And They Can't Take That Away.
On the 4th of July, two of my friends and I headed down to San Antonio. We had no desire for fireworks, no desire for flag-waving and no desire for red, white and blue. It was my final goodbye to two of my friends whom I met because of the war, and now, because of the war, they were leaving. Our only desire was to go to the last remaining piano bar in Central Texas, sing our hearts out and put an end to whatever it was that we had all just been through.
So we did.
The minute we walked in, the pianist segued into a sad melody that I immediately recognized. "Guys," I said, "they're playing it."
"If tomorrow all the things were gone,
I’d worked for all my life."
E-dub's face fell and grew almost incredulous. People in the crowd stood up and squared their shoulders. Lighters flickered, cell phones were held up into the cavernous, dark ceiling.
"And I had to start again,
with just my children and my wife..."
We looked around dumbfounded at the patrons. Men with buzz-cuts raised their glasses, alcohol sloshing over the edges.
"They have no idea," Cash said somberly.
"We should go," E-dub said.
"You guys just got in for free on a military discount," I said. "I had to pay cover. I'm not leaving."
We debated this while stirring our drinks anxiously, until a table opened up, right near the front, in the perfect place to the left of the pianist where I could watch the keys rise and fall. We made our way over and sat down, and began writing requests on a pad of paper in an attempt to divert the song selection from Lee Greenwood to Billy Joel.
The piano bar has a genius money-making scheme where you can pay to have a phrase written on a mirror behind the pianists in white window chalk. To get the phrase removed, you have to up the ante by paying a few bucks more. Phrase after phrase went up:
48th AHC Blue Stars Rule! CAV can't hang!
God Bless America!
Never forget 9/11, the FDNY and NYPD. -Queens, NY
In Memory of SGT Gomez - OIF II
We sat there, trying to come up with something we could say that wouldn't sound angry and bitter. E-dub was our litmus test. "It's July 4th, guys," she kept saying, almost like she was trying to convince herself. She overruled all of our anti-war messages, all of our snide commentary on the military, so finally we stopped trying. Then Cash turned to me and said "What about just 'OBAMA?'"
Perfect. Obama, a message of hope on July 4th, and our chance to promote him in a bar to some swing voters. I wrote down the word "OBAMA" on a piece of paper, and E-dub approved. We pooled our money and E-dub stood up to courier it to the piano.
The pianist stopped between sets and grabbed the wad of cash and piece of paper. He took one look at it, shook his head hurriedly, then handed it off to the cocktail waitress. "Nothing political," he said, and struck up "Cheeseburger in Paradise."
Not too particular, not too precise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
When, I wonder, did politics become unpatriotic?
I haven't fought in Iraq, and wouldn't. But I can tell you that there is nothing patriotic about ripping American families apart at the seams for fifteen month deployments to places where we have allegedly accomplished our mission. There's nothing patriotic about twenty-six year old men sleeping with loaded guns between the wall and their mattress; behind paintings; under kitchen sinks. I find nothing patriotic about them answering the door with a gun in their hand when caught off guard by someone who happens to be a Girl Scout selling cookies, or having intricate escape routes planned for "home invasions." If you think that PTSD is just an acronym, I suggest you attempt living with a Iraq veteran --hell, any veteran I'd imagine-- for a week. PTSD is a caliber on a gun.
So I'm sorry that on this 4th of July I found nothing patriotic about "We love you Pfc. Smith! Going to Iraq in 2 Weeks For Our Freedom!" I found it sad, I found it soul-crushing, and to this day I find it to be the worst form of a political chess-game I have seen in my limited time on the planet.
It seems too easy to blame George W. Bush for turning politics into blemish on the American spirit, but he is the decider, and he decided this for me. Bush has made it impossible to be patriotic unless you are boldly shedding blood or unopposed watching others do it for you. And in the process, he destroyed the world view of the Presidency -- making it a game of deceit and mismanagement rather than courage and diplomacy. What a world has he created, what a legacy has he bestowed on us -- on me, on Americans -- that politics is rejected on July 4th in order to promote the propaganda of a failed foreign policy.
While the pianist played "Proud to Be an American," I reflected on how patriotically severed those in dissent have become, with phantom pains that will last long into the next administration. And so there was nothing I could do on July 4th; there's no morphine for that kind of wound. I looked at my two wartime friends, wanting to leave but unable to do so on their last night in Texas, and confronted their pain for the last time.
"I’d thank my lucky stars,
to be living here today."
'Cause the flag still stands for freedom,
and they can’t take that away."
So we did.
The minute we walked in, the pianist segued into a sad melody that I immediately recognized. "Guys," I said, "they're playing it."
"If tomorrow all the things were gone,
I’d worked for all my life."
E-dub's face fell and grew almost incredulous. People in the crowd stood up and squared their shoulders. Lighters flickered, cell phones were held up into the cavernous, dark ceiling.
"And I had to start again,
with just my children and my wife..."
We looked around dumbfounded at the patrons. Men with buzz-cuts raised their glasses, alcohol sloshing over the edges.
"They have no idea," Cash said somberly.
"We should go," E-dub said.
"You guys just got in for free on a military discount," I said. "I had to pay cover. I'm not leaving."
We debated this while stirring our drinks anxiously, until a table opened up, right near the front, in the perfect place to the left of the pianist where I could watch the keys rise and fall. We made our way over and sat down, and began writing requests on a pad of paper in an attempt to divert the song selection from Lee Greenwood to Billy Joel.
The piano bar has a genius money-making scheme where you can pay to have a phrase written on a mirror behind the pianists in white window chalk. To get the phrase removed, you have to up the ante by paying a few bucks more. Phrase after phrase went up:
48th AHC Blue Stars Rule! CAV can't hang!
God Bless America!
Never forget 9/11, the FDNY and NYPD. -Queens, NY
In Memory of SGT Gomez - OIF II
We sat there, trying to come up with something we could say that wouldn't sound angry and bitter. E-dub was our litmus test. "It's July 4th, guys," she kept saying, almost like she was trying to convince herself. She overruled all of our anti-war messages, all of our snide commentary on the military, so finally we stopped trying. Then Cash turned to me and said "What about just 'OBAMA?'"
Perfect. Obama, a message of hope on July 4th, and our chance to promote him in a bar to some swing voters. I wrote down the word "OBAMA" on a piece of paper, and E-dub approved. We pooled our money and E-dub stood up to courier it to the piano.
The pianist stopped between sets and grabbed the wad of cash and piece of paper. He took one look at it, shook his head hurriedly, then handed it off to the cocktail waitress. "Nothing political," he said, and struck up "Cheeseburger in Paradise."
Not too particular, not too precise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
When, I wonder, did politics become unpatriotic?
I haven't fought in Iraq, and wouldn't. But I can tell you that there is nothing patriotic about ripping American families apart at the seams for fifteen month deployments to places where we have allegedly accomplished our mission. There's nothing patriotic about twenty-six year old men sleeping with loaded guns between the wall and their mattress; behind paintings; under kitchen sinks. I find nothing patriotic about them answering the door with a gun in their hand when caught off guard by someone who happens to be a Girl Scout selling cookies, or having intricate escape routes planned for "home invasions." If you think that PTSD is just an acronym, I suggest you attempt living with a Iraq veteran --hell, any veteran I'd imagine-- for a week. PTSD is a caliber on a gun.
So I'm sorry that on this 4th of July I found nothing patriotic about "We love you Pfc. Smith! Going to Iraq in 2 Weeks For Our Freedom!" I found it sad, I found it soul-crushing, and to this day I find it to be the worst form of a political chess-game I have seen in my limited time on the planet.
It seems too easy to blame George W. Bush for turning politics into blemish on the American spirit, but he is the decider, and he decided this for me. Bush has made it impossible to be patriotic unless you are boldly shedding blood or unopposed watching others do it for you. And in the process, he destroyed the world view of the Presidency -- making it a game of deceit and mismanagement rather than courage and diplomacy. What a world has he created, what a legacy has he bestowed on us -- on me, on Americans -- that politics is rejected on July 4th in order to promote the propaganda of a failed foreign policy.
While the pianist played "Proud to Be an American," I reflected on how patriotically severed those in dissent have become, with phantom pains that will last long into the next administration. And so there was nothing I could do on July 4th; there's no morphine for that kind of wound. I looked at my two wartime friends, wanting to leave but unable to do so on their last night in Texas, and confronted their pain for the last time.
"I’d thank my lucky stars,
to be living here today."
'Cause the flag still stands for freedom,
and they can’t take that away."
Labels:
bush sucks,
Cash$,
deployment,
E-DUB,
Iraq,
piano
|
*sigh*
word.
per MR's request, i recreate here my inital response to this post:
i think its quite a sad commentary on the state of affairs these days that i hate that song. if they'd applied it to wwII or something i'd be all about it.
seriously, i remember being a little girl and loving that song, being so proud to hear it. arg.
Wow, MR, you just articulated the seething emotions I have surrounding anything "patriotic" these days. I see our flag and I recoil. It's so unfair that the past eight years have stolen from me such a large part of my inherent love of country. I hate that when traveling abroad I mumble "the U.S." when asked from where I hail. I hate it even more that I can't dissociate by at least being the proud Texan, because Shrub has sullied that as well. How long until November, how long until there's once again positive action which will allow me to once again proudly claim America, Texas, as my home? Thanks for your brilliant words.