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Click on
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Camille |
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Will
You Shake My Hand?
By Camille N. Nelsen
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“I
would NEVER shake the hand of
a Marine.”
“Excuse
me?!” My hand recoils, as
if bitten by a snake.
Just
moments before, this stranger
had commented on my Eagle, Globe
and Anchor that I wear next to
my heart every day. “Who’s
in the Corps? You or your husband?”
“My
husband is, and I’m so proud
of it. Were you in the Marine
Corps, too?”
“No,
I was in the Army.” He continues
by telling me that he had served
for over twenty years. I reach
out my hand to shake his. “Thank
you so much for serving our country
for so long.”
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He
looks at me quizzically,
and then he begins:
“I
would never shake the hand
of a Marine. They ain’t
nothin’ but a bunch
of $%*#@…”
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I
stare at him in stunned silence.
Then, I think, WATCH OUT, here
it comes! He has insulted my husband,
my father, my brother, and every
single Marine who has ever served
our great country!
“Are
you serious? You’re standing
there in front of me insulting
the Marine Corps?”
He
has nothing further to add, except
to reiterate his first statement.
"Yeah, why would I want to
shake any Marine's hand?"
I
look at him, pitying his bitterness
and shallow perception.
“Well,
sir you know what? You can be
CERTAIN that I would GLADLY shake
the hand of ANYONE who has served
our great country. I will thank
ANY Marine, Soldier, Sailor or
Airman; they all deserve our country’s
appreciation. And I don’t
believe that your opinion is the
general consensus amongst the
rank and file.”
He
stood there, staring. I watched
him blink.
With
nothing left to say, he leaves.
The
next day, a gentleman approaches
me about the Eagle, Globe and
Anchor that I wear next to my
heart.
“Are
you the Marine, or is your husband?”
Smiling,
I think, Oh no, here we go again.
“My
husband is the Marine, and I serve
alongside him.”
I hold my breath for his reply.
“That’s
awesome. I was in the Navy for
over twenty years. Tell your husband
Ooh Rah and Semper Fi.”
I
held out my hand to shake his.
“Yes,
sir, will do. And by the way,
thank you for serving our country
for so long. I, for one, appreciate
it.”
By Camille N. Nelsen
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The
Hounds Of
Hell
By Camille
N. Nelsen
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The Hounds of Hell
Used to wake him from his
sleep
The
Hounds of Hell
Were snarling at his feet
The
Hounds of Hell
Stole his peace of mind
The
Hounds of Hell
Were only Hounds of Time.
The
Time now past
Would forever leave its
mark
The
Time now past
Burned its brand on his
heart
The
Time now past
No dimmer than before
The
Time now past
Was once a day of War.
The
days of War
Live vivid in his soul
The
days of War
We forget as he grows old
The
days of War
Haunt him as no other
The
days of War
Turned strangers into brothers.
Beside
his Brothers
They fought the Hounds of
Hell
Beside
his Brothers
Were stories they would
tell
Beside
his Brothers
War ravaged its ugly pain
Without
his Brothers
He'd never be seen again.
Never
seen again
No words are spoken here
Never
seen again
He seemed to disappear
Never
seen again
Until one day the Light
Never
seen again
Until he left the Fight.
The
Fight long gone
Took its toll in his eyes
The
Fight long gone
Betrayed truth into lies
The
Fight long gone
Grows weary with his hand
The
Fight long gone
Screams silently, THE BAND.
The
Band once sealed
The fate of Brotherhood
The
Band once sealed
A time of greater good
The
Band once sealed
Promises to be kept
The
Band once sealed
Their weakness as they wept.
The
Weeping still
Comes and goes as it pleases
The
Weeping still
Only begs to find the reason
The
Weeping now
Binds like no other
The
Weeping now
Is amongst this Band of
Brothers.
The
Band of Brothers
Their stories fight to tell,
The
Band of Brothers
Defeated
The Hounds of Hell.
"I wrote this a year
ago for Memorial Day. I
had all servicemen in mind
as I wrote it and it truly
felt as though a warrior
of yesterday was whispering
the words to me.......I
wanted to honor all of our
warriors.....the ones of
yesterday and the warriors
of today. "
By Camille N. Nelsen
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THE
FLAG STILL STANDS
FOR FREEDOM
By Camille N.
Nelsen
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We are newcomers to Kansas
City, having just been stationed
in Okinawa, Japan for three
years. While I loved our
time in Okinawa, I have
a new, profound appreciation
for simple things here in
America. It’s not just
apple pie and baseball...it’s
driving by a cornfield,
the majesty of our mountains,
the glory of a sunset in
the Midwest where the sky
seems to go on forever,
beautiful church steeples,
yellow school buses and
the freedom to make so many
different choices. I missed
it all.
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I am married to a United States
Marine, and as such we are
called away from family to
serve our beloved country
in a rather unique way. It
is in my blood; the call to
serve is ingrained in me.
My father was a helicopter
pilot in Vietnam in 1966 serving
with HMM-265; I learned early
how to be the family that
supported their Marine. We
were behind the scenes, while
he was on the front line.
My life continues in that
thread, weaving a small piece
of the tapestry of Marine
Corps history.
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For you, relating to
the Marine Corps may
just be something in
the movies or on the
news. Your idea of the
Marine Corps may be
based on seeing the
images of a Marine in
camouflage, the intimidating
face |
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"Your
idea of the
Marine Corps
may be based
on seeing the
images of a
Marine in camouflage"
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painted, or you may see them
flying in behind enemy lines
to rescue a fellow American
serviceman. They are larger-than-life
heroes, in media and real
life. The commercials liken
them to knights in shining
armor. But I see someone’s
husband who is thinking of
her as he trains, someone’s
son who is trying to make
his old man proud, or someone’s
daddy who has a picture of
his baby girl in the cockpit
of his helo. I know this because
I was that baby girl. I am
the wife. I am the daughter-in-law
of the old man.
From my perspective, things
in America have changed
dramatically since the horror
of September 11th. I believe
that we have become a better
people, no longer taking
our everyday heroes for
granted. Everywhere I look
I see a flag. Flags on houses
proudly waving in the wind,
flags on cars, flags painted
onto tree trunks, flags
on lapels; yes, Old Glory
is in her prime! I see bumper
stickers that reflect how
we as Americans have come
together as one, UNITED
WE STAND.
And through the following
I have found that to be
true.
While in Okinawa, we received
a package from an elementary
school in Wisconsin. It
was filled with letters
of love from children to
our servicemen and women
stationed overseas. The
package was passed around
the office and Marines of
all ages and rank humbly
sat down to write their
own letters in response.
The display of appreciation
was unforgettable, undeniable.
My father was driving to
work, Marine Corps sticker
visible in his side window.
(Out of the service for
many, many years but still
carrying the pride of the
time he served, his is the
story of “Once a Marine,
Always a Marine.”)
A white car drove by then
slowed down; a young Marine
Sergeant rendered one of
the most beautiful salutes
my father has ever seen.
He pulled over, blinded
by tears from this show
of respect and gratitude.
A Marine and his wife are
driving along one day when
they notice a car pulling
up alongside them. The man
driving the other car tries
to get their attention and
when he finally succeeds,
he mouths the words, THANK
YOU. Realizing that he has
seen their Marine Corps
sticker, they understand
and are deeply moved.
Last week, while at an eye
doctor appointment, the
discussion turns to the
fact that my husband is
a Marine. The doc hastily
writes a note, saying he
can’t possibly write
as much as he’d like.
After seeing his words,
I understand clearly the
weight behind it. “Thank
you for serving in the United
States Marine Corps.”
He asks me to please convey
to my husband his true and
heartfelt gratitude and
thanks me for constantly
moving our family to serve
our country. WOW!
So, let me say THANK YOU
to YOU.
THANK
YOU for flying your flags,
for tipping your hats, for
waving, for smiling, for
unabashedly loving our country.
THANK YOU for validating
the fact that we have a
GREAT MILITARY filled with
men and women who were patriot!
ic before patriotic was
cool. THANK YOU for supporting
us. THANK YOU for reinforcing
us and standing beside us.
THANK YOU for finally putting
gratitude into practice!
THANK YOU for believing
in the might and the glory
of this great country we
call home.
Recently, I read a commentary
written by a lady who spent
her July 4th evening hiding
in her basement with her
dog. Apparently, the fireworks
upset them both. But for
me, the celebration was
every bit as much in my
soul as it was in the sky.
Each firework crackled with
emotion, exploding with
the indomitable American
spirit.
So, after the tragedy of
September 11th, does that
star spangled banner yet
wave? You bet she does!!
And I, for one, was not
hiding in my basement on
the Fourth of July. I was
out there jumping up and
down, clapping and laughing!
WE ARE PROUD TO BE AMERICANS!
WE ARE FREE! WE ARE UNITED!
(TAKE THAT, OSAMA!)
From a Midwestern girl who’s
been away for so long, this
homecoming has been incredible!
Thank you for ALL of your
fireworks! It is truly good
to be back.
GOD
BLESS AMERICA, my home sweet
home!
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NOTE:
This article,
FLAG STILL STANDS
was
Camille's
first one. It is
circulating right
now through the Marine
Corps e-mail and Marine
headquarters featured
it in their newsletter....page
one! She did not know
they were going to
use it and was certain
that they had no idea
how to get in touch
with her to ask permission.
Although the piece
has been published
many times before
and is read in schools
all across America,
Camille was honored
that the Marines chose
it for their readers.
"For some reason,
people like this one,"
quoted Camille. "I'm
just a girl who loves
to write about this
fantastic life."
Contact
Camille
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THE
JACKET
By Camille N. Nelsen
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It
hung in the closet. In the quiet
darkness it waited. He would take
it out from time to time, lightly
touching the familiar leather, outlining
the now-faded patches. This was
a part of him; it embodied lifelong
dreams and aspirations. The wings
on it brought forth pride and reflection
that only a select few would understand,
representing a time not forgotten,
a war not forgotten. |
For her, there was a different association.
It had been a part of him all of
her life, the texture and scent
were ingrained in her memory. She
could tell you, with her eyes closed,
exactly how it looked on him, how
it felt to hug him while he wore
it, how heavy it felt to her little
girl shoulders when she tried it
on. Its true meaning however, would
be lost on her for years.
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All of his life he had dreamed
of flying. He had been around
World War II Marine Corps
fighter pilots as a child,
and the dreams that were born
then carried into his adult
life. These pilots had forever
left an |
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"He had visions
of serving his country,
honorably, dutifully..."
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ineffaceable impression on the boy,
virtually guaranteeing that the
child’s future would belong
to the Corps.
He had visions of serving his
country, honorably, dutifully;
giving everything he had, modeling
those whom had gone before. He
learned of warriors from the past,
fighting for our freedom, the
cost of that freedom, and the
glory and righteousness of that
fight. It was that dream and those
images that eventually led him
to the doorsteps of the United
States Marine Corps.
The day he earned his flight jacket
was more exciting than graduating
college. The jacket meant that
he had ARRIVED! T-28’s, carrier
quals, CH-46’s, the Eagle,
Globe and Anchor. God. Country.
Corps. He was now a Marine PILOT.
He flew out of Marble Mountain
in DaNang, saving lives, rescuing
Marines. He belonged in the sky;
he was at home in that cockpit.
His babies were the helicopters
of HMM-265, tail sign Echo Papa,
and the men of 265 his brothers.
Years and years have passed and
yet the jacket remained, symbolizing
always his love for the Corps
and his fellow Marines. He would
never forget them, and his memories
of flying would never dim.
She was a baby when he earned
the jacket and the wings. The
leather wove their hearts together
in a special bond that would never
fade. Every childhood memory of
hers was somehow laced with that
dark brown jacket; the crush of
it against her face as she hugged
her daddy, the way the leather
would stiffen when it was cold
outside, the sight of him wearing
the jacket when he flew hot air
balloons. She watched him all
of her life, and always there
was the jacket neatly wrapping
up her love and devotion. He was
more than a pilot, he was her
hero.
As I grew up, I wanted to know
more about this chapter in my
father’s life, this chapter
that was closed and would not
be discussed. I studied and researched,
learned of the pain, the tragedies,
the heartache, the heroism. I
finally began to understand the
pride, the tradition, the spirit
of the Corps. I tried to walk
in his footsteps, even though
they will always be more than
I can fill.
I have been fortunate enough to
sit in the same cockpit that he
once sat in. I have seen the glorious
Phrogs in flight and have been
at a change of command for his
old squadron. I have toured the
halls of HMM-265, and peeked into
the Ready Room. Being married
to my beloved, an active duty
Marine, has kept my life linked
to the Marine Corps after all
these years.
My children also know of our proud
heritage and our deep roots in
the Marine Corps. We will foster
that knowledge and treasure the
experience. My father is now not
the only one in our family who
knows and understands this priceless
devotion. He has successfully
bestowed his love of the Corps
to his children and we will continue
to pass it down to his grandchildren.
This Christmas, he gave me the
surprise of my life.
“Camille, come with me for
a minute. I have something for
you.”
I follow him, wondering what he’s
up to.
He goes to a closet. It hung in
the closet. In the quiet darkness
it waited.
He carefully takes out the jacket
and looks at it one more time.
I notice the wistful expression.
He would take it out from time
to time, lightly touching the
familiar leather, outlining the
now-faded patches.
He hands it to me, fighting the
lump in his throat, “I want
you to have this.”
I stop breathing. I take it gently,
gingerly, trembling. Instantly
the tears come, silently flowing
over my cheeks. She could tell
you, with her eyes closed, exactly
how it looked on him, how it felt
to hug him while he wore it, how
heavy it felt on her little girl
shoulders when she tried it on.
“Dad, are you sure?”
I can hardly speak, my knees are
weak and I can barely stand. I
understand what this means to
him and am humbled that he found
me worthy of such a gift.
He felt a momentary tug at the
loss of his jacket, but simultaneously
knew that he had done the right
thing. He wanted me to have this
beautiful, tangible article of
pride and tradition. He was sure.
Dad, you have given me your most
treasured earthly possession,
and I will forever be grateful
for your trust. I will always
care for this symbol of your life’s
passion.
Months later, I touch the wings
on one of the patches, tracing
over the gold embossing. His name
and rank are as clear as the day
he got it.
W.W. SHAW
LT. USMC.
I still cry.
He was a PILOT.
In his heart, in the echoes of
his memories, he is still.
Semper
Fi, Marine. Semper Fi.
As
a Marine wife do you have
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Contact
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Foxy Ladies!
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