The Unavoidable Pain of War

Sooner or later, whether you do or don't know someone who's had the grave misfortune to have been a direct part of our ongoing Iraq Atrocity, you'll still feel that punch in the gut. We can theorize and sympathize and express our indignation without feeling it, but as the years drag on and the blood keeps running, it catches up with all of us.

Take, for example, the following anecdote related by The Artist Formerly Known As Pus Boy:

So, I’ve started working part-time as a real estate agent. I got my license and have even been asked to do some real estate instruction. It may turn into a full-time thing, assuming the real estate market stops being shit.

Anyway, last week, I went on a house critique with some other agents. The place was a mess, and the criticism was flying. (The owners weren’t there.)

And then, I noticed the American flag, folded into a small triangle and enclosed in a small glass case. And, then I noticed the sympathy cards strewn about, and the funeral announcements.

I realized that I was standing in the home of a National Guardsman who did not come back from Iraq.


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