"I Was An American"

My Grandfather phoned me this morning.  He needed a few minutes of my time and a sympathetic ear with which he could speak, for him, the unspeakable.  Each word he spoke ripped at my heart and tore at my soul.  I want to write of what he said today, what he has said before, and who he is, so that you all may know of him and maybe will understand, in another way, what the actions of our government mean to many.

I will write this, from the point of view of my Grandfather and in the tradition of our people.  The words and experiences are his, brought to me over the many years of my life and this morning.  I'll ask that all who read this to please be respectful; trolls and haters may move along.

As is our way, we will hear this story around a fire, the moon and stars above, the sun just set.  Good food is being cooked and many little children run around playing. The older children try to keep still, to be one of the adults sitting around the fire, privileged to bear weapons and waiting for their chance, one day to speak.  We each pass around our pipes and share water.  There is laughter and stories.  The old man sits calmly with his badges of office and enjoys the life around him. From around other fires you can hear the drums and flutes playing as the flames dance.  It is a good end to a good day.....

After a time spent gazing in the moon, the old man speaks; he tells a story we have heard many times before.  One of the young ones, forgetting himself, says so. The old man looks gently upon the young one and says he is right....but it ends differently, this time.  The old man begins speaking again....

I was born in 1912, in the January winter.  I am 97 years old. My grandfather died on my birthday at the age of 80.  He fought in the Civil War.  His grandfather fought in the American Revolution, alongside his father and grandfather.  I am the ninth generation in our bloodline to be an American.  Tonight, my son, my grandsons, my great-grandsons and my great-great-grandson, my daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters and my great-great-granddaughters sit by this fire with me, sharing this food, sharing this night.  My wife sits with me. We are five generations living, 13 generations Americans.  All of us, born Americans, lived Americans and will die Americans....or so we always thought.

Our blood flows from many springs, both near and far.  Our family name is Breton, a fair part of our blood comes from the Cymru, more comes from the Cuyuga, Cherokee, Apache, Pueblo and from the Ogalala.  We have even Nubian blood in our veins, and Roma.  All of our blood is of Tribes and all is the blood of Warriors. And we belong also to the greatest of all Nations, the mightiest Tribe; we are Americans.  Our blood is American blood.

Our history is the history of this nation; we have been here for all of it, and before it.  It may come to pass that we are here for the end of it, too.

After he says this he takes a long draw on his pipe and drinks from his gourd.  We gaze back upon him, shocked that he would say we may see the end.  He always before said we would be here to keep the Nation from ending. The story is indeed different, this time. The little children continue to laugh and play, but the world seems quieter, emptier than before.  We put more wood on the fire and draw our blankets and cloaks tighter but the chill we now feel persists. The old man begins speaking again....

We have been called to war many times.  All of our men have served as Soldiers and Sailors for the American Nation.  We have been called to fight our Ancestors, our Brothers and our Enemies.  All of these we have done, and in victory and defeat, found ourselves to always be Americans.  My grandfathers fought each other, my great grandfathers fought each other, yet here we all are.  In our battles we found our future, we found strength; our Tribe grew stronger.

My father was there when two of his brothers were killed in France; still he was an American.  The government forgot their promises after the war, still he was an American.  My father died in an ice storm in 1924.  I worked our farm, caring for my mother and younger siblings.  Mother would not let me quit school, so I worked morning and night to feed and house my family and to honor my mother's wishes.  We never took any government money, but we survived and I finished not only High School, but also College.  Despite the harmful policies of the government during that time, despite the government committing acts which undermined and crippled the Nation, I was still an American. 

In College I  trained to become an Officer in the Navy.  I completed my course in time to see the beginning of World War Two.  I commanded a small boat and we had a 100 percent Mission Completed rating.  My engines never failed, my crew was always ready and we were proud to serve.  I lost crewmen, I saw Marines and Soldiers wounded and dying, but I was still an American.  At the end of the war, my boat was burned to save the government the expense and trouble of returning her home.  This hurt me deeply as I cared for her so much and for so long but I held my head high and did as was my duty. I was hurt, but I was an American, first.

I came home to my wife and children.  The war had been hard on them, the government failed to keep many commitments it had made to them, but I was still an American.  And I was home.

I went to work and started a business on the side.  My brother had taken care of the farm while I was gone.  He was ready to go to College and found his way from there into the new Air Force.  He was severely wounded in Korea, but he was still an American.  The government again failed to keep its commitments to his injuries, but he was still an American, and so was I.

My son went into the Army after college and volunteered to be sent to Indochina, Viet Nam now. He spent four years there, his body and spirit wounded, his wife and family back home.  He was ordered to make promises for the government, promises they broke, but he was still an American. He came home to people who spit on him, hated him, ignored him and marginalized him, but he was still an American.  He came home to a country that seemed to have no place and no use for him and his kind, but he was still an American, and so was I.

When our government broke its promises to the South Vietnamese, I hated it, but I was still an American.  When our government abandoned 8000 people in Korea and then 2400 in Viet Nam, I was shocked, disgusted and ashamed, but I was still an American.  Our nation continued to go downhill from there, losing more and more of what it had fought so hard for, but I was still an American.

The old man stands up and stretches, pulling his robe tighter against the cold as we stoke the fire.  He stares past at us, looking for himself somewhere beyond the here and now.  As he has spoke, food has been brought and drinks refilled.  There is nothing for those of us listening to say, so we wait, listening to the crackle of flame and the sounds of the night, other drums and other songs at the other fires. After a long time his attention comes back to us.  His eyes are wet and his voice chokes out the words as he continues....

All of my life, I have heard the stories and seen the truth of the contempt with which the government holds our kind of people, how the government treats Americans.  I have taught all of you to never take anything from them you did not earn, to go on even when the government breaks a promise, to always fly our Nation's flags and be proud that you are a member of the greatest Tribe and a Citizen of the greatest Nation the world has ever known. 

All of us here, except the very young, and all of our ancestors before us, have spilled blood for this ground.  All of us have went to our labors with a vengeance, raising ourselves up from our humble roots.  All of us have made the effort to educate ourselves to the ways of the world, to be contributors to our Nation's future.  We have all sought to be at peace with, and good neighbors to, our fellow Americans.

His tears are flowing freely now, his voice shaky but his words firm.  There is a deep sadness in his eyes, matched only by the anger coursing through his being....

After losing uncles, brothers, grandsons, friends and neighbors to the defense of our nation....After generations of obeying the law even in the face of injustice....Because we find it abhorrent and terrible to kill babies....Because we love and admire our Nation and its heroes....Because we choose to honor and exercise our basic rights given to us by our Divine Creator and guaranteed to us by our Constitution....because of these things we are now the enemy?

For nearly a century, I have been an American, like my fathers before me....

Now I am an exile within my own country, an ex-patriot....worse than that....a potential terrorist....

Where is there for my people to go, now?  What is my place in this Nation which no longer acknowledges my existence or beliefs as being legitimate?  I have no other home...I am an American.....

He stops speaking and the silence hangs over us.  The other fires have become quiet as well. Not a one of us has dry eyes.  Some are angry, some are silent, some weep, some are holding each other against the cold and darkness that has consumed our warm circle.  The old man puts wood on the dying flame and other rush to help him.  As he watches the flames rise once more, he speaks again....

I was an American....now I am nothing.

And so the story ends.

Many of us have been concerned and worried for a long time about the course of our Nation, certainly my Grandfather has been. There have been other times of injustice, many years of a progress to Socialism and Tyranny in our country and endless, egregious actions of a government completely lacking in an understanding of their Constitutional limitations.

For many of us, including my Grandfather and Father....the actions over the last couple months and specifically over the last few days have been beyond painful, beyond hurtful beyond injustice.

Many years we have sat around the fire, here.  And told stories and discussed things.  My Grandfather has said these things, many times over the years around those same fires. But he has never said the last thing to me until he spoke with me earlier today....

I was an American...now I am nothing.

For me it was like the sun never rising again to hear that from him. It took me back through all the years and things he has taught me and my children.  What I have that is good, what I have that I am proud of, what I have always pushed myself to become....

Is him.

Who are we all now?  Does our Nation still exist?  What hope does an old man have left?

I wanted to share this all with those of you who might be feeling the same way, who might understand what the Leftists are doing and have done.

Is one old man speaking in the dark worth anything to anyone but me?

I told this story in the tradition of my people.  The words are accurate, the particulars of the individuals are as well.  For us, a story must be told around a fire and I have done the best I can to set that scene for you, the reader. I hope it is of value.