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In war, it's the young called on to sacrifice all
© St. Petersburg Times Yesterday's holiday, in case you missed it, was Veterans Day, although more minds were probably on beer and beaches than were on veterans. The ever-dwindling number of people who show up for Veterans Day observances attests to that. But a colleague of mine, Michelle Jones, made an important point in a story Friday. Students at Lake Myrtle Elementary in Land O'Lakes got a jump on the weekend and had their observance Thursday, when Antonio "Tony" Sledd was honored. Sledd, a 20-year-old Marine, had attended nearby Gaither High School and was killed in Kuwait last month. The point to which I refer, and which some may want to think more about, is that the people who die in wars aren't the grizzled old and middle-aged survivors of my war and those since and before. The guys who climbed down cargo nets into landing craft on D-day, the ones who nearly froze to death at the Chosin Reservoir, the ones who bloodied the sands at places with names such as Iwo Jima and Tarawa weren't white-haired, slightly paunched and wrinkled when they went to war. They were in their 20s and 30s, often in their teens. The people who died at Khe Sanh, Saigon, Dong Ha and Chu Lai weren't the ones with salt-and-pepper hair now in their 50s and 40s. They were Sledd's age. The average age of the men and women who served in Vietnam, for instance, was 19. With the drums of war being beaten loudly in our ears, it is worth noting that the men and women who die in the next war will be that same age. They won't be retired and playing shuffleboard in the sun; they won't be middle-aged businessmen and women anxiously watching the stock market to see whether they will be able to retire. They will be, in many cases, kids with memories of the senior prom fresh in their minds; kids who went from video games to smart bombs and from baseball cleats to jump boots. When I first began in journalism, there were Spanish-American War veterans at Veterans Day observances. World War II veterans were in their prime and running things. Korean War veterans were still shaking their heads over the new face that politics had put on one aspect of war -- limited wars with political goals. Now I watch veterans of my war, Vietnam, at such observances, and wonder, already knowing the answer, if I look as old as they do. And I remember that we are the survivors. We got to look that way because we came back. Some will remain forever young because they didn't come back. They didn't get to have the jobs, wives, children, vacations, sunsets, joys and triumphs that have marked the passage of the years for the rest of us. Some died before they were old enough to vote, some before they were old enough to have a beer. Many of them died before they would have been old enough to serve in Congress, and many more died before they would have been old enough, 35, to be president. They aren't words on a page in a history book. They were the Tony Sledds of their time. They were brothers, sometimes sisters. They were sons and daughters, lovers and sweethearts. Although I, personally, have grave reservations about what we are assured is the suddenly necessary war with Iraq, this isn't about trying to stop a war to which the nation's voters have recently given tacit approval. In case you haven't noticed, it is already out of your hands. It won't be us, and it won't be the politicians voting in their air-conditioned chambers in Washington who, in some cases, will leave and not return. It will be the Tony Sledds. It was a price he was willing to pay and a price that others are and will be ready to pay. It is only fair to consider that cost. And today would be a good day to begin considering it.
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