Paying the Butcher’s Bill

This is not an easy post to write, and I’ll say up front that I know I cannot do the subject matter justice.

This is about a guy named Stan (NOT his real name) and his four sons…

Last Friday, I was just too pooped to pop. I’d been doing some renovation here at home evenings and in “grab time” as I could all week. Fortunately, for the really heavy stuff (like multiple moves of Wonder Woman’s upright grand piano), Son & Heir was around to help. Usually. (Picking up the flooring was a different story, but it’s all good.)

So, too pooped to pop also meant I was too pooped to cook. And not feeling like “eating out” eating out. So… we bundled into Ferdinand (the Taurus) and headed outa county for some decent fast food, which around here meant one thing: THE fast food joint. Now, there are several of this type within driving range of twc (say, 40 miles or so), but rthe nearest one is the best one. Truly better food and… nice atmosphere. In a fast food joint! (Amazing, really.) And the reason is “Stan”–the manager.

Recently, though, “Stan’s” been looking tired, worn. Usually energetic, highly personable, a guy folks think of as a friend on merely short aquaintance. A great people person. I commented to Wonder Woman about the changes in “Stan’s” affect, and we wondered what had been going on with him since we’d last been in (which, as we looked back, had actually been several months).

We’d finished our meal (and it was good food–again, amazing for a fast food joint) and were nursing our sodas, just relaxing, when I engaged “Stan” in conversation while getting some refills. We talked a bit at the machine, then he came and joined us at our table.

Lotta talk about his work, his boss making him take his accumulated vacation time, etc., and then he kinda eased into things. You see, one of the reasons his boss was making him take his accumulated vacation time is that his grandson, whom he’s never seen, and his daughter-in-law, whom he’s never met, are due in the U.S. in a couple of weeks.

From Iraq.

It seems that one of his sons met an Iraqi girl while stationed there, married her and had a son of his own. So “Stan’s” a grandfather, now.

Which takes a little of the sting out of losing two of his sons in Iraq this year, one of whom made him a grandfather.

Right. “Stan’s” retired Army (his MOS was all over the map, but trust me, “special forces” was in there). His four sons are Army. Three were stationed in Iraq, one in Afganistan.

All are back, now, although two returned in caskets. This year.

You know the thing that would be strange to folks on “the left” who proclaim their caring for the guys in Iraq (but no surprise to anyone who’s met even one or two guys like “Stan” and his sons) is that “Stan” harbors no ill will toward the military, the administration or “the war” as a result of his loss.

And his two sons, from his report, are itching to get back in theater.

It’s people like “Stan” and his family who are paying MORE than their share of the cost in blood and real treasure who have real moral authority, not people like “Mother Sheehan” who is, by all evidence, enjoying her loss no end.

Four sons. Two gone. A newly arrived grandson and daughter-in-law to care for.

“Stan” and his sons, and all those like them, are true American heroes.

Pray for them and families all over this country just like them.

Note a father who holds a different opinion (and how Bruce deals with it) at Conservative Cat.

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N.B. Because I was not even thinking about blogging during the hour or so we sat visiting, I did not ask “Stan” for permission to relate this, and so I am not using his name or even directly identifying the very recognizable “fast food joint” he manages. I hope to touch base again with him before he goes on vacation, but this will have to be enough.