A Soldier’s Lament: The stark contrast between a soldier’s forgotten service and the glory awarded to athletes
I joined the military not for wealth, but for hope. Like Christ on Calvary, I took up the cross of service—a quiet, thankless sacrifice for a country that forgets.
I serve with honor, but honor is a poor substitute for a warm bed or a child’s smile. I’ve slept beside reptiles in the desert and bathed in the oil-slicked waters of the Delta. No comfort, no applause—just duty.
I don’t live; I exist. Each breath is a borrowed moment, a pawn waiting for the hand of death. A soft thud of a bullet, a scream of shrapnel—a name whispered in silence and forgotten by morning.
If fate spares me, I may return in a wheelchair, a shattered spine, an eye lost to a grenade. My family will become my keepers. My wife’s laughter will be replaced by worry. My children will learn the weight of sorrow too soon.
And when I am gone? A folded flag. A bugle’s wail.
A wife left prey to wolves in human skin. My comrades will offer “help”—but only at a cost: “Madam, let’s meet at Chodak Hotel.”
My daughter, freshly out of school, seeks a job. A senior officer tells her, “Come see me… in private.” He may steal her dignity and still slam the door in her face.
I gave 35 years to this nation. I retired with “honor,” and nothing more. No house, no land—just a certificate and a prayer. I squat in the barracks, waiting for a meager gratuity. The money eventually dries up, the landlord casts us out, I cough through sleepless nights… and then I die. No obituary. No statue. Just another ghost in faded camouflage.
But if my children… if they play football! Ah, if they play football, they will achieve what 35 years of my service could not. A medal around their neck and they are heroes. $100,000 from the president. A brand-new house. Endorsements.
That is why my children must play football. Not because it is noble, but because it is the only way this nation listens. I speak as a soldier. There is no dignity left in this uniform—only dust, debt, and silence.
So go. Go and play football. Maybe, just maybe, you will survive what this country does to its sons.
