I was a soldier once. The soldiers saw men and women, not color, race or religion. We were not perfect but if a brother soldier needed help. The soldiers in the unit would give to their fellow soldier without regret. Lifetime friendship were made. Soldiers celebrated the good and bad days together.
My Ojibwa Grandmother told me one time. Don’t hold hate or regret. Hate and regret, a heavy burden to be carry. She kissed my seven year forehead and she told me. When I was five year old. The United State government took me from my reservation, they cut my hair off. I wasn’t allow to speak my language and the school changed my name. I don’t hate them, I don’t hold regret. But I do remember. This is why I want you to be free as the wind and never be caged in.