Six months ago, I sent my brother off to war. The week before he was expected to deploy, I was called home for a family portrait. As my family looked into the photographer's camera, our automatic smiles could not hide the concern that festered beneath. Our eyes stared into the unknown. We were sending him off to an undisclosed location in Afghanistan to perform classified missions. Would he end his life in a far-off desert only to return in a closed casket? Would his homecoming be on a bloodied hospital bed? We did not know.
For my older brother, joining the Army always seemed natural. He was the kind of Spartan child who based his early years around G.I. Joes and convinced his younger brothers to express our love by firing BB-guns at each other. However, it was not until he saw the Twin Towers burning on Sept. 11 as a Tufts University student, that he joined the Army ROTC during the call to defend freedom that followed.
As his commission as a combat officer approached and America's commitment in Afghanistan and Iraq grew bloodier, I became concerned. Concern easily progressed into fear. Fear expressed itself in anger. Why was he doing this? Isn't this someone else's job? Why is he putting me through this? How could he be so selfish?
I found the answer to my questions grounded in the same roots as all honorable men. The answer: love. As his deployment overseas neared, I visited my older brother. Toward the end of my stay, he grabbed my shoulder and spoke with a momentous seriousness. He drew my eyes to his and said, "I joined the Army so no one else has to do it." Tightening his grip he said, "Remember if anything should happen, I want you to explain to everyone that I did it to protect the family because I love you all."
I had come to see that soldiers fall in love with their country and everything in it. They march into combat with a courageous devotion to America.They sacrifice their innocence and their lives out of fidelity to freedom. They charge down the muzzle of the enemy's rifle into harm's way for love of those around them. I am sure the heat of combat strips the soldier down to his core to reveal the truest American citizen.
I once wrote to my older brother expressing how I wanted to measure up to his service. I wanted to grab a helmet and join him out in the desert. "No," he wrote from his undisclosed military base in Afghanistan. "You might not realize it but you do just as much good helping other people at home. It doesn't matter who you help because, in the end, we're all people."
My older brother seemed to reach through the print and communicate to me the essence of service. America needs men and women to offer themselves as living sacrifices. Some may call them volunteers. Others may call them public servants. They are all guardians of human decency, sacrificing day in and day out to make the world a better place. They advance the flag of patriotism through the betterment of their neighbors.
Bearing the burden of a family member overseas has not been easy. Life seems perpetually empty. I constantly make family reservations for six, instead of five. I would like to see my older brother, if only I knew where he was.
More troubling, many people have not made the necessary division between the soldiers who fight wars, right or wrong, and the civilian politicians who decide them. Today, America's current conflicts have become so unpopular that some will even say publicly that they do not support our troops abroad.
Through it all, the resounding emotion has been one of simple pride. My older brother answered the call to serve with courage and honorably seeks to defend our nation from danger. There is great pride in that.
With all of the current political controversy, the pages of history will surely evaluate the merits and the justice of today's wars with great clarity. Ultimately, we must remember what - right or wrong - these American soldiers fought for us.
James Ng is a Heights staff columnist. He welcomes comments at jng@bcheights.com. Six months ago, I sent my brother off to war. The week before he was expected to deploy, I was called home for a family portrait. As my family looked into the photographer's camera, our automatic smiles could not hide the concern that festered beneath. Our eyes stared into the unknown. We were sending him off to an undisclosed location in Afghanistan to perform classified missions. Would he end his life in a far-off desert only to return in a closed casket? Would his homecoming be on a bloodied hospital bed? We did not know.
For my older brother, joining the Army always seemed natural. He was the kind of Spartan child who based his early years around G.I. Joes and convinced his younger brothers to express our love by firing BB-guns at each other. However, it was not until he saw the Twin Towers burning on Sept. 11 as a Tufts University student, that he joined the Army ROTC during the call to defend freedom that followed.
As his commission as a combat officer approached and America's commitment in Afghanistan and Iraq grew bloodier, I became concerned. Concern easily progressed into fear. Fear expressed itself in anger. Why was he doing this? Isn't this someone else's job? Why is he putting me through this? How could he be so selfish?
I found the answer to my questions grounded in the same roots as all honorable men. The answer: love. As his deployment overseas neared, I visited my older brother. Toward the end of my stay, he grabbed my shoulder and spoke with a momentous seriousness. He drew my eyes to his and said, "I joined the Army so no one else has to do it." Tightening his grip he said, "Remember if anything should happen, I want you to explain to everyone that I did it to protect the family because I love you all."
I had come to see that soldiers fall in love with their country and everything in it. They march into combat with a courageous devotion to America.They sacrifice their innocence and their lives out of fidelity to freedom. They charge down the muzzle of the enemy's rifle into harm's way for love of those around them. I am sure the heat of combat strips the soldier down to his core to reveal the truest American citizen.
I once wrote to my older brother expressing how I wanted to measure up to his service. I wanted to grab a helmet and join him out in the desert. "No," he wrote from his undisclosed military base in Afghanistan. "You might not realize it but you do just as much good helping other people at home. It doesn't matter who you help because, in the end, we're all people."
My older brother seemed to reach through the print and communicate to me the essence of service. America needs men and women to offer themselves as living sacrifices. Some may call them volunteers. Others may call them public servants. They are all guardians of human decency, sacrificing day in and day out to make the world a better place. They advance the flag of patriotism through the betterment of their neighbors.
Bearing the burden of a family member overseas has not been easy. Life seems perpetually empty. I constantly make family reservations for six, instead of five. I would like to see my older brother, if only I knew where he was.
More troubling, many people have not made the necessary division between the soldiers who fight wars, right or wrong, and the civilian politicians who decide them. Today, America's current conflicts have become so unpopular that some will even say publicly that they do not support our troops abroad.
Through it all, the resounding emotion has been one of simple pride. My older brother answered the call to serve with courage and honorably seeks to defend our nation from danger. There is great pride in that.
With all of the current political controversy, the pages of history will surely evaluate the merits and the justice of today's wars with great clarity. Ultimately, we must remember what - right or wrong - these American soldiers fought for us.
James Ng is a Heights staff columnist. He welcomes comments at jng@bcheights.com.
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