Letters to my sons

I can not give you any riches. The only gifts I have are my memories. They are my life.
And so are you. Part of my living dream through America. After so many years, I still dream
in Romanian, converse in German, and write in English. I am suspended in time, between lands and nations. I only know the geography of my heart. I feel mostly American though, caught in the mirage of freedom, a freedom given to me by this country that is so misunderstood, so free and so unaware of its own power and ability to change the world. For the better.

Our life goes around in circles , and so does history. But the Americans resist any learning experiences. They think the world can bend along our thoughts and intentions.
Like trees in the wind.

Today is Veterans' Day. The morning News showed a group of veterans, beautifully dressed in their crisp uniforms, waiting patiently in the Gillette Stadium to meet some Patriots players. They were none. Not by their fault . The office announced the media of the "no show", but they just forgot to tell the soldiers about it. When my Marine son deployed in Iraq for the third time asked California's Governor office for a state flag for their Anbar base, the reply came quickly "sorry we can not send a flag but you may purchase one at the office gift shop." A woman's voice at NPR tells the story of her son, returned from Iraq in 2004 with post traumatic disorder, he is refused any meaningful treatment and kills himself a year later....I feel like dying myself.
Of shame and sadness. The day is already tired.