Covering the business of education and training

    Eyes overflowed with tears. Old, middle-aged and young hands trembled. Bodies shook uncontrollably and hugs of comfort were generously offered. After the preacher spoke, a Marine guard folded the US colors and presented them to Fish’s mother. Each time the flag was folded in half I felt my heart decrease in size, perhaps by halves as well. Despite the comforting breeze, blue sky and warm sunshine that did their best to brighten our spirits that day, we stood motionless, as if frozen, when Taps was played. Most of us forgot to breathe. For many, the bugle’s sound was in a key that unlocked the flood gate of more tears.

     I began to hate the Russians, Russia, the Soviet Union that day. To be sure, I didn’t even know the difference between the three. It didn’t matter. Hate does not discriminate. All that was evil and harmful and mean and worthy of spite was Red, was communism, was Russian. Better dead than Red! Kill the commie bastards because they had killed Fish! I remember hoping the war would last long enough that I would get a chance to do my part to fight back.