Kurt
I have very few personal memories with Kurt Shea. I remember that he wore an eyepatch under his glasses for most of 5th grade. He had longish blonde hair, and he was all about pokemon – sometimes, when we would line up waiting to leave the elementary school at the end of the day, he and I would trade cards, as long as no teachers were looking. I remember in middle school, he would sit with Greg Smith and Josh Treiber and sometimes Tyler Work, and they would all play those silly games on their TI-83 calculators.
I punched him, once. I must have been bragging about how strong I was, and he said I couldn’t hurt him, just try it. He told me to punch him in the stomach and I did, and he laughed.
I was standing next to him in our 5th grade graduation picture. I was wearing this pink shirt with hearts and stars on it, and he was next to me, wearing his eyepatch and his blue tie-dyed pokemon shirt.
Kurt died this week, fighting in Afghanistan, and I just remember him as a 5th grader. We all used to talk about what we were going to be when we grew up, and I can’t remember if Kurt ever said he wanted to join the Marines – but of course, America wasn’t at war when I was in 5th grade. None of us could have known he’d die when he was 21.
And we were by no means close – not at all. But it’s so strange to know that Kurt died at war. And I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t supposed to be like this. And there are the normal answers that I always hear in defense of war (answers that I used to spout off, too) : “That’s war. People die. It’s tragic, but it’s war. He knew what he was signing up for.”
But when I say “it’s not supposed to be like this,” I’m not talking about the war in Afghanistan. I’m talking about a 21 year old who used to be 10 year olds with an eyepatch dying because people can’t get along. I’m talking about death, and about sin.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
