http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/news/opinion/13138094.htmA year ago, a guy from my hometown drank himself silly and then ran buck-naked out of his house, screaming that he was going to kill himself. He had just gotten his orders to return to Iraq, where he had already done a tour.
I can't say I knew the guy, even though we're about the same age and both grew up in Stratford, a medium-sized factory town on the edge of Connecticut's Gold Coast. And I certainly can't say I knew what it's like being the guy. He enlisted; I didn't.
Every once in a while, though, I wonder what might have been, had circumstances been just a little different. Every once in a while -- like last month, when the 2,000th soldier was killed in Iraq.
What if, for instance, my parents hadn't gone into debt to provide me with a private-school education and the benefits it affords? What if, instead, I had taken the path followed by many in my hometown and pursued my American dream through the military? And what if I were writing these words not from the comfort of my office but from a forward operating base somewhere in the Sunni Triangle? snip
But what I am certain of is that when 2,000 of my fellow Americans have already been killed in Iraq and another 15,000 injured, I'll be damned if I content myself with tying a yellow ribbon to a tree.
At the very least, when I read about the next soldier killed in combat, I'll make sure to take five minutes out of my privileged day to wonder: There but for the grace of God go I, drunk and naked, screaming bloody suicide at the thought of going to Iraq.