Proud, head held high wearing the uniform that got me through the war. I survived a lot to get back so while the sins were high I wasn't as fazed as I should have been. That was 1945.
Then came Korea…1952.
Then again came war yet again, not like in the 40s, no twenty years had come and gone. Attitudes changed, ideals, sense of purpose, what was right and wrong in the eyes of my people.
Make love not war.
How I wish it was that simple to put down a rifle and pick up a flower instead. To show that in a world I helped create it was that easy to flip a switch.
Make love not war.
But, but how was it my fault? I didn't want to fight, to wander if I'd make it home again. I was tired, so very tired but I wouldn't know how tired until I came home. No one greeted me like before, no smiles, thankful I returned. Glares, that's what I received instead.
Make love not war.
I was called a killer, murder, fascist, rapist, if I wore metals I'm sure they would have called me a pig, a monster. Something to hate, to loathe and there. Right there, I learned what my people truly thought of me. Wearing my uniform among many of my people I was spat on. Then like that he was gone, my face a look of utter shock and shame was left standing in that crowded airport. What had I done? Nothing…. I went to war few agreed with, drafted no less and this was my thank you for coming back alive.
Make love not war.
Today if I listen carefully I can still hear it but I wonder if the true meaning has been lost along the way.
A/N: Like in the three mile Island story I used stories told to me about the time. While some believe this was nothing but an urban legend there are hundred of cases that beg to differ.