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Army.ca Veteran
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http://www.canoe.ca/NewsStand/EdmontonSun/News/2004/07/24/pf-555185.html
Military does make a difference
By SCOTT HASKINS, EDMONTON SUN
Even in peacetime, or on missions to keep the peace in trouble spots around the world, members of the Canadian Armed Forces are used to taking shots. Mostly, they are the hurtful, not fatal, variety. Let's just say Canada's finest aren't considered to be as fine as they once were.
It's no fault of their own. The critics fire endless verbal volleys at the lack of funding and the abundance of bureaucratic bungling, and rightfully so, but there is no questioning the heart of our men and women in uniform.
It beats proudly.
Never let it be said that these people don't make a difference ...
In a lot of ways, Dylan Davidson is a normal 10-year-old. He can be a handful. He is into things that go boom. "Anything war," says his dad Lorne. From toys to video games to television shows and movies. From Battlefield Vietnam to Blackhawk Down to Stargate 1. From GI Joe to Sgt. Rock. "He's a soldier freak." Good guys and bad guys.
SON HAS MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY
Dylan has muscular dystrophy. There is no cure.
"The wheelchair, all the stuff he has to deal with every day, the thousands of needles ... His courage and attitude amazes me every day," says the proud father.
When Lorne found himself installing flooring at CFB Edmonton, he just had to ask. Was there any way to arrange a tour for his son? The guard he was talking to said he would look into it.
Two weeks later, a lieutenant called to say a tour had been approved for Dylan and a friend.
When Dylan and his cousin Braden got in the van, they thought they were going for flu shots. They had no idea what was in store for them. Neither did Lorne.
"Not in my wildest dreams," he says.
When the two boys and their fathers arrived, they were met at the gate by an escort. First stop was the mess hall.
"He ate lunch with 300 soldiers," Lorne says. "When we left, he was already over the moon. He said it was his best day ever."
Next stop was 408 Squadron. The boys wore night-vision goggles and sat in a helicopter. They visited with the pilots. When they left, they were given hats and T-shirts to commemorate their visit.
Then it was on to the armoured division.
"I don't know if it was normal maintenance or a coincidence, but they rolled a tank out for us. Even when it was idling, the ground shook. You should have seen Dylan's face."
The boys were told how the monster machine works. They had their picture taken. They spent 15 minutes in a simulator. By now, the smile on Dylan's face was permanent.
"Every person we encountered was just incredible," Lorne says. "They went out of their way to make him feel special. I couldn't believe what was happening. The base went above and beyond, way above and beyond."
He expected to be in and out of there in a couple of hours. He didn't expect the fuss. He didn't expect to be there all afternoon, each stop topping the previous one.
The final stop was the infantry. "I'll never forget walking into that hangar," Lorne says.
On one side, all the light armoured vehicles (LAVs) were lined up. On the other side, 200 soldiers stood in formation.
The boys got to hold every piece of weaponry, from handguns to machine-guns and missile launchers. Lorne laughs. "Dylan knew what everything was. He knew how everything worked, except the missile launcher."
The best part? They toured the obstacle course in a LAV. Then it got better.
Just as they were preparing to leave, Dylan was called forward and made an honorary member of the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. The soldiers cheered. One of them gave Dylan a ribbon off his uniform.
'DAD GOT A LITTLE CHOKED UP'
"Dad got a little choked up," says Lorne.
"What an amazing experience. He talked about it for days. Best day of his life. To see him so happy was unbelievable."
Dylan was diagnosed when he was five. Doctors said he would never ride a bike. "He called me outside one day," Lorne says. "He was riding his bike."
If courage was a cure. A brave battle will be fought, but not the one Dylan Davidson envisioned. Fighting for his life must come before fighting for his country.
What does a day like this tell you?
"They care," says Lorne. "A big thank you to them. These people are his idols and icons, his total heroes."
He stops to compose himself. "Dylan is my hero."
Military does make a difference
By SCOTT HASKINS, EDMONTON SUN
Even in peacetime, or on missions to keep the peace in trouble spots around the world, members of the Canadian Armed Forces are used to taking shots. Mostly, they are the hurtful, not fatal, variety. Let's just say Canada's finest aren't considered to be as fine as they once were.
It's no fault of their own. The critics fire endless verbal volleys at the lack of funding and the abundance of bureaucratic bungling, and rightfully so, but there is no questioning the heart of our men and women in uniform.
It beats proudly.
Never let it be said that these people don't make a difference ...
In a lot of ways, Dylan Davidson is a normal 10-year-old. He can be a handful. He is into things that go boom. "Anything war," says his dad Lorne. From toys to video games to television shows and movies. From Battlefield Vietnam to Blackhawk Down to Stargate 1. From GI Joe to Sgt. Rock. "He's a soldier freak." Good guys and bad guys.
SON HAS MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY
Dylan has muscular dystrophy. There is no cure.
"The wheelchair, all the stuff he has to deal with every day, the thousands of needles ... His courage and attitude amazes me every day," says the proud father.
When Lorne found himself installing flooring at CFB Edmonton, he just had to ask. Was there any way to arrange a tour for his son? The guard he was talking to said he would look into it.
Two weeks later, a lieutenant called to say a tour had been approved for Dylan and a friend.
When Dylan and his cousin Braden got in the van, they thought they were going for flu shots. They had no idea what was in store for them. Neither did Lorne.
"Not in my wildest dreams," he says.
When the two boys and their fathers arrived, they were met at the gate by an escort. First stop was the mess hall.
"He ate lunch with 300 soldiers," Lorne says. "When we left, he was already over the moon. He said it was his best day ever."
Next stop was 408 Squadron. The boys wore night-vision goggles and sat in a helicopter. They visited with the pilots. When they left, they were given hats and T-shirts to commemorate their visit.
Then it was on to the armoured division.
"I don't know if it was normal maintenance or a coincidence, but they rolled a tank out for us. Even when it was idling, the ground shook. You should have seen Dylan's face."
The boys were told how the monster machine works. They had their picture taken. They spent 15 minutes in a simulator. By now, the smile on Dylan's face was permanent.
"Every person we encountered was just incredible," Lorne says. "They went out of their way to make him feel special. I couldn't believe what was happening. The base went above and beyond, way above and beyond."
He expected to be in and out of there in a couple of hours. He didn't expect the fuss. He didn't expect to be there all afternoon, each stop topping the previous one.
The final stop was the infantry. "I'll never forget walking into that hangar," Lorne says.
On one side, all the light armoured vehicles (LAVs) were lined up. On the other side, 200 soldiers stood in formation.
The boys got to hold every piece of weaponry, from handguns to machine-guns and missile launchers. Lorne laughs. "Dylan knew what everything was. He knew how everything worked, except the missile launcher."
The best part? They toured the obstacle course in a LAV. Then it got better.
Just as they were preparing to leave, Dylan was called forward and made an honorary member of the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. The soldiers cheered. One of them gave Dylan a ribbon off his uniform.
'DAD GOT A LITTLE CHOKED UP'
"Dad got a little choked up," says Lorne.
"What an amazing experience. He talked about it for days. Best day of his life. To see him so happy was unbelievable."
Dylan was diagnosed when he was five. Doctors said he would never ride a bike. "He called me outside one day," Lorne says. "He was riding his bike."
If courage was a cure. A brave battle will be fought, but not the one Dylan Davidson envisioned. Fighting for his life must come before fighting for his country.
What does a day like this tell you?
"They care," says Lorne. "A big thank you to them. These people are his idols and icons, his total heroes."
He stops to compose himself. "Dylan is my hero."
