The Thing They Carried Essay, Research Paper
The Great American Opportunity
In America today, we have a problem of looking at the big picture. Not the big screen downtown in the local movie theater, but the screen of human life. In a movie once, an actor said, “life is cheap to those type of people”. This was out on the back roads of Denton, Texas. Motorcycles whizzing by in the hard, pouring rain. Brad and Janet were caught flat with a bad spare tire. Brad knew he should have got that darned spare tire fixed. Yet, the overwhelming thought of pleasure led Brad, a well-mannered man, to the back roads to fulfill his manly desires. The small picture is that Brad dressed up in his tux and looking like a total dork is really what the viewer called an “asshole” in the live version of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
The window shoppers driving by at midnight in Denton might have the same thoughts as Brad “life is cheap to those type of people”. The degenerate of America were all lined up outside the theatre with seven dollars in hand to put on a show and take part in their right of passage. The Rocky is a very long show when watched by ones self. Yet, add some energetic sprites and the show takes on the persona of a Broadway play. The window shoppers just see men and women cross-dressed and not the masterpiece inside the theatre. Sometimes people need to step back from the window and walk over to open up the door in order to see the big picture. The big picture is present in my life.
The essay “The Thing They Carried” has a relationship with my life. The Army was an underpaid, dreadful period in my life. The extra canteens, the spare ammo, weapons and maps were nothing compared to the things carried out of the Army. The images of dead bodies, sleep disorder and deadly toxins in my blood stream are constant reminders that life is full of choices. The choices we make today do influence the dreams we have tomorrow. The Army has an unwritten code: break down the individual so the soldier can shine.
The Army used thousands of other soldiers as guinea pigs during the Gulf war. The shot of anthrax was just one of those extras the Army gave to me. The doctor knew that I did not want to be an experiment, but anthrax is running though my veins. The Army does not care if their experiments fail, because the Army cannot be sued. One does not have to become a soldier to see the side effects of the military. During the thirties soldiers were exposed to the radiation from the Bomb. Fifty years later the government took the blame after most of the victims had died from cancer. During the sixties it was Agent Orange. My Uncle Billy is missing his throat because of the big “C”. The little extra the Army gave him for his trip to Vietnam. What extra will I pick up in twenty years?
The human body requires only four hours of sleep a day to be fully functional. The Army is firm believer in this fact. This fact must have been discovered in the German concentration camp. Sixty day on four hours of sleep a day will tear down the body, the mind and the soul. While at Desert Storm the normal routine was to get four hours of sleep a day. The problem was the choice of time one had to sleep. Either sleeping in the middle of the day in one hundred and ten degree weather, or at night with Scud missiles falling inside the perimeter. Neither option was perfect. One night sleep finally over took my body. The bad dreams still haunt the nights. The tanks rolled in and surrounded all twenty-five of us. One brave soldier with M-16 in hand against the overwhelming odd of six 115mm guns pointing at him. In his mind he knew he could defeat those soldiers single-handed. When the sun came up and my eyes finally opened, my platoon leader had all the Iraq soldiers in custody. If those soldiers on that T-72 had been looking for a fight and not food, my entire platoon would have been dead. This event happened on my watch. Is there not a limit to how many times an event can be broadcast though a person’s head?
Think of the most horrifying movie ever produced. What is the answer: The Exorcist, Psycho, or Helloween? These films are no comparison to what haunts my head everyday. A decapitated head follows me around in my dreams. The image of body sucked though a hole one-fifth their size is with me whenever I open a soda pop can. Sally Suthers helps me to remember the persons starved to the brink of death. Chemical scarred bodies littering the battlefield and birds swooping down to snack from the remains of human destruction, a site so vulgar I can still smell the decay. What does one have to do to make these images disappear?
These images will not disappear. That is life in the movies. Movie stars can do anything they wish to do natural and supernatural. This movie is my big production. The writing comes from my heart. The tears are real. The production money comes from the sweat of my brow. The big picture is in sight, but the scene is not always blocked correctly. Some of the issues of least importance find their way to center stage, and upstage the more important things in life. The Army was of little importance in my life. Just as the director has to yell cut and tell Vincent to quit taking the attention away from the scene, I must in life tell the army to quit taking attention away from the big picture.
People are responsible for their actions. People can not continue to blame their environment, mothers and fathers, a dog or God for their actions. The big picture is simply put: I am responsible for anything that I do to people, property or myself. The actors in the Rocky, including the audience actors, have taken responsibly for themselves. The people driving by the theatre have no fear of the actors outside the theatre. Every one of the performers has his/her night planned. Besides the identification of the assailant would be too easy. The man had a black leather teddy, black fishnet pantyhose, bright red lipstick, and black curly hair.