“A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him, saying, ‘You are mad; you are not like us.'” ― St. Anthony the Great
Not all of us are worthy, but at least some of us strive to be.
Wayne and Garth are not worthy.
"The general, whom the boys knew as the commander of their division, looked at the other officer and spoke cooly, as if he were criticizing his clothes. "The enemie's forming over there for another charge," he said."It'll be directed against Whiterside, an' I fear they'll break through there unless we work like thunder t' stop them." The other swore at his restive horse, and then cleared his throat. He made a gesture toward his cap. "It'll be hell t' pay stoppin' them" he said shortly. "I presume so" remarked the general. Then he began to talk rapidly and in a lower tone. He frequently illustrated his words with a pointing finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing until finally he asked: "What troops can you spare?" The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for an instant. "Well," he said "I had to order in th' 12th to help th' 76th an' I haven't really got any. But there's the 304th. They fight like a lot of mule drivers. I can spare them best of any." The youth and his friend exchanged glances of astonishment. The general spoke sharply. "Get 'em ready then. I'll watch developments from here, an' send you word when to start them. It'll happen in five minutes." As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and wheeling his horse, started away, the general called out to him in a sober voice "I don't believe many of your mule drivers will get back." The other shouted something in reply. He smiled. With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line. These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the youth felt that in them he had been made aged. New eyes were given to him. And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly that he was very insignificant. The officer spoke of the regiment as if he referred to a broom. Some part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and he merely indicated a broom in a tone properly indifferent to its fate. It was war, no doubt, but it appeared strange.--Stephen Crane, The Red Badge Of Courage
Most are, probably.The ones who aren't are just in a position to make more noise.
My flag is upfresh and newand waiving in the wind
I agree. In addition, I've not been a liar in terms of my families or their pasts.Here's an example, documented:https://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=33317001
That painting of my great-grandmother? it was painted by my late gram-gram, mother of my own late mom, and that painting --just so you all know--ended up in our living room, in pride of place.
A thing I can prove, as fact.
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