The Best Advise I Never Got



Don Figone

We had the big send-off for my dad on Thursday. There was no religious ceremony for my step dad, just a nice party at the St. Francis Yacht Club. I’ve been calling it his Bon Voyage. His wife, Rebecca said everyone had to check their tears at the door, and so we did. The room was full of Frank Sinatra music and a montage of images from dad’s life—from childhood through his 86 years of life. It was perfect really.

He became my step-father when I was four years old, so he’s the dad I identify with more of the two. I loved them both of course, but hour for hour-- I spent much more time with my step dad. I worked for him on and off for years. He got all the crap stuff too—the pre-adolescent mood swings, the teenage insanity, the depressed 20s the fucked up 30s.  And he bailed me out, literally and figuratively of many jams.   

The party was exactly what he would have wanted—I guess, at least if he were alive he would go to this kind of party. People told funny stories, and save for some laughing through the tears from his closest relatives; it was not a depressing day at all.

Several people got up to speak and tell funny stories about our dad.  I had written a little something but left it in my car, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say anything without crying—and I promised him two months earlier—I would be cool, I would not fall apart during or after. I didn’t want him to have to worry about me while he was dying. It seemed like the most unselfish thing I could do for him… some small payback for the years of support and bailouts.

One man that he knew from Lake Merced Golf Club got up to speak and it didn’t immediately seem like it was going to be funny. Nice- but not funny. He talked of how my dad was always willing to help everyone, and that was true-- and how gracious and generous he was. Also, true. Then he proceeded to tell us a story of how my dad was helping him with his (golf) swing. He said.  “And Don told me just stand with your feet apart and your head down, and hit that ball like you don’t give a shit.”

“Just hit that ball like you don’t give a shit.”  And it hit me like a golf ball between the eyes. That is the best advice my dad never gave me.

I’ve been stuck in my writing lately. Besides emotionally drained from the last few months, I have been trying to figure out how to write nicer. Not better… nicer. And it crippled me. I haven’t been able to write a word that matters.

So, Dad, of all the advice you gave me over the last 58 years this is the best. I’m going to write like I don’t give a shit. I’m not going to worry who likes what I have to say. I have to say what I need to say. I’ve been worried about upsetting people and as a result, my silence has turned itself on me and made me sick.

I have a great niece, Jasmin, who is a writer too. She always sends me words of encouragement and tells me what a great writer she thinks I am, so I owe it to her to continue to write—so that she will continue to write. If you’re a writer, you have to write and if you have a particular voice you have to use it. It’s not an option or a hobby, it’s a compulsion and an obsession that can’t be controlled by self-will or the opinions of others. We write, because we have to.

So Jasmin my dearest, write like you don’t give a shit. Write for yourself—just keep writing.

A Lesson from My Mom

 

Mom Approx. 50 Years Old

My mother used to proudly tell people, including her children, that she was part black, or whatever term she used back in the day, probably colored, maybe negro. She said she was a direct descendant of Haile Selassie, the Emperor of Ethiopia. She explained this by telling us it happened during Italy’s invasion of Ethiopia in the early 1930s, which was when she was born—but in San Francisco. Not Ethiopia, not Italy.

I don’t know why she told us this. I like to think it was to teach us a lesson. I like to think that she was as appalled by racism as I am, but I really don’t know. Maybe she just liked messing with people’s minds. Closed minds, small minds. Her prejudice was for stupid. Like me, she was guilty of her own stupidity, but had little tolerance for the stupidity of others.

It could have been a believable tale. She had big brown eyes and beautiful full lips. Her auburn hair wasn’t curly but had a lot of natural wave. Her skin, naturally olive, would turn chocolate brown in the sun.

My mother never blinked when I introduced her to my Japanese boyfriend, and later, when she found out I was going to have his baby, she was thrilled. She never mentioned mixed race, or any of the issues that might come up-- that did come up, due to crossing some line that some people drew. Her own kids looked like the League of Nations and she often said so. My older sister is dark with a Latin appearance, like my mother’s Southern Italian ancestors, I’m a blue eyed blonde like my father’s German grandmother, my little brother was more olive and Italian like my mother, (She was French and Irish on her mother’s side and Italian on her dad’s.) then later my little sister, who is a nice blend of Northern Italian from her dad and Southern Italian from my mom. For a short time when I was very little, we had two Korean foster children—my auburn haired mother turned many curious heads when we were all with her.

When I was pregnant with my son, people I knew asked me what I was going to do as a single mom with a mixed race child. That was such a crazy question to me. I just thought of him as my baby, not a race. It never occurred to me there would be any issues. And for me… there were no issues until bigotry crept into my life. When people would stare at us on the bus or in the store and shake their heads in disgust, or ask, “Did you adopt?”  No, I’d tell them, I have the scar to prove he’s mine. And while that question alone is not overtly bigoted, the implication is. This was in the melting pot Bay Area. I could only imagine what it was like in different parts of the country. The thought scared me.

Since 9/11/1, I have seen the same kind of hate for the Muslim religion and /or anyone that may look like they are of Arab descent. Never mind that most people don’t know the difference between a Sikh  (not Arab) and a Muslim (maybe Arab maybe not), don’t know the difference between an Afghani, Iraqi or Iranian, don’t know the difference between Farsi and Arabic, everyone that looked like they were  from any part of the Middle East became an instant suspect. People who had immigrated to the US to flee their war torn countries, to have religious freedom, to have human rights, were shunned because of the way they dressed or talked. It hasn’t gotten much better 13 years later.

With the recent events surrounding the racial intolerance of the Clippers Basketball Team owner Mr. Sterling and the crazy cowboy in Utah, Mr. Bundy, I have to wonder how far we have come as a country in regards to racial equality—since the Civil War. Not far at all, I’m afraid.

I am sensitive to it because I see it through my son’s eyes.  I’m sensitive to it because my niece has three little girls that are half Mexican. I’m sensitive to it because my mother, in her infinite wisdom, or maybe unknowingly made me aware of the ignorance many people have regarding race and cultural sensitivity.

Trying to have a frank conversation about race relations, religious freedoms, and sexual orientation freedom is difficult.  Sometimes I think the freedoms my son went to war for are nonexistent. He came back from Iraq with a better understanding of freedom and of the cost of freedom, but to a country that didn’t get it.

I read a great essay Pretending Racism Doesn’t Exist Doesn’t Make it Go Away  the other day written by Jeff Yang. The last two paragraphs wrap it up nicely; the whole essay is worth reading more than once.

“But denying racism doesn’t delete it. It simply allows it to live on in obscurity, drifting in the shadowy margins or lurking beneath the polished surface of polite society, where it can erode our most cherished shared values in secret, or erupt in fits of dark and terrible rage.

As Cliven Bundy and Don Sterling have demonstrated, as much as we claim that something is “not racist,” the “but…” continues to trail on behind it, keeping a foot in the door for the things we’d rather keep hidden.”

·         I’m not racist BUT, a black president, no thanks.

·         I’m not intolerant of any religion, BUT this country was founded on Christian beliefs we should not allow Mosques to be built here.

·         I’m not a bigot BUT, two men should not get married to each other.

·         I’m not a bigot BUT, I don’t want Mexicans living in my neighborhood.

·         I’m not a bigot BUT… FILL IN THE BLANK.

I wish my mom were here so I could talk to her about this. I would ask her why she told everyone she was part black and why sometimes she wore a Star of David even though, she was baptized Catholic. I would ask her if she thought she was ahead of her time in bringing these issues to the forefront, or did she just like to mess with minds of stupid people?  Either way, I have to say, she is my hero for this lesson. I hope I’m living up to her expectations as a human being and a daughter—I certainly am trying.

My mother, if she were still alive, would be the grandmother of seven, one is one-half Japanese, the others are a mixed bag of nuts, like me, a little bit of everything, and great grandmother to four, three of whom are half Mexican girls. She would have loved all of them and they would have loved her.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, I miss your beautiful brain.

 

 

This is How You Live

Last week my best friend of 46 years lost her mom, Elsie. Elsie was the epitome of everything I think is wonderful and cool… and she passed those amazing qualities to her daughter—who put the last 1.5 years of her life on hold, to take exquisite care of her mother.

Elsie didn’t like me much when we first met in 1968. She thought I was too fast for Renee, and she was right. I was. It didn’t take her long though, to see that I tried to keep Renee out of trouble, rather than lead her astray. I spent every day at their house. They fed me, and treated me like family.  (Yelling at me when deemed necessary.) They welcomed my sister and later even my mother into the family fold. I have never met a family like them since—a family that gave so much and asked for nothing in return.  

Elsie was dignified. A proud American woman  of Mexican and Irish heritage who was always a lady, and handled life—and all the horrors that come with it, with more class than anyone I have ever met.

When her grandson tragically passed away at 4 years old, I heard Elsie cry. It was a primal cry, and one I’ll never forget. It was a cry from the most broken soul and I thought for sure she would never recover from that loss. But, she did and, she laughed again eventually and loved more grandchildren and a few great–grandchildren.  Later she lost her beloved husband, the love of her life, and shortly after him her oldest daughter – both to cancer. And dotted here and there the loss of friends and family. Life was not particularly kind to Elsie, but her dignity prevailed. Her witty humor prevailed. Her passion for life prevailed.

She could be sweet or tough, and quite candid with a few of us. None of us liked being on the receiving end of those tough conversations, but I see now that she was trying to toughen us up—so we could get through life and not cop out to this problem or that problem, to not say life is too hard I don’t want to do it. .

Elsie was a bastion of strength, dignity and generosity. We won’t ever forget her and I am going to do my best to follow her lead when it comes to dealing with whatever life hands me. I’m going to try to pay forward the love and generosity so freely given to me all these years—and try to be someone Elsie would be proud of.  

Adios Madre xox

This is how you live… Elsie Style.

 

The Grief of December

Grief never feels good. If you ever lost a loved one, you know this. It could be a year ago or 40 years ago; it changes sometimes, the pain less sharp and sometimes more. It’s an injury without blood, a gaping wound that never really heals.  

Most of us learn to live with it-- the missing piece to our psychic puzzle. There is always a feeling of something missing. Someone missing. Some of us try to fill the hole with medication or new shoes, or booze. It doesn’t work.

Years after my mom died, I picked up the phone to call her. I realized I couldn’t remember her number and then realized why and embarrassed at myself for such a ridiculous fopaux, (Seriously, how can you forget your mom has died?) hung up the phone. I can’t remember if I cried—or cleaned house. One of the two, I have no doubt.  

My 27-year-old brother died December 19^th 1982 from complications due to injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident that occurred a little over 100 days prior. My 53-year-old mother died two years later on December 9^th. The holiday season has proven to be my most difficult season to get through and the list of people I grieve for has grown substantially since my brother and mother died. But, there is always a holiday, or a hallmark of some kind, birthdays, death days, the last time you talked. Any month can be the bad one but for me it’s always December.

I know there are the seven stages of grief, but the truth is there are no rules for how to do it, or how long, or how sad you should be, or how much you should cry, or if you should cry at all. Everyone grieves how he or she grieves and if you become expert—through experience, how sad for you.

It comes in waves. It doesn’t matter how long ago someone left this world, it can feel like yesterday or it can feel like a long time ago and you wonder how you could be so sad for so damn long. For me, sometimes just smelling something like bubblegum will remind me of my brother and the endless baseball card bubblegum he shared with me when he was little. Earlier this year his best friend sent some pictures of my brother when he was young, and a few shortly before he died. I cried because I missed him… and I cried for what he is missing. A beautiful daughter he never met and three amazing granddaughters that would have owned him. He missed the best part of my life and his.

The “no rules” grief also applies for whom we are grieving. My sister just lost her horse after 21 years, and was devastated. When my son’s 14-year-old dog was put down, I watched his grief pour out in heavy sobs, he was beyond consoling. It was then I realized he was also grieving for the friends he lost in the war, the ones he never had time to cry for—and maybe his own innocence, left in the sands of Iraq. Postponed grief is the stuff that will kill you.

We walk around with a cloud of sadness. Not everyone sees it. Some people are oblivious to our teary eyes and our ability to skirt a subject that is sure to make the wave of sadness rush in. Some of us want to talk about it, some of us cannot.

Sometimes, grief can surprise us. When my son’s dad died unexpectedly two years ago, I was floored with grief and I woke up crying every day for weeks—still sometimes, I can’t think about this loss without tearing up. I never expected to feel that way, but I never expected him to die at 53 either.

My grief is always just below the surface. I don’t wear it like a badge—I don’t share it with strangers, or even all my friends. It’s just there and that is how grief works.

For me, grief is a reminder to live well, to be kind because we really don’t know what other people are going through and we really don’t know if someone won’t be here tomorrow.  I do put one foot in front of the other but I understand that isn’t always possible for everyone. When my son’s dad died, his grandmother understandably got a little crazy. When I asked my son (in an uncharitable moment) how he could put up with that he reminded me that losing your child trumps losing your father. His grief—made him smarter. His grandparents carry on; their strength is admirable their Japanese Buddhist durability intact, and I try my best to mimic them.

I know more than a few people hurting from grief right now. It always seems worse around the holidays. The empty seat syndrome, the missing piece of your heart, the special ornament with their name on it, more reminders than our hearts can bare—but bare we must.

This holiday season don’t be afraid to share stories about your departed loved ones with people that knew them or know you. Often you will find yourself laughing through a story instead of crying through the silence.

For all of you feeling the loss of a loved one please know this… you are not alone.  Many people are grieving over someone. We may not all wear it the same way—but we wear it.

If you are suffering from severe depression due to grief, please seek counseling -- while I don't think there are rules-- I do think some people benefit from help with the grieving process.

see this link:

http://www.hopehospice.com/lossgrief.html

 Just a few of my missing pieces...Mom, Johnny, Dad, Jon, Johnny, Jon, Noodle & Smokie

VETERANS DAY 2013

Iraq 2006

Every year, since 2007, when my own son became a veteran, I have written something for Veterans Day. My theme changes slightly, usually depending on the reflection I am seeing through my son’s eyes.

This year, the reflection from his eyes is a good one. At least for today, at least for this moment—he is in a good place and time. If he is dogged by nightmares, he’s not saying. I notice he keeps himself busy, like my dad used to do. Always tinkering with something—the opposite of depression sleeping. Busy hands, calm mind. Calmer mind.  (**note 2017 this is no longer the case- severe PTSD anxiety attacks, withdrawal from family and friends)

If he is in a better place- than, so too am I. But, now my focus has shifted from him to the bigger picture. A picture whose existence I have been peripherally aware of, but until now, until my own son was in the clear, walking towards peace of mind instead of down Crazyville Street, I could not focus on anything but him.

The picture I am seeing is a horrific one. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of. It’s full of suicide, depression, PTSD, diagnosed and undiagnosed brain injuries, the inability to reach the people that need us most—that deserve help the most. And, worst of all—apathy. Apathy on the part of the American people, the very people who have benefited from the missing limbs, the burned skin, the inability to think straight, the lack of attention span, the shakes, the nightmares, the alcoholism, the suicides—they could not care less.

Lately there is advertising showing buffed soldiers or Marine veterans missing body parts, modeling underwear or whatever. This is good. Maybe, Americans will be able to look these people in the eye someday and say…what?  Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for losing that leg, arm, eye, life as you knew it. Thank you just isn’t enough.

The latest DOD data on suicide amongst veterans is an estimated 22 Veterans will commit suicide DAILY.

According to the report: “Among cases where history of U.S. military service was reported, Veterans comprised approximately 22.2% of all suicides reported during the project period. If this prevalence estimate is assumed to be constant across all U.S. states, an estimated 22 Veterans will have died from suicide each day in the calendar year 2010.”

I suspect the actual number is really higher. They won’t classify death from alcohol or drug overdose as suicide—but for many veterans (and civilians too) that is exactly what it is. I call it slow suicide.

This report notes the following: During the Iraq War, 4,475 U.S. service members were killed and 32,220 were wounded; in Afghanistan, 2,165 have been killed and 18,230 wounded through Feb. 5, 2013. Among service members deployed in these conflicts, 103,792 were diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) over the period 2002 to December 2012. Over that same period, 253,330 service members were diagnosed with a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) of some kind. As a result of battle injuries in the Iraq War, 991 service members received wounds that required amputations; 797 lost major limbs, such as a leg. In Afghanistan, 724 have had to undergo amputations, with 696 losing a major limb. -

 See more at: http://journalistsresource.org/studies/government/security-military/us-military-casualty-statistics-costs-war-iraq-afghanistan-post-911#

According to information obtained through the VA, there were 62,619 homeless veterans in the United States in January 2012. I’m willing to bet there were more then and there are many more now. This is disgraceful and unacceptable. And, please don’t tell me some of them want to live this way. If that is what you want to tell yourself to make yourself feel better then great—but please don’t expect me or anyone else with a brain to believe it.

Here are some facts from the not for profit Greendoors, based in Texas.

• The number of homeless female veterans is on the rise: in 2006, there were 150 homeless female veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars; in 2011, there were 1,700. That same year, 18% of homeless veterans assisted by the VA were women. Comparison studies conducted by HUD show that female veterans are two to three times more likely to be homeless than any other group in the US adult population.
• Veterans between the ages of 18 and 30 are twice as likely as adults in the general population to be homeless, and the risk of homelessness increases significantly among young veterans who are poor.
• Roughly 56% of all homeless veterans are African-American or Hispanic, despite only accounting for 12.8% and 15.4% of the U.S. population respectively.
• About 53% of individual homeless veterans have disabilities, compared with 41%of homeless non-veteran individuals.
• Half suffer from mental illness; two-thirds suffer from substance abuse problems; and many from dual diagnosis (which is defined as a person struggling with both mental illness and a substance abuse problem).


• Homeless veterans tend to experience homelessness longer than their non-veteran peers: Veterans spend an average of nearly six years homeless, compared to four years reported among non-veterans
  
  

There are programs all over the country trying to help homeless veterans. But, they need our help. The VA is overwhelmed with veterans right now. If you think your 2-3 hour wait at Kaiser or your local clinic is too long… try going to the VA.  Now try it with PTSD and a little bit of TBI. Try filling out reams of forms and then turning them in and waiting 6 -9 months for a reply to tell you if you qualify for disability, when you are positive that you were blown off a rooftop in Iraq and hurt your head-- bad.

Volunteering at the VA is one way you and I can help. But there are other ways. You can help on a local level by finding out what resources there are for veterans in your area and asking them what you can do.

Learn how to talk to veterans. If you never served, you need to understand that you don’t really understand. Acknowledge that, and you will at least gain some respect from the veteran. Don’t ask stupid questions. (Like, did you ever kill anyone?)  A veteran will tell you what he wants to tell you.

If you know a veteran in need of assistance make a call 877-4AID-VET

If you know a veteran who may be contemplating suicide: Veterans and their loved ones can call 1-800-273-8255 and Press 1, chat online at www.VeteransCrisisLine.net*, or send a text message to 838255 to receive free, confidential support 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, even if they are not registered with VA or enrolled in VA health care. VA also provides support for Service members through the Military Crisis Line. Service members and their families and friends can call and text the Veterans Crisis Line numbers and can chat online at www.MilitaryCrisisLine.net.

There are so many things we civilians can do to help today’s veterans and the veterans from previous wars, who have served our country, and made it possible for us to live in the free world that we live in.

Most of us can’t write a big old fat check to our favorite charity. But there are still ways to help raise funds for these not for profit organizations that truly help our veterans. Be sure you investigate the organization thoroughly before donating time or money.  

If you can’t volunteer, then just do this. Next time you see someone wearing a USMC hat, or a Navy hat, or an Army jacket. Ask them if they are a veteran. If they say yes—shake their hand. Look them in the eye and shake their hand-- and then say thank you, and mean it.

Resources for veterans and their loved ones:

PTSD/ SUICIDE

Hearts Toward Home International – Dr. Bridgett Cantrell

The Veterans Administration

National Intrepid Center of Excellence

HOMELESS

National Veterans Foundation

Department of Veterans Affairs

CAL VET

Homeward Bound- Marin

Greendoors -Texas

***You can find more and local resources by googling key words and adding your city.

If Only People Cared

 

 

 

If only people cared. I hear that a lot. I say it a lot. The truth is people do care. They do what they can. There is plenty of bad news in this world for each and every one of us to care about. And that is the problem. We are all on cause overload. I am on cause overload.

My Marine Mom friend has a 2.5 -year-old granddaughter, Sophie who has cancer and has been undergoing treatments for about 15 months now.  Many of us have followed Sophie’s progress, her good days and bad days, her absolute courage, on Facebook and on her CaringBridge page. Her family has been courageous too. And on a mission, to help bring to the forefront the fact that childhood cancer is not funded like it should be and to raise awareness. The American Cancer Society only gives one cent of every dollar to Pediatric Cancer research and no one can figure out why this is so.

Approximately 7-9  kids die a day of cancer.  (Statistics are all over the map- I guestimated based on several different reports.)

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month

 

I have another Marine Mom friend whose sister died of breast cancer and she has been on a tireless mission to raise money for breast cancer research.  The projected statistics for breast cancer-for 2013- though greatly improved over years past, are daunting still.

·     About 232,340 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed in women.

• About 64,640 new cases of carcinoma in situ (CIS) will be diagnosed (CIS is non-invasive and is the earliest form of breast cancer).
• About 39,620 women will die from breast cancer
• Breast cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death in women, exceeded only by lung cancer. (in 2013)

My own personal cause has some big numbers too. Veterans with PTSD and Active Duty/ Veteran Suicides are at an all-time high. I have screamed this from the mountain-top with only those in my shoes taking notice. And maybe some of them found me to be too loud, too crazy, too driven.

According to this 2012 VA report 22 Veterans commit suicide daily. That is one every 80 minutes. Paul Riekhoff, the founder of IAVA (Iraq Afghanistan Veterans of America, stated "The country should be outraged that we are allowing this tragedy to continue. The trends are headed in the wrong direction,” As veterans, we at IAVA understand the spectrum of challenges facing veterans transitioning home, including the struggle with invisible wounds. One thing is clear; we need more research and more collaboration.” 

PTSD awareness is sorely lacking – according to the Center for Ethical Solutions, nearly one soldier in five, or about 300,000 of the 1.6 million soldiers who have served in Iraq or Afghanistan, has post-traumatic stress disorder (“PTSD”) or major depression. My son has suffered from it, which brought it to the forefront for me. It is an invisible wound.

During my son’s time in the Marine Corps, I spent time as a volunteer for a Marine parent’s web- based group. We were an all-volunteer group of moms and dads that worked – we thought, tirelessly for our cause, which was supporting one another and our Marines. Our founder, worked even harder—sometimes around the clock. The message received from her, was that what we did was never enough. Never mind that most of us had jobs, never mind that most of us had families to take care of or that we put anywhere from 5 to 35 hours a week in on top of all that.

I understand now, she was frustrated. She wanted more for our guys and gals in harm’s way.  Like Sophie’s GrandMo is frustrated, Like Jill W. is frustrated, like I am frustrated over the lack of concern for what we think are monumental causes. What she (the founder of the group) didn’t realize then—but may have come to realize at some point was that everyone was just doing the best they could with what they had. It wasn’t ignorance, or apathy that kept them (us) from giving more. We just had no more to give. And who can judge what is too little?

Children are a precious gift—even the older ones. Everyone is somebodies baby. And that gives everything equal importance, in my mind at least.

We need to knock on the doors of corporations and government officials and stop berating our fellow sufferers.  Finesse donations, don’t scream for them.  Be grateful to those who can give time or money and try to understand those who can’t.

All of us just want to help people we love. That is what it all boils down to. There is nothing stronger in this world than love and maybe sometimes it makes us crazy. But I am willing to do what I can for my causes, and my friends causes—because that is what it’s all about.

If any of the above causes ring your bell, please feel free to donate your time or money or hold a fundraiser on behalf.  Or if you have a cause you would like to share about please do. Let’s start looking at these things like we are helping friends, because that is what friends do.

 

To Donate to Pediatric Cancer:

http://www.curesearch.org/

To Donate to Breast Cancer Research

http://ww5.komen.org/

To Donate for PTSD/ TBI and the Prevention of Suicide for Veterans

Hearts Toward Home International

The Veterans PTSD Project

Or any local VA VFW center.

 

 

 

Syria

I’ve been wondering for quite some time- along with the rest of the country- (I hope) if we are going to be dragged into this Syrian rebellion. I didn’t want us to. I didn’t want to see one more American life lost, over yet again another Middle Eastern conflict, rebellion, uprising, whatever.

This last week shifted my thinking though. I thought about Hitler’s reign of terror and the Holocaust and how long it took the United States to act during that time. The holocaust began in 1938 and ended in 1945 when the American Army stumbled upon Ohrdruf Concentration Camp where there were hundreds of starved, frail prisoners who had managed to survive though many would die in the following weeks, as well as over 3000 corpses.

General Patton- when he arrived at the camp was physically sickened and refused to look at further carnage. Reportedly, General Eisenhower, turned white, but he said, “I made myself look at every nook and cranny” [of the camp.] “We are told that the American soldier does not know what he was fighting for, now; at least he will know what he is fighting against."

According to the Jewish Virtual Library, the United States press, at the time, had grossly underreported what was happening to the Jews in Germany. Eisenhower called on the US press and the press corps to visit the concentration camps.  Joseph Pulitzer, whom it was said had a suspicious frame of mind concerning what he thought, were exaggerated rumors; when he saw Ohrdruf,  Pulitzer said. “The reports were understatements.”

The current Syrian Civil War is part of the Arab Spring. A general dissatisfaction of the people with their government and lack of human rights. Once again, like in Iraq; it is Sunni versus Shi’ite and once again a leader is using sarin Gas on his own people.

The President of Syria, Bashar al-Assad, has removed all political parties other than (his) Ba'ath Syrian Regional Branch--leaving Syria a one-party state without free elections. He has chipped away or failed to improve any human rights issues in his country. And, now we hear--and I do believe--that he is using sarin Gas. In 1983 the United States was aware (top secret reports released) of Saddam Hussein using chemical weapons on his own people (The Kurds) and under President Reagan’s leadership chose at that time to do nothing. We all know how that worked out.

The US is now backing the armed rebels fighting the al-Assad regime. (The same rebels arrested by US Marines on the border of Syria and Iraq for gun smuggling in 2006-7.)

Because we have so little understanding of the Arab world and the Muslim conflicts, at least until recently, we have flip flopped on support over the years, seemingly picking sides randomly- taking what looks to me like -- if Russia is for it we must be against it approach. We have to stop looking at the politics and start looking at the human condition.

I hate war. I hate what Operation Iraqi Freedom did to so many of our own troops. I hate what it did to my son. I don’t want to see one more US troop’s life lost over Middle East religious wars. (You may call them oil wars- but I don’t).  BUT- this is a human concern. We have a moral obligation to prevent another holocaust. We have already waited too long, because of politics and politicians. According to the United Nations, over 100,000 men women and children have died in Syria since 2011. Hundreds of thousands have fled to Iraq.

I know the US is war weary- though so few actually have skin in the game- so few have cared about the troops and what happens to them after they get home-- after they are out of uniform. But, the truth is, this is not politics. This is being human. And I can’t personally use the Christian card because I don’t think of myself as a Christian, but wouldn’t anyone’s God want to prevent another Holocaust? Wouldn’t anyone’s God want to not see civilians killed for being some religion that some other people don’t like?

Syrian children after the sarin gas attack

I checked in with my son last night before I wrote this – I’ve been wanting to write about this subject for a week but I thought I better just check in with someone that has a better perspective on the Middle East than me-  and make sure I’m not crazy. But, he- who has fought in a war-(who helped arrest those gun smugglers) and who is not pro war for much- who is genuinely war weary- believes that we have to help the people of Syria too.

No- I do not want to see another US troop killed for nothing.  I know though, there is no way I can turn my head and not see this holocaust in the making.