This is a photo of my father. He was born in Tama. He is standing before Mount Suribachi during World War II. If you don’t recognize this place, then you may not fully grasp the weight of history — or the immense cost of freedom. Take note: there is no flag on the peak.

A Major in the Marine Corps, one of the youngest First Sergeants of his time, he never spoke to me about the horrors he endured. Later, I discovered an old photo album filled with images of his fellow Marines. Some photos bore a small check mark. Those men, he stayed in touch with. The unchecked ones–he never could. And there were others… photos I cannot bring myself to describe.

He fought in multiple battles, including the Battle of Okinawa, Guadalcanal, and Iwo Jima. When I was 13, he took me aboard the LST USS Terrell County, and together we sailed to Okinawa. We trekked through the jungle until we reached a cliff overlooking the beach. As he stood there, silent and motionless, tears streamed down his face.

Living with my father — who could be a hard, abrupt man — taught me lessons that have stayed with me for life. At age 11, I had to recite the Ten Commandments from memory. To this day, I choke up whenever I hear the Marine Corps Band strike up a Sousa march or the Marine Corps Hymn. On camping trips, I played Taps on my trumpet at dusk, earning applause from the surrounding campground. In 1957, my father took me to President Eisenhower’s Inaugural Parade. I still remember Eisenhower’s eyes locking onto mine, as he rode past in his black convertible, tipping his black hat — while I stood beside my uniformed father.

These moments shaped my patriotism — a deep pride in service, reinforced when I joined a 7th Army Pershing Nuclear Missile Unit in Germany during the Cold War. But reality hit hard. War is hell. War is wrong. Some of my roommates–young men who had returned from Vietnam–cried in their sleep, haunted by what they had seen and done. Their anguish cemented my convictions: I am anti-war.

And yet, this reflection is not about me.

There was a parade in Washington, D.C., intended to showcase our military might–but it missed the mark. Instead, I saw soldiers marching with faces that told a thousand words, Not faces of pride, but doubt, disgust, and lack of enthusiasm, marching in ragtag formations. Yet these are real soldiers. Not toy soldiers. I remember watching my father march in numerous military parades. When he marched, he held his head high, never out of step or out of line. His men’s uniforms were like their movements, clean and crisp. They weren’t parading like pawns in some kind of parade party.

Today, war is so different than before. Yet, as before, fueled by the unchecked egos of many unstable, power-hungry greed mongers. Today many soldiers are just pushing buttons that fire missiles into residential communities, or directing drones or dog robots by a hand-held nintendo controllers. The parade displayed many weapons that are best described as weapons of mass destruction. In some cases outdated as witnessed in the Ukraine war. Yet missiles keep being launched, killing dozens of people. Compare that to the battle of Okinawa where in 82 days there were 160,000 casualties.

This is not about the future — this is about RIGHT NOW. Genocides are unfolding at the hands of lunatics. Meanwhile our judicial and legislative branches rot from within. This parade — this grotesque Birthday Party — was a monument to ego, corruption, and malignant narcissism, the cause of the disease eating away at the United States of America. My tears are the reflection of my fathers, standing on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the beaches of Okinawa.

Kirk Otto Thill was born in Pittsburg, California, in 1950 and grew up in a military family, living in the U.S., Japan, and Germany. Drafted into the Army in 1970, he served in a Pershing Missile Unit in Heilbronn, Germany. Over the years, he worked in public service and private industry as a program supervisor, pest control inspector, and builder. Also a sculptor and musician, he retired after running a Victorian Tea Room in Brentwood, California. He now resides in Costa Rica with his wife, Ana.