I am a novelist. An observing and curious mind prompts me to look through the lens of “what if” for answers to the big questions of life. Sometimes “what if’s” are long in coming. Other times they smack you in the head before you know what happened…
It was Wednesday August 11th , Delta flight 1192. I was seated at 28 A waiting for take-off at Reagan National Airport in Washington DC.
“Hello this is Maggie, your flight attendant and we are experiencing some unexpected delays due to weather conditions…” She continued but my heart skipped an immediate beat to a youth dance in 1971.
“Mike, where did you find that looker you brought to the dance?”
“My older sister. Don’t even think about it.”
“I like dancing with older girls.”
He shrugged, a little disgust evidenced with a nod of the head.
I nervously ventured forth and being fickle, lost my heart on the dance floor to “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.” She thanked me, whispered something to Mike and left.
“Where is she going?” I asked.
“No guys old enough.”
“What does she do?”
“Stewardess for the airlines,” he replied.
“Hello, this is Maggie again. It looks like we will be at least another thirty minutes. We have complimentary headsets for those who would like to watch a show. We’ll turn the video monitors on momentarily, then…”
The “what if” advanced in my mind as my heart sought rescue from the awful truth which was easily melting my manly composure.
I last heard from Mike in 1973. He was enjoying a McDonald’s burger in San Salvador, he had written me in the letter that arrived to General Velasco’s socialist controlled Republic of Peru that day in April. I was starving for any kind of food that resembled a hamburger, but enjoyed the typical jesting as he also wrote about another girl who was keeping in touch with him; a “win” he had over me from another dance the prior year.
We assumed we would reconnect back home in Southern California after our volunteer duties in Latin America, and just maybe I’d get another chance to dance with his sister; an older and wiser man then.
Mail call on a June night in 1973 caught me off guard. I opened a card my Mom slipped in an envelope. It simply showed his smiling face with this under the photo: “In Loving Memory of Michael Alan Carlisle.”
“Hello, this is Maggie again. We know you are eager for more information, and just as soon as we can we will report the cause of the continuing delays. Thank you for your patience.”
Memory is a funny thing. Sometimes on the surface it dances across the mind without a minor delay. Other times it just sits and broods, inviting you to fix the unfixable.
I looked out through the glass separating me from the downpour which had grounded us and saw Mike, and the 1970’s, and his sister, and time evaporated as tears squeezed from eyes that had seen a lot of changes since then.
She passed by 28A. Though older, she was also energetic and graceful, revealing something in her eyes, smile, and manner recognizable…
“This is Maggie again. Federal law requires we return to the gate after three hours. We apologize for this inconvenience she said,” as the plane rolled back to Gate 19.
We’d be given a chance to stay overnight or continue on waiting for final clearance of flight 1192 to take off again later. My heart raced as I got closer to confronting the death of a young friend, confront my own mortality, and revisit all I once felt as a young man.
In minutes I stood before her. Eyes searched and recognition sparked as I asked, “Are you Maggie Carlisle from Newbury Park?”
Her eyes filled instantaneously as a shy girl inside her nodded, tried to smile, and finally squeaked out “yes.”
“I’m Jim Pratt, Mike’s friend,” is all I could muster. Awkwardness followed as she and I recalled the dance, and Mike seemed to stand there as well, instantly bringing it all back to both of us.
Wiping at the tears she said, “I’m sixty now.”
I nodded. “Fifty-seven.”
We briefly caught up, I offered my love for her mother, still alive, the other siblings; all friends of mine.
“I think I’ll catch up on my sleep here in DC rather than take the flight back with you guys,” I said casually as if forty years had not just slipped by. I then walked away, found a cab, a hotel and slept.
I dreamt of Mike that night and blubbered all sorts of youthful stuff about life, love, and important stuff. Nothing political.
When I awoke I imagined a dialogue I’d have with him if he were to step off a flight from 1973 instead of the casket he was delivered home in.
“Saw your sister last night,” I’d start with.
“I know,” he’d answer. “A dance?”
“No, at the airport,” I’d say.
“So how are things? Much changed at home since I’ve been gone?”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I’d answer.
“Catch me up,” he’d reply.
Next Post: Mike 2010
James Michael Pratt is a New York Times bestselling novelist and non-fiction author, CEO of PowerThink Publishing, public speaker, Op Ed writer for The Daily Caller, and Founder of Reagan Revolution 2. Email: james@powerthink.com.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
THE DAY CAPITALISM DIED
FREE ENTERPRISE vs. Socialism
A lesson from our past for our present day politicians and citizens,this movie clip, the final scene in the movie TUCKER, says it all.
There is Hope: Read Op Ed Column at THE DAILY CALLER:
"Reading Tea Leaves - Why American Free Markets Will Win and American Socialism Fail"
http://dailycaller.com/2010/05/28/reading-tea-leaves-americas-free-market-will-win/
Keeping faith and hope alive,
James Michael Pratt
A lesson from our past for our present day politicians and citizens,this movie clip, the final scene in the movie TUCKER, says it all.
There is Hope: Read Op Ed Column at THE DAILY CALLER:
"Reading Tea Leaves - Why American Free Markets Will Win and American Socialism Fail"
http://dailycaller.com/2010/05/28/reading-tea-leaves-americas-free-market-will-win/
Keeping faith and hope alive,
James Michael Pratt
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Golden Rules of Love - Post 1
Post 1 in a series created for a gift book I am writing called "The Golden Rules of Love, Life, and Meaning"
THIS THING WE CALL...LOVE
“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” -Voltaire
Real love is the most sought after prize in all human endeavor. To understand it requires a lifetime of pondering, practice, and patience. Seekers and those who possess the quality of heart and soul thank God every day for this thing called love. We have witnessed its touch bring renewed hope to the disheartened, pleasure to the eye, a quickening to the soul; for love sustains mankind.
It leads to commitment, then marriage, on to families and as such creates the social bond we call community. It is The Dalai Lama of Tibet who has said: Without the human community one single human being cannot survive.
Love is the glue to every worldly society for it ultimately calls the mother and father home to nurture the rising generation, to hold it together.
True love beckons the brother, sister, friend to give, serve, lift, and care for one another. It calls out to a comrade to risk everything to save another. Of all virtues, true love is the greatest.
No other emotion so powerfully affects us day to day. Love feeds the starving, clothes the naked and cares for the poor, homeless, widowed and fatherless. Love, like fire, burns at different degrees in all of us. The most hardened criminal can be touched by it, given the right mix of feelings and compassion.
I first started reading on the philosophy of love in 1974 when a college student, I found professor of philosophy and comparative religion, Truman Madsen's words. This simple phrase has stayed with me all these years:“Love is divine fire, with a large F.”
Over two thousand years ago the Greek philosopher Plato said: “At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”
And the eighteenth century sage, Pierre Teilhard De Chardin put it eloquently in free style verse;
The day will come,
after harnessing space, the winds,
the tides and gravity
we shall harness, for God, the energies of love.
And on that day, for the second time
in the history of the world,
man will have discovered fire.
Love.
Written of.
Spoken about.
Reviled and reveled in.
Played out on screen and stage.
Philosophers have written tomes to fill libraries on it. The religious have enjoined it to the grand purposes of the Gods. Nations have fought wars in the name of it, and men have risked their lives to seek but a taste of its sweet and addictive flavor.
When “making love,” in the vernacular of the day, a man and women may reach the zenith of life’s pleasures through physical intimacy. In a committed marriage there is rarely anything to compare with the feeling physical intimacy may bring. Because it is done in the spirit of loving their companion in every way, it strengthens and bolsters the marriage, and increases the pleasure of the experience.
If marriage is sacred, then love making is sacred...
Happiness does not come cheaply, and perhaps there’s the rub. We often find in our present condition that the luster of fidelity has faded. Some film and publishing has elevated sexual intimacy alone to the position where real love had always reigned. As long as the uncommitted “hero” is the one engaged in the “love making” it is seen as a sweet and never ending thing.
When the theatre curtain falls and the lights come on, we awaken and are brought to reality again - life is real, earnest, with commitments to be made and kept.
Is a kiss prelude or postlude? Is the touch of skin meant to be used or shared? What if the Gods arranged sexuality (as I suppose it is) to not only be for propagation of the species but absolutely fulfilling and to be anticipated?
"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." -Ingrid Bergman
Sexual intimacy in the committed path, the path of action that blends the passions with the “harnessed energies of love,” as De Chardin put it, works to bond and build and never destroy.
Do I sound like a prude or unrealistic? I'm a man...quite normal and have given this some heart-felt consideration for decades. The bottom line? I love romance and...
I believe sexual intimacy to be sacred, and "love-making" is equally had in the touch of a hand, a kiss, and emtions wrapped in faithfulness; all this to be enjoyed most fully, not the other way around.
An agent and film producer in Hollywood, once considering one of my books for a film project, came to the conclusion, "Hollywood wants hard love stories James, not soft. Sorry."
"I didn't know love was hard," I answered.
Love is a verb and a noun. To explore its dimensions in literature, song, dance, worship, art and service, is to touch the hand of the Divine Creator of the Universe and partner with him in creating a piece of heaven on earth.
Love is vital...food to the soul.
It is an elixir to the spirit.
It quenches spiritual thirst and puts a quicker beat into the heart of one experiencing its taste. The human heart so affected sends life giving fluids at a more rapid rate, bursting through and to every part of one’s being.
To love truly is to be truly alive. It excites and stimulates creativity. It is loud, happy, noisy at times.
It is also the expression of silence in deference to the bereaved.
It is reverent awe at the realization that there exists a benevolent power greater than us all to comfort us in mourning.
It is the joyful sound of children at innocent play.
It is renewal at the first sounds of birth.
It is the final kiss at the brink of death of one beloved.
It is the courage of a soldier for his comrade, and a fellow man offering safety to one he does not know.
It is the flower from the garden to brighten the table and the rose on the grave as if in soliloquy petals have a voice and can whisper for the deceased to hear the word; “I love you.”
...and it is the feeling coming from an unseen world that the deceased love you still.
The Holy Bible says; “God is love.”
Men have fashioned idols to gods they have named for love. If man alone were the final authority his very testimonial in written form and art spanning six millennia of the recorded history of worship suggest he had enthroned love as the ultimate quality divine.
And if divine, love is more than a special way of feeling...
Love is a way of being.
James M Pratt
THIS THING WE CALL...LOVE
“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” -Voltaire
Real love is the most sought after prize in all human endeavor. To understand it requires a lifetime of pondering, practice, and patience. Seekers and those who possess the quality of heart and soul thank God every day for this thing called love. We have witnessed its touch bring renewed hope to the disheartened, pleasure to the eye, a quickening to the soul; for love sustains mankind.
It leads to commitment, then marriage, on to families and as such creates the social bond we call community. It is The Dalai Lama of Tibet who has said: Without the human community one single human being cannot survive.
Love is the glue to every worldly society for it ultimately calls the mother and father home to nurture the rising generation, to hold it together.
True love beckons the brother, sister, friend to give, serve, lift, and care for one another. It calls out to a comrade to risk everything to save another. Of all virtues, true love is the greatest.
No other emotion so powerfully affects us day to day. Love feeds the starving, clothes the naked and cares for the poor, homeless, widowed and fatherless. Love, like fire, burns at different degrees in all of us. The most hardened criminal can be touched by it, given the right mix of feelings and compassion.
I first started reading on the philosophy of love in 1974 when a college student, I found professor of philosophy and comparative religion, Truman Madsen's words. This simple phrase has stayed with me all these years:“Love is divine fire, with a large F.”
Over two thousand years ago the Greek philosopher Plato said: “At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”
And the eighteenth century sage, Pierre Teilhard De Chardin put it eloquently in free style verse;
The day will come,
after harnessing space, the winds,
the tides and gravity
we shall harness, for God, the energies of love.
And on that day, for the second time
in the history of the world,
man will have discovered fire.
Love.
Written of.
Spoken about.
Reviled and reveled in.
Played out on screen and stage.
Philosophers have written tomes to fill libraries on it. The religious have enjoined it to the grand purposes of the Gods. Nations have fought wars in the name of it, and men have risked their lives to seek but a taste of its sweet and addictive flavor.
When “making love,” in the vernacular of the day, a man and women may reach the zenith of life’s pleasures through physical intimacy. In a committed marriage there is rarely anything to compare with the feeling physical intimacy may bring. Because it is done in the spirit of loving their companion in every way, it strengthens and bolsters the marriage, and increases the pleasure of the experience.
If marriage is sacred, then love making is sacred...
Happiness does not come cheaply, and perhaps there’s the rub. We often find in our present condition that the luster of fidelity has faded. Some film and publishing has elevated sexual intimacy alone to the position where real love had always reigned. As long as the uncommitted “hero” is the one engaged in the “love making” it is seen as a sweet and never ending thing.
When the theatre curtain falls and the lights come on, we awaken and are brought to reality again - life is real, earnest, with commitments to be made and kept.
Is a kiss prelude or postlude? Is the touch of skin meant to be used or shared? What if the Gods arranged sexuality (as I suppose it is) to not only be for propagation of the species but absolutely fulfilling and to be anticipated?
"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." -Ingrid Bergman
Sexual intimacy in the committed path, the path of action that blends the passions with the “harnessed energies of love,” as De Chardin put it, works to bond and build and never destroy.
Do I sound like a prude or unrealistic? I'm a man...quite normal and have given this some heart-felt consideration for decades. The bottom line? I love romance and...
I believe sexual intimacy to be sacred, and "love-making" is equally had in the touch of a hand, a kiss, and emtions wrapped in faithfulness; all this to be enjoyed most fully, not the other way around.
An agent and film producer in Hollywood, once considering one of my books for a film project, came to the conclusion, "Hollywood wants hard love stories James, not soft. Sorry."
"I didn't know love was hard," I answered.
Love is a verb and a noun. To explore its dimensions in literature, song, dance, worship, art and service, is to touch the hand of the Divine Creator of the Universe and partner with him in creating a piece of heaven on earth.
Love is vital...food to the soul.
It is an elixir to the spirit.
It quenches spiritual thirst and puts a quicker beat into the heart of one experiencing its taste. The human heart so affected sends life giving fluids at a more rapid rate, bursting through and to every part of one’s being.
To love truly is to be truly alive. It excites and stimulates creativity. It is loud, happy, noisy at times.
It is also the expression of silence in deference to the bereaved.
It is reverent awe at the realization that there exists a benevolent power greater than us all to comfort us in mourning.
It is the joyful sound of children at innocent play.
It is renewal at the first sounds of birth.
It is the final kiss at the brink of death of one beloved.
It is the courage of a soldier for his comrade, and a fellow man offering safety to one he does not know.
It is the flower from the garden to brighten the table and the rose on the grave as if in soliloquy petals have a voice and can whisper for the deceased to hear the word; “I love you.”
...and it is the feeling coming from an unseen world that the deceased love you still.
The Holy Bible says; “God is love.”
Men have fashioned idols to gods they have named for love. If man alone were the final authority his very testimonial in written form and art spanning six millennia of the recorded history of worship suggest he had enthroned love as the ultimate quality divine.
And if divine, love is more than a special way of feeling...
Love is a way of being.
James M Pratt
Sunday, April 4, 2010
EASTER 2010 - Hope, Happiness, New Beginnings
On another Easter Sunday long ago, my family posed for this photo on Garfield Ave in Southgate, CA. You may guess the little boy in the front row teasing his older sister? Yep, moi.
Life was a long journey to be enjoyed, filled with adventure, love, perhaps do like my father had done; save America in another war worth sacrifices...
NOW... It has been an adventure, and filled with love, sorrow, pain, fear, freedom, service, learning, loss, fulfillment, and pleasure. The totality of it all which I look for to sum it up? Happiness.
EASTER provides a day of reflection and new beginnings. If one word comes to mind most readily it is hope. Hope for...?
New life, new beginnings, gratitude for the meaning of a risen Christ for believer and non-believer. For hope is what starts the journey, one step in front of the other toward faith, growth, fulfillment, and finally arriving to what a sometimes elusive word sums up: "Happiness."
Sometimes life's road is strewn with boulders, and other times you find you must simply fight adverities and adversaries for cherished dreams. Which brings me to where I've been, what I'm doing, and why I care about the freedom to "hope" which Easter always resurrects. Bear with a political observation. The reason for making it will become apparent...
"Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Happiness:" This phrase from the Declaration of Independence was wrongly quoted by US Congressman Hare of Illinois two days ago as the reason he voted for a nationalized medicine bill, which "mandates" Federal controls, purchasing upon threat of penalty to states and individuals, expressly contrary to the spirit of freedoms implied and expressed by our two founding documents.
He claimed the phrase came from the US Constitution which "I don't really care about." Here is a man who can't identify the difference between our nation's founding documents, and doesn't "care" (his words.) Here is a man whose party represents many good and loyal Americans who do "care." Here is a man willing to "force" a bankrupting concept (2.5 trillion dollars to an 8 trillion national debt)upon a people which in all opinion polls overwhelmingly rejects "force" as a road to American "happiness." I could go on with statistics and actual Constitutional law to show how far we have slipped into near "ruler" mentality. Not the point right now.
The point? Our spiritual and religious rights are inexorably linked to documents which a "ruling party" insists are not as important as the people their decisions will serve. This is backwards.
Saving the Constitution: It has become apparent that if any of the hopes and dreams of the little family in the 1957 photo have been realized, they have been based only upon freedoms our countrymen, women and wise founders sacrificed many years and lives for.
With so many doing so much, including giving even their lives for American freedoms, "could I do less?" I have asked myself. I have determined this is a fight and stand which, should I avoid in order to simply "enjoy" private peace-filled moments and my own happiness, I would later regret.
I've been "missing in action" in these "Straight From the Heart" blog posts for four months as I pursued publishing, distribution, and alliances needed for my business which is engaged in the fight for the heart and soul of America.
As publisher of the #1 Amazon bestseller THE FIVE THOUSAND YEAR LEAP with foreword by Glenn Beck, and the emerging bestselling digital software library titled, US CONSTITUTION COACH KIT, I've been buried in leadership and administration details.
Writing is my first love. I thank all my friends who have been fans of my books, posts and musings. I promise to return weekly now with insights, opinion, observations, and encouragement for life I hope will inspire the reader. I will not focus upon much in politics here, but send links to blogs on other pages where I have been invited to contribute my thoughts about political times and items of constitutional, cultural, and national interest.
Here, at Straight from the Heart I will continue to pursue my heartfelt goal; messages of inspiration and encouragement. Which brings me full circle to...
EASTER leaves me no choice but to declare unequivocally this: I believe in Christ.
I offer this because it provides me HOPE in what his life and messages offer.
HAPPINESS has not been the product of a painless life nor an easy path. It is a secret that anyone, anywhere can learn in spite of the long day of trouble they endure.
New Beginnings: Between "little boy" in the photo and newly minted "senior citizen" the freedom to believe as I desire and act accordingly, has produced satisfaction and still yields excitement to achieve new goals, with the attending "joie de vivre."
I invite you to join me. No matter where you may be in life, whatever may be your dreams, have hope, and never give up on life, our country, God, and the design and purpose for our existence; happiness.
James M. Pratt
Next Week: "Opposites Attract - Why happiness is aways right around the corner."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
MORE or LESS GOVERNMENT - You Decide
EVERY NOW AND THEN...Humor Identifies the Real Problem
RONALD W. REAGAN supported a lean government, less bureacracy, more cooperation between what already existed in lieu of creating "more." Watch this, enjoy the obvious, and invite the humor to clarify the underlying problem:
RONALD W. REAGAN supported a lean government, less bureacracy, more cooperation between what already existed in lieu of creating "more." Watch this, enjoy the obvious, and invite the humor to clarify the underlying problem:
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
FREEDOM, A NEW YEAR & WE THE PEOPLE
A STORY OF LOYALTY TO AMERICA & FREEDOM!
For two centuries people from all over the world have considered it a privilege to be called an "American." In this first post of the New Year 2010, I want to take you back to my nephew Grant Pratt's second deployment to Iraq and a letter he wrote home.
Consider our American freedom as you read; a freedom which I believe is under assault by fellow Americans in our nation's capitol. I speak of those liberties and fundamental citizen rights and guarantees built into the US Constitution by the Founding Fathers who, with wisdom, looked forward to our day hoping we might appreciate and safeguard their thoughtful work and sacrifices.
Read with gratitude for freedom, but also ponder on what you must do in a new war, here at home. This war is one of idealogy and fundamental principles requiring American citizens to stand up with a constitutional education, and tell elected leaders what "We the People..." Expect of them as their "employers."
"BURY MY HEART IN AMERICA"
Sergeant Grant Pratt, III is tonight on his third tour of duty in Iraq. At the time of this touching diary entry he was on his second tour, a Platoon Sergeant with the 1s Cavalry supervising 23 other medics and an aid station in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Baghdad. This letter home was sent September 11, 2007. In his own words he describes how one Iraqi has given him hope:
I wanted to take this opportunity to let everyone know of an experience I had here that really affected me.
I have wondered over the last seven months of my deployment if this war can be won militarily, or if there is any hope that this country can embrace a democratic government. In my eyes the people seem more intent on themselves and their contempt for other each other than making things work here.
With the things I have seen, experiences, and watching friends die I kind of believe that our endeavor here is pointless. I did not believe that there was a single Iraqi in this country that really cared if the violence stopped or that there were any that did not want to kill every American they see. Then I had something happen the other day that (did not change my mind necessarily) gave me some hope.
About a month ago an Iraqi came to my aid station; he is one of the Iraqis that works with us as an interpreter. His name is Sam and he is 20 years old. He came to my aid station with a severely broken and lacerated finger after it was shut in the 300 pound door of an armored vehicle. I spent about two hours cleaning his finger and suturing it, all the while making small talk. He continually told me how he wanted to come to America and join our Army so he could come back and do more for Iraq. He told me of how he loved Americans and all he wants is to become one.
I listened and talked with him until I was finished with my procedure and wished him well, and in my mind dismissed most of what he said as just words and never thought much else of it.
On September 9th it came across the radio that one of our vehicles had been hit by an explosion and we had one soldier killed, two wounded, as well as the interpreter that was with them. I put my gear on and went with the squadron commander to the hospital to check on our injured men.
It was quite a gruesome sight. First I saw my medic, who had minor wounds, then went to the young man who had served as the gunner. He had received blast wounds to the leg which had torn away a majority of his outer thigh. I then went to view the body of our fallen brother who died due to a head injury. We helped console the other members of the platoon as this was the second Soldier they had lost in five days. Overwhelmed by the experience, we walked in to see the interpreter, which turned out to be Sam.
Sam had suffered severe lacerations to the head, resulting in over 40 sutures and staples. He had a small skull fracture and a small brain hemorrhage. Despite his severe injuries he would only ask how the others were doing. He was covered in blood and in extreme pain and just wanted to be sure that the soldiers he was with were okay.
Once satisfied they would be taken care of, he took my commanders hand and said, "If I die please take my heart to the United States and bury it there." We assured him his injuries were not mortal and left him in the care of the doctors at the hospital and told him we would be back the next day to see him.
The next morning I received a call from the hospital telling me that Sam was going to be released to an Iraqi hospital, but that he did not want to go. He feared that because of his ethnic background that he would be denied treatment and sent away. I told them I would call back in a few minutes and that we would come and get him and continue his care at my aid station. After 20 minutes of talking to the commander and making arrangements, I called the hospital and told them we would be there shortly to pick him up when they informed me that they had already released him, and had given him money to get to the Iraqi hospital. Needless to say, we were a little upset.
We began searching the area around the hospital and could not locate Sam. We were worried that he would fall into the wrong hands as any Iraqi that works with the Americans are often killed because they are aiding the enemy.
Three hours later we got a call from the gate to our base that Sam was there. He had walked from the hospital to our base, about seven miles in flip flops and pajamas, despite fairly significant injuries. My medics brought him to the aid station and as we laid him on the bed I looked at him and said "You are a pretty tough guy." He grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "I knew if I got here you would take care of me, Sergeant."
Tears filled the corner of my eyes and I replied "You bet I will." He then said, "I had to get back here for two reasons. First the memorial service for Johnson (the soldier we had lost a few days prior) is tonight and I cannot miss that. We also have an important mission tomorrow and they need me." I informed him he would make it to the service, but would not be going on patrol anytime soon. He argued for a short time then agreed that it would be in his best interest to relax for a couple of weeks before going outside the wire, but still insisted his guys (the U.S. Soldiers from his platoon) needed him.
Later that night I sat two rows behind Sam as we paid tribute to our fallen brother and watched as he mourned and cried with the rest of us. I realized he is as committed as the rest of us and is considered a brother to us.
I just got done rechecking his wounds and talking with him. He still insists on going back out with his guys because they need him. He talked about his dreams of living in California some day. I have to say I admire this guy. He displays courage like no other Iraqi I have seen and in some ways made me think again of my views.
Despite what you see and hear on the news, there are Iraqis like Sam that are dedicated to seeing their country succeed. There may not be many, but some sacrifice along side us with a simple dream of their country being better off, or like Sam of being an American citizen. It gives me some hope that things will eventually work out here, and that someday Sam will be an American citizen, because he has earned that right.
Grant
For two centuries people from all over the world have considered it a privilege to be called an "American." In this first post of the New Year 2010, I want to take you back to my nephew Grant Pratt's second deployment to Iraq and a letter he wrote home.
Consider our American freedom as you read; a freedom which I believe is under assault by fellow Americans in our nation's capitol. I speak of those liberties and fundamental citizen rights and guarantees built into the US Constitution by the Founding Fathers who, with wisdom, looked forward to our day hoping we might appreciate and safeguard their thoughtful work and sacrifices.
Read with gratitude for freedom, but also ponder on what you must do in a new war, here at home. This war is one of idealogy and fundamental principles requiring American citizens to stand up with a constitutional education, and tell elected leaders what "We the People..." Expect of them as their "employers."
"BURY MY HEART IN AMERICA"
Sergeant Grant Pratt, III is tonight on his third tour of duty in Iraq. At the time of this touching diary entry he was on his second tour, a Platoon Sergeant with the 1s Cavalry supervising 23 other medics and an aid station in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Baghdad. This letter home was sent September 11, 2007. In his own words he describes how one Iraqi has given him hope:
I wanted to take this opportunity to let everyone know of an experience I had here that really affected me.
I have wondered over the last seven months of my deployment if this war can be won militarily, or if there is any hope that this country can embrace a democratic government. In my eyes the people seem more intent on themselves and their contempt for other each other than making things work here.
With the things I have seen, experiences, and watching friends die I kind of believe that our endeavor here is pointless. I did not believe that there was a single Iraqi in this country that really cared if the violence stopped or that there were any that did not want to kill every American they see. Then I had something happen the other day that (did not change my mind necessarily) gave me some hope.
About a month ago an Iraqi came to my aid station; he is one of the Iraqis that works with us as an interpreter. His name is Sam and he is 20 years old. He came to my aid station with a severely broken and lacerated finger after it was shut in the 300 pound door of an armored vehicle. I spent about two hours cleaning his finger and suturing it, all the while making small talk. He continually told me how he wanted to come to America and join our Army so he could come back and do more for Iraq. He told me of how he loved Americans and all he wants is to become one.
I listened and talked with him until I was finished with my procedure and wished him well, and in my mind dismissed most of what he said as just words and never thought much else of it.
On September 9th it came across the radio that one of our vehicles had been hit by an explosion and we had one soldier killed, two wounded, as well as the interpreter that was with them. I put my gear on and went with the squadron commander to the hospital to check on our injured men.
It was quite a gruesome sight. First I saw my medic, who had minor wounds, then went to the young man who had served as the gunner. He had received blast wounds to the leg which had torn away a majority of his outer thigh. I then went to view the body of our fallen brother who died due to a head injury. We helped console the other members of the platoon as this was the second Soldier they had lost in five days. Overwhelmed by the experience, we walked in to see the interpreter, which turned out to be Sam.
Sam had suffered severe lacerations to the head, resulting in over 40 sutures and staples. He had a small skull fracture and a small brain hemorrhage. Despite his severe injuries he would only ask how the others were doing. He was covered in blood and in extreme pain and just wanted to be sure that the soldiers he was with were okay.
Once satisfied they would be taken care of, he took my commanders hand and said, "If I die please take my heart to the United States and bury it there." We assured him his injuries were not mortal and left him in the care of the doctors at the hospital and told him we would be back the next day to see him.
The next morning I received a call from the hospital telling me that Sam was going to be released to an Iraqi hospital, but that he did not want to go. He feared that because of his ethnic background that he would be denied treatment and sent away. I told them I would call back in a few minutes and that we would come and get him and continue his care at my aid station. After 20 minutes of talking to the commander and making arrangements, I called the hospital and told them we would be there shortly to pick him up when they informed me that they had already released him, and had given him money to get to the Iraqi hospital. Needless to say, we were a little upset.
We began searching the area around the hospital and could not locate Sam. We were worried that he would fall into the wrong hands as any Iraqi that works with the Americans are often killed because they are aiding the enemy.
Three hours later we got a call from the gate to our base that Sam was there. He had walked from the hospital to our base, about seven miles in flip flops and pajamas, despite fairly significant injuries. My medics brought him to the aid station and as we laid him on the bed I looked at him and said "You are a pretty tough guy." He grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "I knew if I got here you would take care of me, Sergeant."
Tears filled the corner of my eyes and I replied "You bet I will." He then said, "I had to get back here for two reasons. First the memorial service for Johnson (the soldier we had lost a few days prior) is tonight and I cannot miss that. We also have an important mission tomorrow and they need me." I informed him he would make it to the service, but would not be going on patrol anytime soon. He argued for a short time then agreed that it would be in his best interest to relax for a couple of weeks before going outside the wire, but still insisted his guys (the U.S. Soldiers from his platoon) needed him.
Later that night I sat two rows behind Sam as we paid tribute to our fallen brother and watched as he mourned and cried with the rest of us. I realized he is as committed as the rest of us and is considered a brother to us.
I just got done rechecking his wounds and talking with him. He still insists on going back out with his guys because they need him. He talked about his dreams of living in California some day. I have to say I admire this guy. He displays courage like no other Iraqi I have seen and in some ways made me think again of my views.
Despite what you see and hear on the news, there are Iraqis like Sam that are dedicated to seeing their country succeed. There may not be many, but some sacrifice along side us with a simple dream of their country being better off, or like Sam of being an American citizen. It gives me some hope that things will eventually work out here, and that someday Sam will be an American citizen, because he has earned that right.
Grant
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