Conversation in the Dollar Store today.

[trof]

I live in a rural Alabama town.
The manager of the Dollar Store is a pleasant lady about my age (mid 60s) who I usually chat with when I check out. Today while I shopped she was back in one of the aisles talking earnestly with an older gentleman. I say older, but I had a feeling he might be younger than me. His face and physique looked younger, but he limped along bent almost double. His head was level with my waist. Some debilitating disease or injury. He had a permanent sunburn and big gnarly hands. Obviously a guy who earned (or had earned) his living out of doors, probably doing manual labor.

Their conversation went something like this.
She: "I give him a twenty. He said they might have a layover somewhere and he might need to git something to eat.
He: "Some spending money. Thass good, thass good. I'll pay you back."
S: "NO YOU WILL NOT! How many spare twenties YOU got layin' around? You ain't even workin".
H: "I know, I know. Well...lemme split it with you. He's my boy too."

At that point I felt like an eavesdropper, and moved on. But there was more.

I finished shopping and stood in line at one of the two registers.
Followed by the old man, she went to the other register and said to me, "Come on over here hon. If it's check or cash I can take you here. No debit cards, though." I was paying cash.

As she rang up my purchases, she and the man continued their conversation.
S: "I cried all the way back from Mobile."
H: "I know, I know. He's so young. And he's hittin' Parris Island at the hottest time of the year. But he can take it. He's tough."
S: "He's a good boy. He'll be OK."
I couldn't help myself.
Me: "Sounds like you've got a boy going into the Marine Corps."
H: "Yessir. He's my grandson."
S: "My great nephew. This's my brother."
H: "He lived with me till my daughter...uh... his mom went. I couldn't take care of him by myself, so he went with my sister."
S: "I raised him for the last three years. He's like one of my own kids. He's nineteen."
This was definitely not a time for a discussion of the merits/debacle of the Iraq war/invasion.
M: "Yeah, it's pretty hot in Parris Island this time of year. But they take pretty good care of the boots. Can't afford not to. I'm sure he'll do fine."
S: "Was you a Marine?"
M: "No m'am, Air Force. But I have friends who are Marines. The training is tough, but it's probably the best combat training in the world. Is he going to Iraq?"
H: "He don't know yet. They said maybe not. I bet he does though."
S: "I just can't think about that. I'm just gonna think that he's still down at your house."
H: "Thass what I'm gonna do. Just keep thinkin' that he's up at your house. Not think about where he is."
M: "Is he flying out of Mobile?"
S: "Naw. They put them on a bus to Montgomery. Then they fly them to Parris Island...or somewhere...Carolina...something. He said he'll call us as soon as he can."
M: "I'm sure he'll be OK. I wish you and him all the best."
H: "Thank you sir."
And he shook my hand.

As I left the store I teared up.
Shit.
This is where they're getting recruits.
From the dirt-poor, and not quite dirt-poor, god-fearin', hard-scrabble, tryin'-to-make-ends-meet families of heartland America.
Kids with little or no future, no hope of a piece of the much vaunted American Dream.
And kids with a mistaken sense of "patriotism" fueled by the Bush administration and the Scaiffe-Limbaugh-Fox News propaganda machine.
I wonder how long it will take him to come to his senses?
Or if he even will.
And will he become another grim and useless statistic in the Glorious War on Terra?
God, I hope not.
I seriously and fervently hope this one south Alabama Marine makes it through.