Introduction
One of my former students, Oretha, is now a soldier in Iraq. A few years ago I was coaching tennis at Englewood High School and was desperate for players. I was told of a young woman who might be interested. Oretha was a tall, imposing African American gal with a deadly serve who was skeptical about fitting in on a preppy, white team. I pursued her, cajoled her, maybe even bullied her, and she became an important part of the team, as well as an eager young woman looking for direction. I often drove her home after a match. Oretha lived with her mother and knew she needed a future different from her surroundings. While a member of the tennis team she lost weight, got in shape, and before graduation signed on with the Navy. Since then she has visited me on several occasions and military officers interviewed me for a reference when she was under review for a higher security clearance. I often think of Oretha now that she is in Iraq. War has become very personal to me.
The unit I have planned will encompass the many faces of war, focusing on the last 100 years. I have been drawn to war poetry for several other reasons as well. I remember when my older brother shipped off to Vietnam; I am married to an ex-marine; and I work in a school that has an active JROTC. Jacksonville is located near Mayport, a busy naval base. For the last few years I have watched soldiers returning from the war being met by their families on the 6 o'clock news. Some of my students are still waiting for a father, sister, or brother to return from overseas. I am waiting for Oretha.
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