Fighting the ostrich syndrome

Last week in this space, I delivered a disgruntled "review" of Dave Letterman's discourteous and heavy-handed treatment of Bill O'Reilly on Dave's late night show. I really hated to do it, because I've been such an admirer of Dave's, but I also greatly admire Bill, and the whole scene had made me squirm. It just felt wrong.

Obviously, I wasn't alone. I've never received such an avalanche of response, most of it very favorable, some negative, and some much angrier and upset with Dave than I was! The overwhelming theme of the response is this: We're at war. It's a real, fighting and filthy war. Some of our finest young men and women are being wounded, and too many dying, in this war. And it's a war we must win!

TRENDING: YouTube algorithm blocked chess vlogger for talk about white and black game pieces: Report

It's not the time for endless debate about how we got into Iraq and whether or not we had sufficient provocation and what, if anything, we should have done differently. We're there – and if we're still anything at all like the Americans who made this country great, we need to be supporting our president, our leadership, our military, in every way we can!

I'm sick of seeing bumper stickers (and some of my negative e-mails) declaring, "He's not my president!"

Oh yeah? Exactly who is "your president"? That guy, Harry Belafonte's friend, in Venezuela? Have you and Michael Moore and the Dixie Chicks nominated and elected somebody else?

These thoughts were the main, central theme of your responses. But many – like the one I want to reproduce for you now – actually undertook to answer Dave's throbbing, accusatory question to Bill O'Reilly: "Why are we in Iraq anyway?"

I thought I had given him a fairly cogent answer; I endeavored to address this widespread, Ostrich-like attitude that we should just keep our wussy heads buried in the sand, and maybe, please God, the big bad terrorists won't see us and they'll just go away and pick on somebody else.
But then I got the account, written as it actually happened, by a military wife – she turns out to be a military veteran herself, name of Irma Chambers, now a Caldwell, Idaho, real estate agent and mom of kids aged 6 and 11 – that seemed the most appropriate answer for Letterman I've heard yet.

Our L.A. staff reached her, and though you may have seen it circulating on the Internet previously ( I hadn't), she gave me enthusiastic approval to share it with you now. She wrote it back before our military ended Saddam's rule in Iraq. Turns out she feels its relevance even more now, because her husband is being deployed soon to Afghanistan with the 1-183rd Aviation Battalion, Idaho Army National Guard, after being stationed back in Virginia since last August for training.

I sure hope my pal Dave Letterman reads this:

From 2003, 'A lesson for my son,' by Irma S. Chambers

My 9-year-old son wanted to know why we were at war. My husband thought for a few minutes and then told my son to go stand in our front living room window.

"Son, stand there and tell me what you see?"

"I see trees and cars and our neighbor's houses," he replied.

"OK, now I want you to pretend that our house and our yard is the United States and you are President Bush."

Our son giggled and said, "OK."

"Now son, I want you to look out the window and pretend that every house and yard on this block is a different country," my husband said.

"OK, Dad, I'm pretending."

"Now I want you to stand there and look out the window and see that man come out of his house with his wife and he has her by the hair and is hitting her. You see her bleeding and crying. He hits her in the face, he throws her on the ground, and then he starts to kick her to death. Their children run out and are afraid to stop him. They are crying; they are watching this but do nothing because they are kids and afraid of their father. You see all of this, son. What do you do?"

"Dad?"

"What do you do, son?"

"I call the police, Dad."

"OK. Pretend that the police are the United Nations and they take your call, listen to what you know and saw, but they refuse to help. What do you do then, son?"

"Dad, but the police are supposed to help!"

"They don't want to, son, because they say that it is not their place or your place to get involved and that you should stay out of it," my husband says.

"But Dad, he killed her!" my son exclaims.

"I know he did, but the police tell you to stay out of it. Now I want you to look out that window and pretend you see our neighbor who you're pretending is Saddam turn around and do the same thing to his children."

"Daddy, he kills them?"

"Yes son, he does. What do you do?"

"Well, if the police don't want to help, I will go and ask my next door neighbor to help me stop him."

"Son, our next door neighbor sees what is happening and refuses to get involved as well. He refuses to open the door and help you stop him," my husband says.

"But Dad, I need help! I can't stop him by myself!"

"What do you do, son?"

Our son starts to cry.

"OK, no one wants to help you. The man across the street saw you ask for help and saw that no one would help you stop him. He stands taller and puffs out his chest. Guess what he does next, son?"

"What?"

"He walks across the street to the old lady's house and breaks down her door and drags her out, steals all her stuff and sets her house on fire. Then he kills her. He turns around and sees you standing in the window and laughs at you. What do you do?"

"Daddy."

"What do you do?"

Our son is crying and he looks down and he whispers, "I close the blinds, Daddy."

My husband looks at our son with tears in his eyes and asks him "Why?"

"Because, Daddy, the police are supposed to help people who need it, and they won't help. You always say that neighbors are supposed to help neighbors, but they won't help, either. They won't help me stop him. I can't do it by myself, Daddy. I can't look out my window and just watch him do all these terrible things and … and ... do nothing. So … I'm just going to close the blinds, so I can't see what he's doing. And I'm going to pretend that it is not happening."

I start to cry. My husband looks at our 9-year-old son standing in the window, looking pitiful and ashamed at his answers, and he tells him, "Son …"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Open the blinds, because that man … he's at your front door. What do you do?"

My son looks at his father, anger and defiance in his eyes. He balls up his tiny fists and looks his father square in the eyes. Without hesitation he says: "I DEFEND MY FAMILY DAD!! I'M NOT GONNA LET HIM HURT MOMMY OR MY SISTER, DAD! I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM, DAD, I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM!!"

I see a tear roll down my husband's cheek and he grabs my son to his chest and hugs him tight. "It's too late to fight him. He's too strong and he's already at your front door, son. You should have stopped him before he killed his wife. You have to do what's right, even if you have to do it alone, before it's too late."

That scenario I just gave you is why we are at war in Iraq. When good men stand by and let evil happen, it's the greatest evil of all. Our president is doing what is right.

We, as a free nation, must understand that this war is a war of humanity. We must remove this evil man from power so that we can continue to live in a free world where we are not afraid to look out our window and see crimes on humanity. So that my 9-year-old son won't grow up in a world where he feels that if he just "closes the blinds" the atrocities in the world won't affect him. The second day of the "War on Iraq" I felt compelled to write this and pass it along. Hopefully, you will understand the lesson my husband tried to teach our son.

"You must never be afraid to do what is right, even if you have to do it alone!"

Be proud to be an American. Be proud of our president. Be proud of our troops. Support them. Support America – so that, in the future, our children will never have to close their blinds.