twofingersandathumb

The pretty one in the middle is completing her first tour of duty in Iraq. The photo was taken in Al Anbar province.

The following post is written by Corporal Sarah Ellis, USMC, age 19, currently deployed in the Al Anbar region of Iraq. 
A Marine in my unit receive a gift box from Nancy Reza, a member of the Writers Guild of America, with a letter inside that read as follows:

“This gift box was sent to you from members of the Writers Guild of America, West. [We] represent writers in the motion picture, broadcast, cable, and new media industries in both entertainment and news. We, the writers, are on strike - because the conglomerate corporations that own the studios and networks won’t give us a fair deal for the use of the television shows and movies that we create and write.

“They’re not very good at sharing. But we are good at sharing, and that’s why we got your name from AnySoldier.com - took a look at your list, and put this gift box together for you - knowing that you will share, too!

“Each box is made with lots of love. We keep you in our prayers - and know that you will be home soon!

“If you get a minute - let us know you’ve received the box! Many thanks to you - and please be safe.”

I picked up the above letter off of a desk. It had been placed there, and probably forgotten about, after the accompanying care package was opened by a fellow Marine. No, the care package was not mine. And yes, I am nosey…very, very nosey. I wouldn’t be good at my job if I wasn’t. It was one of the first things my Staff Sergeant taught me. And no, I wasn’t invading anyone’s privacy. When Marines and soldiers and sailors get a care package or letter, it’s often shared with everyone in the platoon. We have bulletin boards cluttered with letters from people we don’t know. They’re put there for everyone to read.  

When I first read this letter I was taken aback by what I saw, by what they were saying. I didn’t really care at first. But then I took a second look at the letter. Some of the words were italicized, and it struck me then that it wasn’t what they were saying it was how they were saying it. 

So here’s the jist of my whole interpretation of the letter. They were acting like little kids, talking about sharing and how the big corporations weren’t being fair. They were whining and complaining about not getting what they want. Then it hit me, they weren’t sending the package out of he kindness of their hearts. They did it to make a

political statement to us here in Iraq who put our lives in harm’s way so that grown men and women can whine, complain, protest and act like kindergartners because they aren’t getting the pay they think they deserve for their hard work.

Well boohoo. I don’t get paid enough to work 16-hour days and pull all nighters only to work again the next day. I don’t get paid enough to put my life on line for people who protest for things that I don’t believe in or even care about. I don’t get paid enough to spend time away from my family for months at a time in a foreign country, or even days or weeks away from my family even when I’m stateside, so I can train for the mission. And guess what? You, Writer’s Guild, can protest all you want for better pay and higher benefits. You know what happens to me if I protest? I get tried for treason.

Here’s something else: I, as well as other Marines, DON”T CARE. All you are accomplishing by striking is to create an angry bunch of out-of-work people stateside, and a bunch of disgruntled Marines in country because we can’t watch a new episode of Heroes or Lost. We don’t care about your wants out here, or the fact that you aren’t getting what you want from your job. Suck it the f**k up, and deal with it. 

My daughter, a lance corporal in the US Marine Corps, is going to Iraq while all her friends are going to the mall. The significance of this divergence is not lost on her, nor on me, nor on any of those who are going with her.

Our lives are shaped by the choices we make. My daughter has made a difficult choice, has taken the harder road and because of it stands on higher ground. She does not belong to herself anymore; instead, she is government property, and lives and moves at its beck and call. She has chosen to give up her rights and to lay her life down for those friends who are headed for the mall. When she returns, how will she compare to them? How will their lives shape up compared to hers? How will they shape the lives of others? How will she? Which of them will respect freedom and understand its privilege and its price as she will? Which of them will appreciate service and sacrifice, and know satisfaction?

Her friends don’t get it. I observe them and it’s obvious that they don’t. They don’t understand that there is more to life than the abundance of things and the number of tunes one carries on his iPod. They don’t understand that we are meant for so much more than consuming stuff. They don’t understand that even the opportunity to have an abundance of things is worth fighting for and even dying for.

I am pleased with my daughter and the choices she has made. She’s given up her life, at least for the moment, so that her friends can go on enjoying theirs. They’re worth it to her.

I hope eventually they’ll get it.