Saturday, February 22, 2020

War on Terror Research Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1500 words

War on Terror - Research Paper Example War on Terror The interest that this author had in joining the military began when as a senior at Whetstone High School in Columbus, Ohio. During the autumn of 1988, Eddie Johnson, a former classmate, came home from Marine Boot Camp and visited the school. Standing tall in the hallway Eddie was shaking hands with all the teachers and students commanding the space around him with ease and confidence I had not seen from him previously. It was amazing to see the Principal; standing beside him beaming proudly. Eddie had just completed 8 weeks of hell at Parris Island, SC and he was looking fit, and trim in his shiny new Marine Uniform. One glance at him it was apparent that those same qualities which Eddie displayed should be exhibited in more young men. As this author compared himself to Eddie, it became clear and apparent that if he could endure and carry on through such hardships and trials, so too could anyone determined to succeed. Shortly after that day, this author mustered up the inner courage and went and talked to the Marine Recruiter and signed up. Two weeks after that point in time, graduation from high school had taken place and the long and difficult path of becoming a Marine lay ahead. From entering boot camp a young know-it-all and emerging a hardened warrior forged by blood, sweat and tears, it became apparent that United States Marines must value the rights and desires of others above their own. In this way, the development of an appreciation for guarding and providing the frontline of defense became to be born. Yet serving one’s country is not just a decision that is right only for this author; rather, serving our country should be vitally important to every citizen. The war on terror knows no bounds and is being fought each and every day on our soil as well as abroad. The struggle between radical Islamic sectarian beliefs and the principles of free societies have been on a collision course for quite some time now. Due to the fact that so many fanatics believe so strongly that their narrow-minded interpretation of religion is the â€Å"true† and â€Å"right† way, a glut of active and willing volunteers from many of the most poverty stricken regions of the planet has come to exist. Many nations that are controlled by radical elements of fundamentalist Islam practice cultural and ideological hegemony in these countries; thereby having a low tolerance towards different religions or views being practiced of promoted. In order to gain further control, many of these radical fundamentalists have splintered off and chose to use terrorism to achieve their ideological goals. Many American have always taken the concepts introduced by the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, or the Bill of Rights for granted; believing that â€Å"all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness†. This belief has often come with a level of comfort that we are safe; that everyone likes our country and most importantly that bad things do not happen to good people because we have a right to be happy. This sheltered and wholesome belief system, although admirable, was shaken to its very core within the recent past. On September 11,

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Short Story Assignment Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 750 words

Short Story Assignment - Essay Example Bang! Just another intimate encounter between the local paid escort in tiger print and her stupefied benefactor. Looking out on the morning rain had a deeper sentiment to Martin Black as it was commonplace to witness syringes, yesterday’s snack cake from the rundown community convenience store and a mish mash of broken child toys streaming down the thoroughfare in a mad torrent of rainwater beside this Los Angeles tenement. Yes, Martin Black understood mourning rain, with the delight of an angry black widow and the stamina of a legless cheerleader. â€Å"Martin Black!† The shout echoed through the decrepit corridor leading into the ramshackle family room where his mother spent so many of her waking hours. His mother was a real hospitality chef, just a drizzle of her favorite afternoon soaps and a pinch of cheap cologne that stunk up the staunchly decaying household interior like a sweetened dose of rotten flesh. â€Å"Martin Black! Mama needs a foot rub. These damn cor ns be killin’ my tired feet. Get your rump out here and help Mama right now!† The sound of her liquor-induced garble was barely coherent while the echo of her ignorance pounded against the paint-deprived walls. Mama, as she demanded he call her since as long as he could remember, had dropped out of middle school at age 13 in order to pursue a romance with an older high school sophomore. After Jimbo (that’s what the neighborhood gangs had labeled her first husband) received a single gunshot wound to the chest, Mama not only lost the love of her life, but was forced to take employment at the local hair salon since the local school board considered her a high-risk distraction to the educational process. Of course, Mama lasted only two months before striking a red-headed regular boasting a stylish bouffant (and a disrespectful mouth, Mama had said) with a bottle of AquaNet, plucking out her left eyeball. What’s in a name?, Martin suddenly asked himself as he g rabbed the dull scissors and a bottle of peroxide from the dispirited bathroom shelf and hurried down the hallway to play master surgeon to a foul-smelling bump of foot fungus. Welfare, it seemed, was timid about providing sustenance for toe jam. â€Å"Coming, Mama.† The sound of it was self-demeaning. As Martin glided slowly underneath her lifted foot, ready to tackle the hideous project of removal, Mama rambled on about her son’s lethargy and lack of value to the household, demanding he pursue a job at the local convenience store. â€Å"It’s high time, Martin Black, that you start earnin’ some ya keep around here!† â€Å"Mama, you know the neighborhood links my name to Daddy’s. Nobody wants me working in their businesses. I’ve been thinkin’, Mama, about takin’ the Greyhound to Colorado and getting me a job on the pipeline.† Martin suddenly felt the piercing ache of a blunt wound to the palm of his hand as Mama v iolently swung her feet out of the creaking and hideous flowered recliner. Her abrupt and unusually adept motion caught him completely by surprise as he tumbled backwards viciously, tipping over her life’s blood in the process: the 18 inch black-and-white console set that regurgitated her worthless dramas all the day long. â€Å"You’re gonna gimme 40 bucks for that boob tube, you ungrateful, selfish little heathen!† Mama concerned herself not with Martin’s gaping flesh wound, instead lurching to the fallen console to rectify her welfare-induced playwrights that brought her such sustenance for her lifestyle of sloth.