Eulogy for America

I met Little Brian twenty years ago.  He was only fifteen, but was already a drug addled little head banger with long hair and a leather jacket.  Everyone who hadn't been born humming AC/DC was a poser to him.  I don't know if Little Brian adopted us, or if we adopted Little Brian, but he was ours.  Sitting on our couch for hours, staring at Iron Maiden Album covers for secret messages, Little Brian slowly cleaned up and got off drugs.

From there he went to work for my Ex in his painting company.  Little Brian wasn't born to be a painter, in fact we have a catalog of, "Funny Brian Painting Stories," that get shared from time to time.  There was the time he injected paint into his hand with the airless, or the time he spilled paint on a brand new parquet flooring, or even the time he covered those prize roses with plastic to keep the paint off them...they didn't get any paint on them, but they cooked in the midday sun.

At Twenty-four, Brian joined the Marines.  That is pretty old to join the Marines.  Typically recruits are 17-20 and they are tested for all they are worth in boot camp.  Little Brian had always been skinny and I couldn't imagine him getting through that grueling training, but he was determined.  To my astonishment and his delight, he got through with flying colors.  He went on to be an MP and an Instructor.

He used to call me and tell me stories about how much he loved being in Japan and Australia and how much he loved Australian women...literally and figuratively.  Twice he almost left the military to go into law enforcement, but ended up signing up again.

Unsurprisingly, he was called to Iraq.  I didn't make his going away party even though I was invited.  At the time I thought that was a good thing, because I was afraid that he would sense my anxiety and that my fears would spoil his going away.  Now I wish I had gone, just to see him off.

Little Brian's Mother got a personal visit from the Marines this weekend, an honor she had been hoping to avoid.  It seem that Little Brian, now thirty-five, was killed in Iraq as the result of an IED.  Everyone is digging around for his friend's numbers and addresses so no one is missed at the Memorial Service.

Brian loved his country and I believe he felt great pride in his service, but forgive me if I don't feel great pride in my country at this moment.  My country killed my friend.  My government sent a good man to die in a useless war started over lies and continued for sheer pride.

My friend is dead.  I will miss him.