Sunday, June 22, 2008

My Story



On August 11, 2007, my dear cousin, US Army Sgt Scott Kirkpatrick, age 26, was killed in Iraq.  Although he was an accomplished slam poet, artist, actor and writer, Scott was first and foremost a husband, son, brother and friend, with a sharp wit and a brilliant sense of humor.  He was also a damn good soldier.

Before he shipped out, he requested that if something were to happen to him, that his family should select a charity that helps the wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC.  The family-- wife Christy, parents Ed and Marti and brother Kevin--chose the Yellow Ribbon Fund.  They have been asking folks to make donations in Scott's name to YRF ever since, and now it's my turn.

On October 11, 2008, I will be running in the Baltimore Marathon.  Never in my life have I taken on anything like this, and never in my wildest dreams did I think I ever would.  In May of 2008, the idea of training for a marathon popped into my head... but would I have the drive and determination it takes to actually do it?  My question was answered when I decided that, more than doing it for myself, I would do it for Scott.

The Yellow Ribbon Fund is a non-profit organization, created in 2005, to assist our injured service members and their families as they recuperate at Walter Reed and Bethesda Naval Medical Centers.  Since its inception, the YRF has spent over $1.3 million on transportation, lodging, mentoring, entertainment, meals, and other assistance... needs that were not being met through other resources.

To support me in my October race, please consider donating any amount you can.  My goal is $3000, but surpassing that will only help more of our Wounded Warriors and their families.  Keep in mind that I am not training for or running this race as part of any organized team; I am running independently, and your support in this endeavour means the world to me.  100% of donations made in my name (in Scott's name, really) will be given to the Yellow Ribbon Fund.



when Taps is played



"after we lost our first soldier, (a sniper shot his throat out) there was a ceremony for the battalion.  I didn't know the guy, but others did.  there was something hollow about the whole thing.  how many times can you say the exact same things for dead men before the fraudulence becomes obvious?"  --Scott Kirkpatrick, 2005


when Taps is played
we are at attention
saluting
a soldier only some of us
knew.

30,000 feet above
through a cloudy crying blue 
sky
a fighter plane screams.

nothing can be said,
really,
for a dead man
I didn't know.

the Commanding General
nods his head
at words repeated
over a thousand times.

he died for liberty.
he died so that others may be
free.
he died a hero.

nothing is said of politics.
nothing is said about the city
two million people who don't
want us here.
hundreds of children
throwing bricks
gunshots in the night
martyrs waiting for us to gun
them down.

nothing is said about the 
bullet that tore a soldier's 
throat out.

when roll is called
there is only the sound
of a Private First Class
who does not answer back.