Listen to the kinds of things that most Americans don’t have to experience: The day Augie’s unit returned from Iraq to Camp Lejeune, we received a box with his notebooks, DVDs and clothes from his locker in Iraq. The day his unit returned home to waiting families, we received the second urn of ashes. This lad of promise, of easy charm and readiness to help, whose highest high was saving someone using CPR as a first aid squad volunteer, came home in one coffin and two urns. We buried him in three places that he loved, a fitting irony, I suppose, but just as rough each time.
The clock is now ticking on who will be the first of the 101st Fighting Keyboarders to attack Paul Schroeder while at the same time making much ado about how much they “honor” the death of his son.
As if they somehow cared more for him than his own father.
That’s how the little chickenshits work…