew that a 9 year old could harbor such anxiety and morbidity?
Needless to say, I was relieved when the war was over so I wrote the song above, feeling that it's lyrics would make this new-found security permanent and keep everyone safe from the cruelties of war.
I didn't understand how easily wars were started and that for some, they never truly end.
A couple of years later, I went to Washington D.C. for the first time. I was in 8th grade and so excited to be visiting such an historical place. I saw homelessness and dirty streets among the towering Government buildings. One particular image of a homeless man in a wheel chair has never left my memory. Both of his legs were missing from the knee down and he sat outside against the building of The Hard Rock Cafe, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He was freezing and I willed him to look me in the eye, hoping with all of my teenage heart that he could feel my empathy passing through him. He never looked up and it was a harsh lesson to learn, that sometimes pretending to understand didn't make it any better. In fact, it did nothing at all. I stood there staring at him for as long as I could until I finally had to walk away to join my peers. For months, every night before I went to bed, I saw his face before I fell asleep. I can still see him so clearly and I can't help but wonder what became of him.
The first time I saw the names etched on the Vietnam Wall Memorial, I froze and shed tears for the thousands of strangers and their families. I still shed tears for them and the famous memorial continues to haunt me with it's pencil-thin lines etched into human lives with nothing to show for except flowers, tears and so many untold stories.
Sometimes the truth sounds bitter, but it doesn't make it any less true.
I have never known that kind of loss and selfishly, I stood there hoping I never would.
After everything I saw and experienced,I left a little less innocent and feeling a little more wounded. There was so much of the 'real world' that I wasn't prepared to see. It wasn't until this trip that I realized there are people out there who are truly in need and have no where to go at night, no where to keep warm.
When I was in high school, I received a phone call from an army recruit, asking me if I would consider joining. I answered with 4 simple words, 'It's not for me.' I could feel his defense through the lines of the telephone, asking me 'Well, what is for you then?' I remained silent because I didn't have an answer.
I was 15 at the time and I still don't have an answer 18 years later....a whole lifetime ago, an age that some never reached and whose names are on that wall.
When I'm left alone in the silence, with nothing to listen to but my own thoughts, I'm reminded of those who are less fortunate and never had the chance or the choice to follow their own dreams.
Freedom isn't free.
I'm thinking of them today, wishing and hoping that there is something truly special after this life is over. Something more than emptiness.
Something louder than the silence that haunts us all at night.
Something more meaningful than a ghost of a memory.
'And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.'
The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
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