Before I start today's ramble, let me say that I won't always be writing about having a Marine son at war, just in case civilians reading this won't think that we won't be discussing anything else, but even so, I would like to say that I am very pleased to be getting some feedback from other Marine and service moms and moms of kids who have served, and even more pleased that my words are ringing true with them. This helps me not feel so lonesome, too, because the truth is that I don't do well on sanctioned Marine parent-type websites, because I keep getting censored. (Okay, you can stop laughing.)

Good lord, there are a lot of paranoid people out there.

At one Marine parent website from my son's last deployment, I mentioned that he happened to be a rifleman. Now, a "rifleman" is nothing more than a plain old grunt--just an infantry joe, like, well, Army infantry. There are thousands upon thousands of them in this war.

And I got censored, like that was some sort of top-secret information that would lend some sort of strategic analysis to our enemies who, I'm sure, have nothing better to do than troll such gabfests looking for highly sensitive war strategy. The funny thing about getting censored over saying my son was a rifleman was that each person who submitted posts on that website could have a "signature" at the end of their posts, right? And most of them said stuff like, "Proud Mom (or Dad) of LCpl Joe, 2/7 Weapons Plt." (or whatever. I made that up, by the way, just in case our ENEMIES are reading.)

When the truth is that all anybody ever does on these websites is ask if anybody has gotten a phone call yet? or When we send socks, do they have to be white or black??? And the moderators post all kinds of stuff designed to make all our respective chests swell with patriotic pride, much of it helpfully provided by the Department of Defense. Or the Country Music Association.

Recently, I tried to go on another, smaller Marine parents mesage board, and I mentioned in my getting-acquainted post that my son had helped to take part in the historic seige of Fallujah this past November, and also helped to secure the city for the first elections ever, last January. He's very proud of that and rightfully so. So are we.

Now, the thing is, it wasn't just Marines who took part in that operation. All you had to do was buy a TIME magazine, which had a two-page map spelling out exactly what units of what branches of the service swept into exactly what neighborhoods in that city. There were tens of thousands of troops in Fallujah last November. My son was one of them.

And I got censored. Even worse--the sentence just cut off, in mid-stream, like I'd forgotten to finish it.

Now, I've had enough family members in Special Forces or in the career military or in combat to know when to keep my mouth shut and when it's okay to speak out. And, bottom line, I would never, ever, not EVER say a single thing that would jeopardize one hair on my precious boy's head. EVER. And that goes for his buddies, too.

So I get pretty ticked off when I drop in to visit a website or chat group that is supposed to be there for the support and encouragement of a gaggle of utterly terrified parents, many of whom come from civilian backgrounds and have been terrified ever since their kid went to BOOT CAMP, for heaven's sake. There is so much they don't understand about what is happening to their family, and we're supposed to be there to offer help.

For instance, one time, a woman's son had not called her since arriving in-country, and it had been several weeks. She had no experience with war or with military life, and she was petrified that something awful had happened to him. I tried to explain to her that the unit was keeping very busy at the time, and that it was a 40-minute walk for them to get to the phones, and a two-hour wait, and that he was probably too exhausted just yet to make the trek. I told her that in war, no news really is good news, that if he were hurt or worse, the Marines would let her know immediately.

I was trying to comfort her, but I wasn't allowed. The entire post was censored. And yes, I could have looked up her e-mail address, but by then, I said, to hell with it.

Writers, see, we've got a thing about being censored. For any reason.

The funny thing about it--and not funny ha-ha--is that if "our enemies", meaning, I guess, the Iraqi insurgency, want to know what my son's unit is doing right now, I don't have to tell them. All they have to do is set up a kiosk selling oranges across the road, or get a job working on post emptying trash or something. Or ask their cousin who is working with the Iraqi army. They're watching all the time. They already know more than we do.

So it's nice to have my own space where I can say what I want to without my post vanishing into thin air. And no, I won't specify what my son's unit is doing or even where they are right now, because I have, let's see...what's that phrase again? Oh yeah. COMMON SENSE.

If we could all just have a little more common sense--political and otherwise--and not keep running around like Chicken Little all the time, we'd be better off.