And let us bathe our hands in . . . blood up to the elbows, and besmear our swords. Then we walk forth, even to the market place, And waving our red weapons oer our heads, Lets all cry "peace, freedom and liberty!" -- Shakespeare, Julius CaesI>

On a crisp Colorado evening in the fall of 1945, my mom helped me put on the sailor suit my father had given me - a perfect replica of his Navy uniform. I was four years old and I still remember that night. World War II had just ended. Far away in the Philippines, my father was waiting for the ship that would finally take him home. Holding a small American flag in one hand, and clutching my mothers hand with the other, we joined thousands of people in a celebration march through the streets of Denver. Even at that young age I could feel that our country had accomplished something noble and worthwhile. At the time, I had no real comprehension of how many lives were lost. I just knew was that my father was coming home. That was a different war.

Fifty-nine years later, thinking about voting in the approaching election, I find myself deeply saddened and disturbed by what has happened to our country. I worry about our future in a world faced with an American administration that is looked upon as arrogant and aggressive, a rogue superpower that frightens and intimidates other countries ...