Last night, on the five-year anniversary of the United States’ invasion of Iraq, my Marine Corp son and I joined a crowd under swollen clouds in front of the Redding Library.
We were there for the dedication of a permanent Gulf War monument to honor those who’d served in that era, which includes now, and Lord only knows how much longer.
My son’s name is on that monument, as are hundreds of other local men and women who sacrificed so much for the rest of us.
Speakers spoke. A young woman sang. The audience applauded. A clergyman blessed the monument. Children fidgeted. Young military men and women cut the yellow ribbon tied around the granite.
Meanwhile, roughly 1 percent of our American population continues to make 100 percent of the tangible wartime sacrifice.
Toward the front stood a family who’d lost their son (nephew, grandson, brother). Toward the back was another family, whose son is missing. They’ve organized fund-raisers to find him.
Nearby, some kids whooped and played ball.
Blissfully unaware.
