FBR and Vet’s Day

My annual Veteran’s’ Day post is included below. Something happened six years ago today out in Southern California that kind of one upped the national holiday – the arrival of my first grandchild – the incredible FBR. We connected with her last night in a Facetime call where we saw her open our first birthday gift delivered to her house. It was an LOL doll dress. I have no clue what the hell an LOL doll is but that is going to be the self-decreed theme of her birthday celebration this year. Her abuela, my Favorite Panamanian, has been laboring all week to make first LOL doll sugar cookies, followed by last night’s creation of an LOL doll cake. We woke up this morning to sing the FBR Happy Birthday to find her already garbed in her new dress and surrounded by the accumulated presents and dozens of balloons Wingman stayed up last night blowing up. She even had an LOL doll hairdo in place. Not that I know what that is, but my wife seemed to know so I nodded sagely. It was so nice to see her bouncing around, obviously reveling in her birthday. Birthdays are important to properly recognize.

The Birthday Girl This Morning

Trying on her Dress Last Night

Surrounded by Balloons and Presents This Morning

At The Bus Stop on her Way to School

Her Class Singing Happy Birthday to Her

We also had a very fun Facetime call with the FBR’s two younger cousins last night. Apparently fueled by a massive intake of sugar gleaned from their still existent Halloween candy stash, both the BRS and BR3 were literally running around the house with their dad in hot pursuit. It was nice to see the BRS letting BR3 work with her. This was all happening with screaming at the highest pitch to add to the excitement. BR3 later acquired my son’s iPhone and took us on a lap around the house from where these screen shots were taken. It was all way too much fun. I can’t wait to get together with these people over the next few weeks. We head to New Jersey tonight to start the FBR birthday celebration which will spill over to my birthday followed by my birthday pub crawl next weekend followed by Thanksgiving and then, 44 short days from now, the granddaddy of them all – CHRISTMAS!!!!!!

BRS and BR3 Hiding from Dad

BR3 Carrying us for a Ride

Careening Around the House

My usual Veteran’s Day Post:  Today’s Veterans Day and causes me to reflect on how I ended up wearing a uniform for the majority of my adult life.  I blame my uncles.  I grew up idolizing my father’s brothers and sisters, all of whom served in World War 2 along with my father and his brother, Uncle Pete, who died in combat on Guadalcanal.  My family has a long history of military service; my great grandfather’s brother, Warren, was killed crossing the Wheatfield at Gettysburg and his father died in service in the 5^th New Hampshire Regiment down in South Carolina near the end of the Civil War. I was a typical kid growing up in the 1960s drawn in a lot of directions by the cultural forces trying to pull the country apart.  I kind of wandered into the military after college and found a home.  I met leaders who reminded me of the gentle uncles with the steel lightly disguised behind eyes that had seen too much.  I also found a love of America these aunts and uncles had imbued me with.

I’ve written about this before and decided to repost a couple of those thoughts because they’re appropriate today when we should all be remembering the sacrifices made and thanking those who donned the uniform for the belief in this greatest of all countries. I was brought up, without ever realizing it, to have a deep abiding love of this country and serving in the military only refined those feelings. To serve in the military you have to believe in what you’re fighting for. I think, that, more than any other factor can determine an Army’s success on the battlefield. I know that a lot of civilians don’t “get it” and at times even ridicule those who profess a love of country. To be honest, certain fanatical factions of the far right have attempted to hijack patriotism as their sole property while also serving as the judge of who is “patriotic”. This could not be farther from the truth.

Patriotism means standing up for the values your country is based on, not on the convenient truth of the latest politician. True patriotism is found in hating a hateful message but loving the freedom to send it. If nothing else America stands for freedom, an escape from the notion that your station of birth determines your station in life. This is such a precious commodity. I believe in the bedrock decency of America and hold in utter contempt politicians and intellectuals who attempt to denigrate who we are and kow tow to their foreign counterparts to curry favor. They don’t fully appreciate or understand what America means to us. We as a nation comprise the most startlingly successful expression of the basic human need for individual freedom that the world has ever seen. Since we are humans, we are certainly not perfect but we, as a nation, dare to believe we can be better than we’ve been. That is the marrow of this country and the profound, immense strength that fanatics will never understand or successfully confront. 

I post this every Veterans Day because it says what being a veteran is much more eloquently than I ever could, they are some of my favorite words in print:

What is a Vet?

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service:  a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.  Others may carry the evidence inside them:  a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg – or perhaps another sort of inner steel:  the soul’s ally forged in the refinery of adversity.  Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem.  You can’t tell a vet just by looking.  What is a vet?  He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn’t run out of fuel.  He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.  She, or he, is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.  He is the POW who went away one person and came back another – or didn’t come back at all.  He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other’s backs.  He is the parade riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.  He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.  He is the three anonymous heroes in the Tomb of the Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean’s sunless deep.  He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket, palsied now and agonizingly slow, who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and wishes all day long that his wife was still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.  He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being, a person who offered some of his life’s most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.  He is a Soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.  So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You.  That’s all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.  Two little words that mean a lot, “THANK YOU”.  Remember November 11th is Veterans Day.  “It is the Soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.  It is the Soldier, not the poet who has given us freedom of speech.  It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.  It is the Soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.” – Father Denis O'Brien, USMC

Those are powerful words and I know it’s hokey but they still bring tears to my eyes because of their intrinsic truth.  My proudest moment in uniform was not at a promotion ceremony, a change of command, or a medal ceremony.  It was while I was at Washington’s Union Station, in uniform, waiting to pick up my daughter.  A businessman noticed me, walked over, and said, “I just wanted to thank you for serving your country.”  As stated above, that meant so much to me, more than any medal or accolade.  So, if you have a chance today, say thank you to a veteran.  He or she has earned it.

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RECURRING CHARACTERS                                           

BR3 – Blog Reader #3 – granddaughter #3, BRS - Blog Reader the Sequel - second granddaughter; FBR - First Blog Reader - first granddaughter, ABFA – Amazing Best Family Athlete = my daughter in law; Wingman – my son in law; Wingmom – Wingman’s mom, of course; Keene Friends 1 & 2 – friends since high school from my home town of Keene, NH; Soxfather - my brother in law; Great Aunt - my elder sister; Cantankerous Friend – friend since grade school who likes to argue about everything, poses as radical leftist to attract women; Kindergarten Friend – friend since kindergarten whom I reunited with after many years; Pittsburgh College Roommate– high school friend, also a “Minor Celebrity” in Pittsburgh; Deckzilla – our backyard deck which grew to monstrous dimensions once my wife got involved in planning; Maine and Virginia Musqueteras – two close friends of my wife – her US sisters, my wife is the 3^rd musquetera (musketeer); Riggins - also known as the Grandpuppy, son's dog; PanaGals – female relatives /friends of my wife from Panama; Panamanian/Latin Mafia – inevitable group of Latino friends my wife accumulates wherever we have lived & their spouses; Neighborhood Mafioso - wife's close friend and Panamanian mafia member, Favorite Panamanian - the wife (of course); First Friday – celebrations to mark the First Friday of the Week; Curbside Girls – close friends of my daughter acquired during her single days in Brooklyn