By Clay Reid
In many small towns in America there are good old ranch-raised kids who hear the call to come and serve their country and come a running. Not that there aren’t any city boys that don’t join.
You see, those old country boy kids were raised as American as they can get without a lot of the outside interference. They grow up loving God and country and the need to defend it when pushed.
Mine goes by the name of Dawson Reid, named after the Red Steagall song “Dawson Legate.”
From the time Dawson was born he was all about respect and honor and grew into a great child. I can only remember him getting one “whooping” in his life from me and that was because he got a burr haircut after I had already told him no. He did this after being encouraged by his older brother. After that, he rarely weakened to his brother’s advice anymore. Thank the Lord.
From the time he could walk, though, he and his buddy Trent Cadman were all about the military and such.
By the time they turned nine years old, they could tell you graphic details about every tank, gun, plane or boat in the military. They were eat up with it. I thought, “Aw, heck, he will grow out of it,” but he never did. It was in his blood, and there it would remain.
Dawson grew up out here on the ranch, and from the time he was seven years old he was fixing fence, flanking calves or pushing cows. If you ever needed a fence repaired, by golly, Dawson was the one to send because he would over do it at times if there is such a thing.
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