As a Texan, a liberal, and a would-be humanitarian, I never liked former President George W. Bush all that much. Perhaps some of that has to do with my staunchly democratic father or my early fascination with the writing of Molly Ivins. Either way, I’m not a fan. Like the majority of Americans, “not approving” of President Bush by the end of his second term would be putting it mildly. I could go on any number of diatribes against the man with whom I share my home state, be it his butchering of the American economy, his abuse of basic civil rights, the way he pronounces the word “nuclear”. But perhaps what gets me most about the man we called a leader for eight long years is his handling of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I come from a long line of U.S. military veterans. My father served in Vietnam, both my grandfathers served in WWII, a great uncle was shot down over Italy in the 40s, two uncles were paratroopers and a cousin plans to join as soon as he turns 18. I remember seeing my father’s boots from Vietnam sitting quietly in the corner of the upstairs closet and I remember the bitterness in his voice as he told me about the war. Perhaps that’s why I feel for the men and women in Iraq right now, who have been thrust into a situation not unlike that which unfolded in Vietnam in the late 1960s and 1970s, the situation that good old “dubya” lead them into, singing “God Bless America” the whole way. Just as I feel for the military personnel overseas, I feel for their families, for their wives and mothers, and most of all for their children. Because I remember when I was maybe four or five and first saw my father’s boots, the fear I felt that Dad would go back to war. Sure, I know that the early 90s were a time of relative piece for our nation and by then my father was too old to serve in combat, but that didn’t abate the fear that Dad would leave and never come back. I feel for the children whose parents leave. I feel for the children whose parents never come back because I know how it hurts to loose a parent. And lots of these kids have lost parents. And it was all because of a lie and a President from Texas. Strictly speaking, I’m not an opponent of war, per say. I understand that it often rears it’s ugly head and is often times nearly inevitable, but this war, the forgotten war, could have been prevented or ended or even remembered.

But as is it stands, Mr. Bush is able to live in comfortable house not 20 minutes away from my childhood home in Oak Cliff where my father’s boots lay hidden the back of a closet, a memory of war that no one supported, while the governments of Iraq and the United States along with the troops over seas attempt to clean up the mess he created.