The Quiet...

I do believe that the only noise I can hear in this distant town is that of people laughing.

Other than that?

Nothing.

No parents asking persistent questions; no brothers bringing home friends that talk too much or too loudly, or else just jabber their lives away;  no sirens, no bells, no alarms, nothing!

And what of the construction workers beginning their work day outside of Hoosac Hall - my dorm room window - at the crack of dawn? What of the lectures from my teachers; the words spoken by classmates?

But that is life.

Life is not noise.

Life is sacred, like a lullaby or a children's fairy tale story.

And a life is what I've been given... all the way until the year 2015.

Your Senior Year isn't Worthless

Complaining about having to go to school the last month of your time in high school isn't attractive; neither is it attractive to say that high school, your senior year, or a certain class you're in is worthless. Your senior year isn't worthless. Your education isn't worthless.

Should you think this way, then all I have to say is that you're worthless at heart.

For example, I know someone who likes to complain about pretty much everything at some point in her miserable existence. She's complained about a teacher we both had last year, telling one boy at our lunch table in school that she wanted him to "get rid of" that teacher, along with others that she had. Also, she claimed that she would kill off every student above her in student rankings so that she could be #1. How pleasant.

Another person I know doesn't seem to respect the education he's getting at all. Kids are lucky to get into a technical high school - you're selected from maybe fifty to one hundred kids in your middle school, and only a few are sent the the technical high school you want. The reason for this is because it costs your hometown money, and so they only pick those that they know can succeed with the opportunity given to them. Complaining about such an accomplishment isn't something your town officials would love to hear.

Would hitting everyone with a two-by-four knock some sense into them? Is that what it'll take?

I personally hope that, some day, all of these naysayers grow up, become more mature, and finally understand that high school is one of the most important aspects of a person's life.

But why is it important? It could be the friends you make and break away from; the lessons you learn, both in and out of the textbook; the dances, school events, pep rallies, class meetings, field trips, etc. Do I need to go on any further?

Your high school education is worth hundreds of dollars - don't throw it away.

Rest in Peace...

"Do you remember the letter that Mike Ranney wrote me?

"Do you remember how he ended it?

"'I cherish the memories of a question my grandson asked me. He said, "Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said, 'No... but I served in a company of heroes.'"

~oOoOoOo~

What makes a hero - is it the ability to run and march for miles on end without showing the slightest hint of exhaustion, the courage to run towards the gunfire of an enemy force instead of running away, or the kind of humble character that so few possess where they do not claim to be the heroes of a war, but that the heroes are those that never came back - those that rest in Gettysburg, Luxembourg, and Arlington? 

Is that what it takes for a nation to call you hero? Do you need these traits to be awarded a medal for your bravery and your actions, and to be remembered as one of the best servicemen your country as ever had?

I can't answer these questions.

The answers are obviously held by some unknown force, the force that makes heroes, heroes. 

To live in close vicinity with veterans - ranging from the Air Force to a twenty-year National Guard serviceman - and not know these answers is baffling. Perhaps the answer is only available to those that participate in wars, and they cannot or do not wish to explain them. 

Not that I mind. And I hope others don't mind. Sometimes I think that the definition of a hero lies within our own minds, a definition that's different for each person, but very much the same. 

The similarities of these definitions will, of course, lie with military service and experience. Or, maybe not so much experience, but serving is a definite requirement for a military hero. General Dwight D. Eisenhower isn't a military hero simply because he showed up - he served through one of the most difficult wars the world has ever known: World War II.

Much like a hero that passed away some time ago. I wish I had known this sooner, as I would have written this much earlier than now, sitting in school with nothing to do but grieve over the loss of such a great man.

The hero that I grieve was named Richard "Dick" Winters, and he was a Major in the U.S. Army. He commanded Company "E," 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division for a little more than three years. He was awarded seventeen medals during his service in both the Second World War and Korean War.

There you have it - his service. His experience is documented in the HBO mini-series, Band of Brothers; his personality is portrayed in his memoir, Beyond Band of Brothers: The War Memoirs of Major Dick Winters (co-written with military historian and retired U.S. Army Colonel Cole C. Kingseed).

And perhaps Mike Ranney's letter is much like Major Winters' life - his extraordinary service to his country, brought to light by many forms of entertainment, showed a humble side of him where, in his honest opinion, he's no hero. The heroes are the ones that never came back.

Rest in peace, Major Richard "Dick" Winters. You will sorely be missed.