Marching into hell: a blunt message to the young people of America

By Susan D. Harris

When I was your age I was following orders. I had to follow orders or men would die; and I watched men die. I watched men take their last breaths on sandy beaches, in muddy trenches, and on jagged rocks on islands no one had heard of. I put a cigarette in their mouth to calm them in their final moments; and I didn't lecture them that it was bad for their health. I heard them ask God for mercy, and I didn't "correct" them and tell them God was a useless fairytale. I heard them call out for their mothers – and believe me they did call out no matter what age they were – and I didn't laugh at them for being babies.

When we came home from those foreign lands, we worked. You don't know the meaning of work. You don't know the meaning of working so hard from dusk until dawn you'd shoot anyone who told you to "go to a gym."

When you do work you move slowly and sloppily because you think the people you work for – or cater to – or serve – are undeserving of your precious time. You talk to coworkers endlessly instead of paying attention to your job. You make mistakes, but you don't care. You'd get away with murder if you could, because covering your butt is more important than taking responsibility.

You don't know how to build a skyscraper or a bridge; you can't fix a kitchen sink or change your own tire. We had a name for that – worthless. You're a generation of button-bangers and paper-pushers spawned by generations that studied Alinsky and Freud instead of learning a trade.

Why did they do it? How did they turn out the way they did? Nobody knows. We wanted our kids to have a better life than we did. We didn't want them to have to fight to preserve their way of life; we just wanted them to enjoy the freedom we fought for. We thought we gave them that; but they took that freedom and buried it in the mud at Woodstock. They burned that freedom in smoke that tuned out their brains. They blurred that freedom in kaleidoscope eyes. They degraded that freedom in wanton and perverse sex. They stomped out that freedom with their heels on an American flag that we died defending.

Then they had children. And their children had children. And here you are today: An amoral generation spawned by an immoral generation.

Your lack of sympathy for your fellow man is surpassed only by your lack of empathy. You likely don't even know the difference between the meanings of sympathy and empathy because your education was nothing compared to ours. We learned reading, writing and arithmetic. We learned history. We learned manners. What did you learn? You learned its okay to have two mommies or two daddies. You learned to worship the earth instead of your Creator. You learned computers, computers, computers; the Almighty computer that consumes your lives and your minds. You worship your thumb-driven gadgets like the rebels of old worshiped the Golden Calf. You play on them, work on them; you even have sex on them. None of it is real. You don't know what real life is. You think your technology has freed you, but it's stripped you of privacy and compromised your freedom. The Bible says "If thy right hand offends thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee" – well maybe it's time to cut off your thumbs.

I see you walking down the streets in your pajama bottoms because you have no dignity left. Grooming isn't considered a good habit anymore. Dirty is cool. It's your "right" after all: Your "right" to walk around disheveled; your "right" to walk around with your underwear hanging out; your "right" to spit on the sidewalk and mark your territory like some scenting beast.

You don't respect your own bodies so you defile them. You mar your skin and pierce your flesh. You frivolously waste the money you earn on your own destruction.

And when is the last time you made some extra money shoveling someone's driveway, or raking leaves simply because you wanted to lend a hand? You wouldn't waste your energy – you have to save it for texting, listening to music, or sending pictures of your genitalia to your girlfriend.

You've never had to be part of a community where you helped others – not only because it was the right thing to do – but because someday you might need help too. You didn't have to rely on neighbors for food or comfort when someone in your family had the Spanish flu or cholera or polio and was quarantined in their house.

You didn't have to tend a garden because if you didn't, you wouldn't have any vegetables to eat. You didn't have to mend the neighbor's fence or bring in the hay because the man of the house had gone to war, or the woman had gone to the defense factory.

War is nothing but a video game or a movie to you. You get points for killing someone or wait excitedly to see the blood splatter. In real life every life you take is like a kick in the gut – even when you know it had to be done. Even when you know that if you didn't kill them first they would be here killing your family and your neighbors.

You still babble about "peace" as if it's two-way street. Like everybody wants it so what's the problem? Well everybody doesn't want it. There are thousands of people, right now at this very moment, who would like to see you splattered from here to kingdom come. It's called evil; and pretending it doesn't exist only allows it to grow into a huge black cloud that will eventually suck the last peaceful air from your pacifistic lips. Then you'll know why there were people who were willing to die to keep you and your loved ones safe.

That's what we did. We didn't just fight for you; we fought for the American way of life. We fought for the principles our founders laid out in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. And yeah, we were proud of those things. So proud we marched in parades, carried the American flag and sang songs about heroes who sacrificed their lives for the sake of their men and their country.

In your narrow minds you think patriotism is propaganda; something we were force-fed to make us behave a certain way or pull a trigger. It wasn't. It was innate in us. It was passed down from generation to generation; a survival instinct so we'd be ready to act when our way of life was threatened. It was a natural feeling...like a mother feels when she spends a lifetime protecting and nurturing her child...and then her heart swells up all big inside as she watches the fine man or woman she created go out into the world.

Oh don't worry, you'll never be drafted. You can't show up for work on time so we damn well know you could never defend a country. Besides, you can't win a war with men and women playing Fifty Shades of Groping on the front lines; or when a man knows the guy behind him is more interested in squeezing his butt than saving his butt.

The funny thing is you think you've progressed so far beyond those generations who came before you...but you haven't. You can go on crying about climate change or shouting about "marriage equality," but sooner or later you're going to find out that there are people who want to poison your water supply, cut off your heads, rain rockets on your city or set off a dirty bomb on Main Street. Then you'll be on your own. We won't be around to help you anymore. Only then might you remember something about grandma or grandpa; something they may have said that you thought was "so stupid" at the time. Maybe then you'll pull up your pants, grow some glory, and be able to "fight for the right without question or pause" or "be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause."

Sure, there are a bunch of you out there who have it right, but I feel sorriest for you because you have an uphill battle ahead of you. A battle against an army of Progressives who are padding their ranks with millions of illegal immigrants who are hell-bent on destroying everything your grandparents fought for.

We used to say there were no atheists in foxholes. That used to be true. When the day comes that the foxholes are filled with nothing but atheists – run to the hills – because you'll know there's nothing left worth fighting for.

This article was inspired by the brave generation who lived through the Great War; conversations with the courageous men and women of the Greatest generation who can still voice their opinions; as well as those whose voices have been silenced by time.

Susan D. Harris can be reached at www.susandharris.com

© Susan D. Harris