Scholarship Contest Results

Megan Elizabeth Gil, from Lakewood, California has won the $5000 2010 Independence Day Scholarship Essay Contest. Congratulations to Megan, who also won $500 for her school, and $250 for her class!

Watch for our next scholarship essay contest, which will be announced on or before August 1, 2010.

Dearest Daughter,

It is your birthday today. I am sorry I cannot be there to celebrate it with you. I know I have not always been there for you, but I hope this letter will suffice. You are now old enough to understand reality and I would like you to know the truth about me and the world around you. Although it is not a very pleasant story, you deserve to know.

Life as a soldier is not as patriotic and heroic as the media makes it out to be. History books don’t tell the complete story nor do they compare to the horrors that I have witnessed. Yes, there is a great sense of pride in fighting for your country, knowing that you are one of many people to help protect a whole nation and its freedom. Our ancestors once fought for our independence, and now I proudly fight to keep it. However, when a soldier strips himself of his uniform, he is only a man; a terrified man. You could never imagine the things that I have seen. I have watched a man fall dead without anyone to help him. I’ve held a stranger, no older than twenty-one, and comforted him as he took his last breath. I’ve been asked by a dying soldier to pass along his love to his family, and I have witnessed a wife and children cry for their beloved. These are all images that are permanently ingrained in my memory, but not ones of which I am particularly fond.

I much prefer the images in my head to be of you, happy and carefree. My biggest regret is that I cannot be there to watch you grow up. I wish I could have held you right after you were born, and seen your innocent eyes look up at me for the first time. I would have loved to witness your first baby steps and watch you score the winning goal at your soccer game. I am deeply sorry that you have had to go through life never knowing your father. But, you must know, that I do this for you and your mother. Although I am not physically there, my heart is with you always. I fight so that you may live whatever life you choose without limitations.

Always remember that freedom comes at a cost. And if you are reading this letter, then you know that it has cost a man’s life. Unfortunately, it had to be mine. But, know that I did everything I could to stay alive to come home and see you. I love you and I hope that one day, you will understand. Happy 18th birthday.

With all the love in my heart,

Dad, December 1952

--

I finished reading the letter aloud and looked up at my grandchildren staring in silence. They sat on their adjacent beds, seeking comfort from their stuffed animals. I saw remnants of chocolate cake on the corners of their mouths. Their innocent faces expressed what words could not: loneliness and sorrow. They longed for their own father, my son, to return. I felt my eyes begin to well up as I held back the tears that were trying to escape. I continued.

“My father wrote this letter to me in December of 1952, when I was born. I have never met him and this letter is the only remaining treasure I have of his. I have read it every year on my birthday for the past 40 years. I have always imagined him to be a great man: proud yet humble, sincere and passionate, strong and protective. He would have an honest smile and a contagious laugh. He would always tell the funniest jokes and the most compelling stories. People who knew him would see me walking down the street and tell me what a lucky girl I was to have a father like him. Your dad is much like this man who I have imagined as mine.” My grandchildren looked up at me with interest and sorrow when I spoke of their father.

As I tucked them into bed, I told them stories of their dad when he was young and told them about how he had grown into such a great man. I told them about the time he made a home run for his baseball team to score the winning run in the championship game. I told them the story of how he took home a stray dog one day on the way home from school. He named him Sam and the two of them became best friends. They did everything together: played catch, delivered newspapers and terrorized the neighbors. They were inseparable. One of the worst days of his young life was when Sam died. I remember the sadness in his eyes being similar to that of his fatherless children now.

As I continued to recall these memories, I smiled as I thought about how he met his wife. They were set up by friends as a practical joke, but the moment he met her, he knew that she was the woman destined to be his bride. Six months later, they married. In the three years following their marriage, they had two beautiful children. My daughter-in-law was also a fighter. She fought for her own freedom; freedom from cancer. Two years after their youngest was born, she lost her battle. This family lost another brave soldier.

“Your father is a brave man and he has lost a lot in his lifetime,” I told them. “I’m sure not a day goes by when he is not thinking of the two of you. He loves you both and he misses you, but just remember that he is there fighting for your freedom. Because freedom is not given to you, it has to be earned. And sometimes, lives are lost and people change, but those are the prices that we as a country and we as a family are willing to pay in order to be free and live as we choose. But, you kids need to go to sleep. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight, my angels.” I kissed them goodnight and watched their eyelids droop as I turned off the lights.

As I walked to my bedroom that night, I began to weep for my son in Afghanistan. I realized that the only difference between me and my grandchildren is age. I remembered the days when I would pull myself under the covers at night and cry myself to sleep, thinking of my father and wondering what he was like. Some nights, I can hear the sobs of their same loss and pain seeping through the paper thin walls that separate my room from theirs. These children are learning that the price for freedom is costly and some have to make more sacrifices than others.

That night before I went to sleep, I sat upright in bed, thinking about the first men to fight for our country. I wondered if on July 4, 1776 when the Second Continental Congress declared independence from Britain, they knew that men like my father and my son would fight to maintain the freedom they once dreamed about. I wondered if they knew that freedom was more than just signing away at a piece of paper. I wondered if they knew that good men would lose their lives in order to protect those “certain unalienable rights” granted to us by The Declaration of Independence. I wondered if those men whose signatures are on that legendary document, knew that it would not only cause an eight year long revolutionary war, but 200 years of war thereafter; wars against Spain, Germany, Russia, Korea, Vietnam and now Afghanistan. I wondered.

Freedom does not exist without struggle. As author Cormac McCarthy once said in a rare interview, “there’s no such thing as life without bloodshed. […] the notion that the species can be improved in some way, that everyone could live in harmony, is a really dangerous idea. Those who are afflicted with this notion are the first ones to give up their souls, their freedom. Your desire that it be that way will enslave you and make your life vacuous.”

Although I have lost a lot in my lifetime, I am thankful for the things that I have and the people who have made that possible. I have led a wonderful life filled with love and happiness and I would not trade it for the world. I am blessed with two beautiful grandchildren and a lovely home. With my father’s letter, I have learned that one’s freedom may come at another’s expense; freedom is not free. As unfortunate as that may be, it is true. We must be thankful and support our soldiers for the things that they have done to make this country so great.

As I sat there thinking, the doorbell rang. I went downstairs and opened the door. In front of me I saw the silhouette of a soldier and I freed my tears.