Guest Post From Kirk Thill:
A Tribute to My Marine Corps Father—
and a Patriotic Call to Resistance

The photo above is of my father, standing before Mount Suribachi during World War II. If you don’t recognize the name of this mountain, 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, yet.

James Thill enlisted in the Marine Corps at age 20 when the United States entered World War II in 1941. He became one of the youngest first sergeants of his time before eventually retiring as a major in 1965. 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; Guam, and Guadalcanal. 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, critical 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 personal reflection is not about me.

There will be a parade this weekend in Washington, D.C., intended to showcase our military might—most of which is obsolete. Just look at how Ukraine has reshaped warfare with drones, proving the futility of outdated strategies.

This spectacle will display weapons of mass destruction, tools capable of ending life as we know it. And behind it all—the unchecked egos of an unstable, power-hungry greed monger and a megalomaniac in Russia.

This is not about the future—this is about RIGHT NOW. A genocide is unfolding at the hands of lunatics, while our judicial and legislative branches rot from within. This parade—this grotesque Birthday Party—is a monument to ego, corruption, and malignant narcissism, a symptom of the disease eating away at the United States of America.

Do not support this parade. Resist.

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