Byron, thank you for your suggestions not to learn about life from the TV, sure- that would be to late for me anyhow, since I am old enough to know thing or two about life and other cultures just by living.
About war- I hate war, I've been close to that, war has hurt me and my family many times.
OK, let me tell you a little story, what happened to me some 20 years or some ago. Than I was still living back in Latvia. My older son, at that time just 18years old was drafted to the Russian army. It wa a time, when there was a war with Afghanistan. As Latvia was under the occupation of Russia at that time, my son had to go. He was a big-6'3" blond boy, a good athlete, a champ in reggby. Surely enough he was taken to special forces training camp. We did not hear from him for 3 month, I thougt he was somewhere in Tadgikistan, near Afghanistan.
One late November nighte there was ring at my door and there was my son with 2 Asian looking army officers at my door. My son was shaven bold, very pale, in a horrible russian army jacket- called puficka, smth. like that. The officers told me, that they brought my son Ivar to me to say final goodbyes, because he was an army deserter, he was to go under the military tribunal for deserting and being a traitor to fatherland.
Needless to say about my emotions about that, but sure enough I got them all inside. My first thought was to buy time, to have more time, so my son was not taken away from me- helpless and without a clue what happened. I had vodka on more drinks at home- I worked as the best bartender there was in the world at that moment- the 2 officers were prety mellow after 1 hour of drinks round and round. However, my son was not alowed to speak to me. So i cooked a dinner and more drinks, finally the officers agreed to stay over night, they would deliver my son to the military prison in the morning. For some reason they had to deliver him to the region he was drafted from. When the officers were drunk and asleep, I had the chance to speek to Ivar. Turns out he has cut his wrists to kill himself, not wanting to jump from the helicopter into some place in Afghanistan. Was he so afraid to go there? Was he so depressed that he wanted to kill himself? i needed to know- so I could save my son from pretty sure death sentence in the military tribunal. And God bless vodka for ever and ever- it saved me. I had that time with my son at nighte to learn all and work out the strategy what to do. He told me, that of course he had no intentions to kill himself, but same time, he knew he would not do the killing he was being trained to do- the knifes and guns etc. He said that he set himself to cut his wrists in a very calculated time before the morning alarm, so his comrades would save him from tottal bleeding to death. Than he said, that the russian rasor blades were so goddamn bad, not sharp enough- it took him a long time to cut trough the skin and not enough time to bleed seriously enough to be taken for a commited suicidal freek. his plan went very wrong, that's how he was accused of being a desertier, which of course he was.
In the morning I insisted to go first to the general of the Riga garnison military office. Since the officers had a heavy hangover they did not argue too much with me and they let me go with them to the general. We waited for a long time. There was a paperwork done, but I was permitted to stay. At first the general questioned my son, than he was kind enough totalk to me privately. i told him that my son was mentally disturbed for a long time, he needed help, not the death sentence, I was going on and on. I told that even my son's father was compleately crazy and has died by throwing himself under the train. That was a big lie, sure, my husband was dead, but he died of a heart attack playing a basketball- he was young, just 39 years old. But who was there to tell that I am telling a lie? And it was helping my son, because what if he inherited the mental ilness? I any case, i would have bought a sertificate, if necessary, to give a proof, that he died under the train or whatever. The genereal got so tired of me and my lies, that he sent us back to Tadgiskistan, to the regional general, so my son could be observed in the military mental hospital. It took us some time to travel, I made sure I had the drinks, the vodka bottles with us at all times, taking some more stuff with me- as "gifts"
That general in Tadgikistan- he was pretty angry guy. Well, I had to go on my knees and beg him and kiss his boots to let my son be placed in the military hospital.
There was a problem, because my son was not crazy at all. The hardest part was, that in the mental hospital there were guys intetionally provoking him, to prove, that he is faking it. They would tell jokes, and how would not an 18 years old not to laugh at jokes? Means- you are not crazy, you understand, you are not depressed. I lived in the town with very nice muslim people, but of course, i could not tell the truth- what was going on. Just it came to my mind, that if my son would take up on knitting, than all of them would really think- he was crazy and he would have a chance to concentrate on knitting - he would survive. He did the knitting and he did survive. After a month he was transferred back to Riga, than I paid some money and from the military hospital he was trasferred to the civilian mental institution. That was already OK, the doctor there was a friend of mine.
Ivar was free after a month or so.
My heir turned very white, even I was still young. Soon after that I decided to leave that country forever, because I had a younger son, so- that I did.
Dear Byron, once you asked me to express my condoleneces to you about the fallen British soldiers. I could not do that, and I am sorry for that. But if I knew the mothers of the dear boy's- I would cry with them and kiss their feet. The pain what they endure is unbearable.
Sorry, my story turned out longer as I wanted to, just some thoughts and memories about war and learning about cultures from TV.
Love
one thing never does- there is and always will be a war.