> DARYLE > > I got a bunch of them. > They were in all different sizes, ranks and poses. They were even on > different sides. They were miniature Revolutionary War soldiers made out > of pewter. They were well-crafted and amazing things to see. They were > given to me and I took them, without even mumbling a "much obliged." > My older cousin, Daryle, had given them to me. Daryle was all dressed > up in his army uniform. He looked even more impressive than the little > soldiers. I didn't really want the little soldiers he offered me, but I > took them. Daryle was older that I was and, as my elder, he deserved some > respect. I was at that awkward age when it came to such things. I was too > old to play with the small troops and too young to really appreciate them. > The only material things I was interested in at that age were my baseball > glove, my GE transistor radio with the earplugs and my dream car, that I > would be much too young to drive, even if I could afford to buy it. > My mother always told me that a person can never be too thankful. > Even with that wonderful instruction, I had neglected to thank Daryle for > the little soldiers. I wish my mother had taken them from me, along with > my old comic books and baseball cards, and told me that she would give them > back to me when I turned 30, in the hopes that I would have developed a > brain by then. > I had a Springfield single-shot .22 rifle. I wanted to practice with > it. Daryle had shown me his marksmanship badge and I thought maybe I could > earn myself one of those one day. He was plenty proud of that badge and > told me that it had taken a lot of practice to get it. > A decent target cost good money and I wasn't much of a hunter, so the > little soldiers were the perfect prey for me. I set the little army men up > on a rockpile and then began picking them off one-by-one with my > Springfield rifle. The shooting did wonders for my marksmanship, but it > didn't do the little pewter figures much good. Soon they were all gone -- > shot to pieces -- yet another item tossed upon my life's scrap heap. > Time passed. I had forgotten all about the tiny pewter soldiers until > I received word that Daryle had been killed in Vietnam. The day he gave me > the little soldiers was the last day I was to ever see Daryle alive. He > left a wife and two young children. I wanted to bring Daryle back. I > wanted to bring those little army men back. I never did thank Daryle for > those little soldiers. > Perhaps playing with the little soldiers is what made Daryle want to > make the Army his career. I will never know. Since that day that I > learned of Daryle's death, I try very hard to thank everyone for > everything. Sometimes I forget, but I try real hard. > Some years ago, I made a trip to Washington, DC, and visited the > Vietnam Memorial. I was going to make rubbings of Daryle's name on the > Memorial Wall, keeping one for myself and giving the rest to a number of my > aunts. I was doing okay at this task until a little blond haired girl, > wearing a white dress, put a flower at the base of a row of names. > This little girl, probably the grandchild of one of the deceased, > brought back a flood of memories for me. She caused me to give much > thought to Daryle and some to those little Revolutionary War soldiers made > out of pewter, as I stood by that Wall. I cried as I made a rubbing of > Daryle's name from that Wall of names of people who died doing their duty > in the jungles of a foreign land. It took me a number of attempts before I > was able to finish making the rubbings. I never thanked Daryle for the > little pewter soldiers. I never thanked Daryle for serving this country > well, for being willing to die for all of us back home. > Daryle died for his country and for all the things it represents. > People like Daryle have made this country what it is -- the greatest place > on Earth. > For some reason, I know that whenever I thank a veteran, that Daryle > hears me and understands that I am thanking him, too. > Thank you. > > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³