Happy Veterans Day
My husband is a veteran of the United States Army, Special Forces, Tenth Group. I told him that it should be called Tenth Unit because Tenth Group makes it sound like a method for organizing a kindergarten field trip, but he insists that they were a group, not a unit. It also makes no sense to me that the first Special Forces group was number five and the last formed was group one. That is why we are so confused by the United States military. You are supposed to start with the number one and move up from there; how can they not understand this?
Still, my husband is a veteran, and he has to go to work today. Meanwhile, my teenagers, who feel they are serving their country every time they throw their empty water bottles on the floor of my car, as opposed to out the window, have the day off.
I propose that veterans should get the day off, and teenagers should be woken up by a drill sergeant at 4:30 AM, forced to run ten miles, build a fire out of cow manure, and feast on a meal of squirrel road-kill. There should be lots of push-ups involved, and it should be either pouring rain or a hundred degrees. Then, they should spend the rest of the day learning how to build a sniper rifle. Actually, my fourteen-year-old son would enjoy that, and I am slightly freaked out by his potential enthusiasm. Forget the rifle, the rest of the day will be spent cleaning the latrine, peeling potatoes, and learning to iron sharp creases in pants.