To submit your poem to our soldiers, please CLICK HERE! "A Different Christmas Poem"
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light, I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest, My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white, Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe, Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep, Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem, So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream. The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near, But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear, And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night, A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight. A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old, Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled, Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear, "Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve, You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!" For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift, Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts... To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right, I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night." "It's my duty to stand at the front of the line, That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me, I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December," Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam', And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while, But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile. Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag, The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone, Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet, I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another, Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all, To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall." "So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright, Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least, "Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done, For being away from your wife and your son." Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret, "Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone, To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead, To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust, That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN 30th Naval Construction Regiment OIC, Logistics Cell One Al Taqqadum, Iraq "A Sense of Duty" - Written by a member of the 1107th Family Often, when I'm feeling down I ask myself "why you?" Surely there are others, That can do the job you do I know you could've stayed behind, If you really tried. But when I think of why you went, It fills me up with pride. To stand up for your country, That's why you were sent. But your sense of duty and honor, Well...that is why you went. And so I understand, And do my duty too. But count the days 'til you come home, So I can be with you. "Then I Think of You" Sometimes I'm scared and want this nightmare to end. I'm cold and I'm lonely and just need a friend. -Then I think of you- Sometimes I feel lost - lose my faith, lose my strength, lose my will to go on. It's not worth the cost. -Then I think of you- I miss what I had, I miss what I know I miss little things like watching you grow. "Why am I doing this? Why am I here?" -Then I think of you- When I think of you, I remember your dark eyes staring up at me. I remember your big smile, so happy. And I think about your future. Then I remember - That is why I'm doing this. That is why I'm here. When I think of you - I'm not so scared, or so lonely, and don't feel so lost. Because when I think of you I know you are always with me. I wrote this for my friend Angelia but I think it fits a lot of families. Good Luck and God Bless. Thank you, Jessica My sweet neighbor lost her father this weekend. He was a veteran and a very good man. This poem was on the inside of his remembrance card, and I thought it was beautiful. I do not know if one of the family wrote this or if it is something the funeral homes uses for all the vets. I just thought you might like to pass this on to the wonderful people you e-mail on the Operation HERO site. Thanks for all you do to support our troops and their families. God Bless you all. (Deb) A SOLDIER'S PRAYER I saw a soldier kneeling down, for this was the first quiet place he had found. He had traveled through jungles, rivers, and mud. His hands were scarred and toil-worn. He had fought for days from night 'til morn. He folded his hands and looked to the sky... I saw his tears, as they welled in his eyes. He spoke to God, and this is what he said: God bless my men, who now lie dead, I know not what You have in mind, but when You judge, please be kind...when they come before You, they will be poorly dressed, but will walk proudly, for they have done their best. Their boots will be muddy and their clothes all torn...but these clothes they have so proudly worn. Their hearts will be still and cold inside, for they have fought their best and did so with pride. So please take care of them as they pass Your way...the price of freedom they've already paid. The Pullet's Egg - by Micki Nyhuis (Family Member - 203rd Engineer Battalion) It happens every year around this time. No matter how thoughtfully you care for your little flock of chickens, with artificial lights on a timer, plenty of fresh warm water, and fruits and vegetables in their diet, sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas your hens slack off on laying. As the days shorten and darken and the temperatures plunge, every day you get a fewer eggs until one day there are none at all. You buy some eggs for the Christmas baking, since nobody will notice the difference in cookies or pumpkin pies, and you want to save the "good" eggs for breakfasts. But you feel a little sad when you use the uniform, white, bland "factory" eggs in your recipes. Sometime after the turn of the year, but still too early to notice a real difference in the length of the days - and certainly it is getting colder by the minute! - you go out to the chicken house, and there, in the nest box, is a miracle. Perfect in its ovalness, perfect in its medium-brown color, so tiny it could have been laid by a passing robin (if they weren't all flown south!) there it is - the promise of a new beginning. A tiny pullet has laid her first egg. While an ordinary act of nature, this is also an act of faith so remarkable as to be staggering. She was born in the warm season, June or July - she has never seen spring come. All she knows is that with every day her formerly pleasant world has grown darker and colder. She has no empirical proof that warmth and light will ever return - and yet, here it is, small and glistening and still warm: her declaration of faith that while winter holds the world in its icy grip, yet spring is coming. Standing in the chicken house in my bulky winter clothing, I marvel and I feel very small. And I am staggered by the enormous faith of one of God's smallest, weakest creatures. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." -Micki Twelve Days Before Christmas - by David Cox 'Twas twelve days before Christmas, when all through Iraq One creature WAS stirring, hiding under a rock; The Styrofoam was hung over the rat hole with care, In hopes the 4th Infantry wouldn¹t look there; Ol' Saddam was nestled all snug in his bed, While visions of a comeback danced in his head; And nestled beside him, in a black briefcase, Was three quarters of a mil, in bills hard to trace. When up above him there arose such a clatter, He sprang from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the trapdoor he flew like a thistle, Looked up the rat hole and threw down his pistol. The light from above on his crest-fallen face Showed his captors that he would give up the chase, Because, what to his weary eyes should appear? But a US soldier and eight more at the rear, They saw a cowering rat, who¹d been on the lam, And they knew in a moment it must be Saddam. More rapid than eagles his curses they came, And he whimpered, and mumbled, and called them some names; "Now, boys don¹t be hasty! Now, guys, I must mention That you mustn¹t forget the Geneva Convention!" Then out of his hole they dragged his sorry butt And checked him for weapons and searched the hut. As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to their headquarters the captors they flew, With the briefcase full of cash, and Ol¹ Saddam too. And then, in a twinkling, they made the ID There was no mistake: it really was he. As they peeled off his jacket and checked his tattoos, CNN was right there to transmit the good news. He was dressed like a beggar, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of money he had stashed by his side, And he looked like a loser who¹d lost all his pride. His cheeks-- how hollow! his head full of hay! He was definitely having a Bad-Hair Day! His smart-ass mouth was drawn up in a sneer, And he just mumbled: "What¹re you guys doing here?" A rat's nest of a beard covered his forlorn face, And they could tell he¹d been running on an eight-month chase; He had lost some weight but still was quite stocky, And he trembled in fear and raved in Iraqi. He was sallow and drawn, an almost pitiful work, But no one felt sorry for the worthless jerk; The resignation in his eye and the hang of his head, Soon gave all to know they had nothing to dread; He spoke not a truth, but went straight to his lies, And dodged all the questions; then turned with a sigh, And laying his finger aside of his nose, Shot the bird to his captors as his cell door closed; He sank down on his cot, to his guards gave a mutter, And then sadly begged: "Could I have some supper?" But I heard him exclaim, as he formed his hands in a prayerful "steeple": "Praise be to Allah; just don¹t turn me over to the Iraqi people." DAVID S. COX, AIA, NCARB Grocery Architect, Design Team, Wal-mart Stores Inc. American Winter Wonderland - by Julie Vedane-Finn (Rogersville, MO) Saddam Hussein was a villain, But we caught him just a chillin’. A pistol in hand Not taking a stand Coward in a winter wonderland. In the dark, like a spider. Just a wimp, not a fighter. Disheveled and gray, Clothes in a fray Bumming in a winter wonderland. In the desert, we’ll still face insurgents Until all the Baathists are wiped out. We’ll keep fighting on with some urgence To protect the Shiite Muslims from their clout. For right now, there is rapture From the news of his capture. We will not refrain Till’ freedom is gained Fighting in a winter wonderland. In Iraq our soldiers keep on searchin’. Maybe we can find Bin Laden too. Then surely the al-Qaida will be hurtin’. Without their leader, there’ll be no more coup. After that, it may be over. Then I’ll see my dear soldier, And not live in fear Of terrorists here. Victory in a winter wonderland. Christmas Poem 2003 Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus with friends and family. Sometimes they can't be with you because of war in Iraq and other places, and other reasons you cannot be with loved ones and friends, sharing gifts and presents. Long ago angels came to see the shepherds at night and sang glory to God in the highest. Now days we should think lots more about things going on and giving blessings to everyone. Let's all try to do something special for persons you care about this season. Written By: Teresa Lynn Cobb One worth reading every year, and contributed by so many - thank you all. (Andy) Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone. I had come down the chimney with presents to give, And to see just whom, in this home did live. I looked all about, a strange sight I did see, No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand, On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands. With medals and badges, awards of all kinds, A sober thought came through in my mind. For this house was different, it was dark and dreary. I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly. The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone, Curled up on the floor of this one bedroom home. The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder, Not how I pictured a United States soldier. Was this the hero of whom I'd just read? Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed. I realized the families that I saw this night, Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight. Soon round the world, the children would play, And grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas Day. They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year, Because of the soldiers, like the one lying here. I couldn't help wondering how many lay alone, On a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home. The very thought brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees and started to cry. The soldier awoke and I heard a rough voice, "Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice." "I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more, My life is my God, my country, my corps." The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep, I couldn't control it, I continued to weep. I kept watch for hours, so silent and still, And we both shivered that night from the cold nights chill. I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night, This guardian of honor so willing to fight. Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure, He whispered, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day, All is secure." One look at my watch, and I knew he was right, "Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a Good Night!" This poem was written by a Marine, stationed in Okinawa, Japan. The following is his request...Please, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon, and much credit is due the service men and women from around the globe, who fight for our freedom, so we can celebrate these festivities. Let's try in some small way to repay a tiny bit of what we owe to those hero's, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your part and plant the small seed. A prayer for them would be nice. Light a candle for them on Christmas Day! Missing my Soldier Looking out my window, seeing the colors of the fall, I wonder what he's doing, if he's thinking of me at all. Remembering what it was like to have him in my arms, Wondering now if he's safe and in any harm. Seeing all the other couples embraced in each other's arms, Wondering if they know how lucky they really are To be able to come home to either their husband or their wife, And not have to worry about the danger of a soldier's life. For now I am patiently waiting for my soldier to return And to see his smiling face, his experience I must learn. Support him through the changes that have now taken place in our life For I'm now also a mother and his loving wife. Dedicated to my husband, Spc. Joseph Beltran and all the families who are experiencing the same pain. Discovered by her nice and contributed by Carmen Ingram: The good Lord was creating a model for military wives and was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared. She said, "Lord, you seem to be having a lot of trouble with this one. What's wrong with the standard model?" The Lord replied, "Have you seen the spec on this order?" She has to be completely independent, posses the qualities of both father and mother, be a perfect hostess to four or forty with an hour's notice, run on black coffee, handle every emergency imaginable without a manual, be able to carry on cheerfully, even if she is pregnant and has the flu. She must be willing to move to a new location ten times in seventeen years. And oh, yes, she must have six pairs of hands." The angel shook her head, "Six pairs of hands? no way." The Lord continued, "Don't worry, we will make other military wives to help her. And we will give her an unusually strong heart so it can swell with pride in her husband's achievements, sustain the pain of separations, beat soundly when it is overworked and tired, and be large enough to say "I understand" when she doesn't, and say "I love you" regardless. "Lord," said the angel, touching his arm gently, "Go to bed and get some rest. You can finish tomorrow." "I can't stop now," the Lord said, "I am so close to creating something unique. Already this model heals herself when she is sick, can put up six unexpected guests for the weekend, wave goodbye to her husband from a pier, a runway, or a depot, and understand why it's important that he leave." The angel circled the model of the military wife, looked at it closely and sighed. "It looks fine, but it's so soft." "She might look soft," replied the Lord, "but she has the strength of a lion. You would not believe what she can endure." Finally, the angel bent over and ran her fingers across the cheek of the Lord's creation. "There's a leak," She announced. "Something is wrong with the construction. I am not surprised that it has cracked. You are trying to put too much into this model." The Lord appeared offended at the angel's lack of confidence. "What you see is not a leak," he said. "It's a tear." "A tear? What is it there for?" asked the angel. The Lord replied, "It's for joy, sadness, pain, disappointment, loneliness, pride, and dedication to all the values that she and her husband hold dear." "You are a genius!" exclaimed the angel. The Lord looked puzzled and replied. "I didn't put it there." "I Do Not Like This Dust and Sand" I do not like this dust and sand I do not like it on my hands I do not like dust in my head I do not like it in my bed I do not like sand in my hair I hate it in my underwear I do not like this dust and sand I used to like the color tan I do not like dust on my clothes I despise it up my nose I do not like sand in my face Invading all my private space I do not like dust in my mouth I do not like it north or south I do not like sand east or west Nowhere is where I like it best I do not like dust in my ear It's hard to reach, I cannot hear When it gets in my drink and food It affects my attitude I like it not with ham and eggs I do not like sand on my legs I like it not in socks and boots Nor on my veggies, meats and fruits This dust and sand floats everywhere It dances in the desert air I like a dust storm even less Because it leaves a gritty mess I want to leave this sand and dust But until then in God I trust. Sand has not buried this man's sense of humor. This poem was written by Capt. Jay P.. of ..Kentucky, a Nat'l Guard Chaplain serving 7,000 miles away at a desert outpost....(over there) When things become too much; Just wait for the feel of my touch. When you can not sleep at night; Just wait for my arms to hold you tight. When fear takes hold and you don't know what to do; Remember my love and my spirit is forever with you. Written By: Teresa Guinther - for Robert with the 459th TC The following is a poem I wrote the day my son was deployed. Thanks for your wonderful site! I check back often. Standing at the armory, just as sad as we can be, His little brother says goodbye and then starts to cry. He whispers "mom, I'll be back soon," in a soft, reassuring tune and he holds me tight, promises to write. He was ready to serve his country, to go on off to war. Not afraid to sacrifice for what he's fighting for. So listen Mother Freedom, will you hold him in your arms, rock him in your righteousness and protect him from all harm. And when he's had too much to take of sweat and blood and sand, gently lift him from the battle and let him rest in the Lord's hands. Lying in my bed at night, just as sad as I can be, said my prayers and I, can't help but cry. I know he's safe for another day, cause no one came to me to day, I can rest tonight, but I don't feel right. Because I know somewhere some mother mourns, her child is not coming home. So I say a little prayer for her, then another of my own. So listen Mother Freedom, will you hold him close for me, guide him and his compatriots and show the world how to be free. And when we've asked too much of them and they've had more than they can stand, gently lift them from the grip of hate and let them rest in the Lord's hands. Now, Mother Freedom, you're a mother too and I know you understand. Protect my child in your strong arms, but let him rest in God's great hands. Written by: Penny Warner "No Matter What" No matter what comes my way, I really want a chance to say My love is strong, and continues to grow Even more than you'll know. While I'm gone, I know I'll see Just how much you mean to me. I've taken for granted the time we've had To have it back, I'd be so glad. Now's the time I change my view, And start to turn more toward you. The ones who cared when times got tough; To simply love was never enough. You always went that extra mile To make our time spent worthwhile. Soon I must leave you all To report for duty, to answer the call. I've trained so long for this time. My life now stopped on a dime. This is the time I need you all, To keep my name off the wall. Written by: SPC Miller, Bruce A. *Today is April 8th, 2003..are you thinking of me? For today, my love, is our anniversary Pictures in a frame, the memories held within War is going on overseas, I hope we win My heart sank that day you called Thinking of you over there fighting; I bawled Blakened tears stain my face Oh how I long for your embrace I always watch the updates Seeing President Bush, my heart is filled with hate Why did he have to declare war? Seeing the innocent die makes my eyes sore Turning on the TV I can't believe what I see.... ~Brave young lads march on by On their way to fight and die Marching to a living hell Some sights they see, they will not tell And in some distant battlefield Most of those lads' fates will be sealed On some torn up land of war Men will fight and blood will pour The air will fill with bloody cries While rain cascades down from fading skies And on that field of blood that day Death will stand with nothing to say And through the valley of death there will pass A silent, scarred, war-torn mass Legion after Legion of the forgotten dead Delivered from hell, between them nothing will be said And for some, a little stone crass will be made In exchange for the price that they paid...~ Turning off the TV, and going to my room I long for the war to end soon You promised me, Nathan, you said you'd be back Letters, phone calls, knowing you're okay is what I lack I pray nightly that you'll survive and you're fine I know you have me in your heart, as you are in mine. ~*~Dedicated to Nathan Michael Hunt~*~ By: Kristyn Rainey American Heroes I am thankful for heroes who rise to the call who walk the walk, stand brave and tall, We know you have a big job to do and pray that God watches over you. I'm sure the days and nights are long and wish you were here where you belong, Your families will wait with open arms with faith and hope you'll see no harm. We see the pictures, and hear all the news that Saddam Hussain is gonna lose, He lost his chance to flee his country, we'll kick his butt, and get the victory. Our nation mourns the one's we've lost fighting a battle for a worthy cause, We did not ask for terrorists and wars on land or sea, from ships to shores. The Army, the Navy, and the National Guard the Coast Guard, Marines, & Air Force, they all work so hard, We hang yellow ribbons, bows and wear pins to honor our heroes, both men and women. Thru Operation Hero, We Support Our Troops, a letter, a package, or emails from groups The last day will come, the war will soon end you'll stay in our hearts and our prayers till then. God Bless America! (by: Barbara J. Smith) Thinking of You This morning as I rose from bed and saw the sun above I softly said "Good Morning, God, bless everyone I love." And right away I thought of our troops and said a loving prayer That He would bless you specially and keep you in his care. I thought of all the trials your day could hold in store And prayed that He would hold you cause no one deserves it more. I felt so warm and good inside, my heart was all aglow I know God heard my prayer for you, He hears them all you know. God Bless and Protect you. We are behind you. Cheryl Hopper, Ava, Mo. One Nation Under "One nation under God" or are we just plain under, you can't take God out of a picture he created, a pot that he molded "One nation under God" our founders sought religous freedom, our men died for us to have it, we can worship freely but we choose not to, did those men die in vain? "One nation under God" He has blessed us, he gave us the leaders that we have for a reason, but all we can do is complain. "One nation under God" what kind of a people have we become? where has our trust gone? the loving kindness that we once beheld? we used to care. "One nation under God" you must have the whole thing for without God, we are nothing but One nation under. ~Wenonah Toney I want to share with you a poem my father wrote in 1941, when he was in the Machine Gun Troop of the 14th Cavalry. He was discharged after the war as a Staff Sergeant with 2 bronze stars. He passed away Dec. 15 of last year, and has always been my hero and made me appreciate all the men and women who defend our nation and freedom. THE AMERICAN SOLDIER Hail to the American soldier boy, So gallant and so brave. As long as strength in his body lasts, That long our flag will wave. He left his home and parents dear, He left his sweetheart too. He hopes to return to them someday, And begin his life anew. He will face the danger without fear, He will suffer hunger and pain. And when all worry and care is o'er, Will come marching home again. So onward, onward soldier boy, He loves to hear that cry And will fight the enemy, great or small To keep OLD GLORY FLYING HIGH! By PVT. JACOB M. HONEY Machine Gun Troop 14th Cav., 1941 "Wish You Were Here" For all the free people that still protest. You're welcome. We protect you and you are protected by the best. Your voice is strong and loud, but who will fight for you? No one standing in your crowd. We are your fathers, brothers, and sons, wearing the boots and carrying guns. We are the ones that leave all we own, to make sure your future is carved in stone. We are the ones who fight and die, We might not be able to save the world, Well, at least we try. We walked the paths to where we are at and we want no choice other than that. so when you rally your group to complain, take a look in the back of your brain. In order for that flag you love to fly wars must be fought and young men must die. We came here to fight for the ones we hold dear. If that's not respected, we would rather stay here. So please stop yelling, put down your signs, and pray for those behind enemy lines. When the conflict is over and all is well, be thankful that we chose to go through hell. Corporal Joshua Miles and all the boys from 3rd Battalion 2nd Marines, Kuwait THE MARINE We all came together, Both young and old. To fight for our freedom, To stand and be bold. In the midst of all evil, We stand our ground, And we protect our country From all terror around. Peace and not war, Is what some people say. But I'll give my life, So you can live the American way. I give you the right To talk of your peace, To stand in your groups, And protest in our streets. But still I fight on. I don't bitch, I don't whine. I'm just one of the men Who is doing your time. I'm harder than nails, Stronger than any machine, I'm the immortal so! ldier, I'm a U.S. MARINE! So stand in my shoes, And leave from your home. Fight for the people who hate you, With the protests they've shown. Fight for the stranger, Fight for the young, So they all may have, The great freedom you've won. Fight for the sick, Fight for the poor. Fight for the cripple, Who lives next door. But when your time comes, Do what I've done. For if you stand up for freedom You'll stand when the fight's done. ~Corporal Aaron M. Gilbert~ This poem was wrote by my daughter for her Uncle Mike, who is stationed in Bosnia. You hear so much about the troops in Iraq, and I support them and honor them and we pray they come home safe, but we also have troops in Bosnia. I would like to let the troops know, that are stationed in other parts of the world, that we also thank them for what they are doing and have done. We want to say Thank You and hope you come home safe to your family and friends that miss you. Our flags fly high and our yellow ribbons surround our trees. My brother lives in Almena KS, but was raised in Walnut Grove, MO. We are so proud of him and want him to know that we love him and miss him. This peom is for Spc. Micheal D. Harris, Stationed in Bosnia... MY UNCLE MIKE Today is a sad day, For my family and me, Someone that I love a lot, Is no longer there to see, He had to go far away, To fight for what we believe, I sure did cry, When he had to leave, With my heart full of sadness, And my eyes full of tears, I had to say goodbye, For at least a few years, You see my favorite Uncle, Has went away to war. He fights for our families freedom, And for the Twin Towers, that fell to the floor, My Uncle is my hero, And when he comes home, and knocks on my door, I'll give him the BIGGEST hug, Then EVER before. By Bethany Renee Baldwin Age 12, 6th grade, Wheatland Elem. Wheatland, MO