Veterans Day

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 Uncle Pete who died on Guadalcanal.  My family has a long history of military service; my great grandfather’s brother, Warren, was killed crossing the Wheatfield at Gettysburg.

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:

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 still bring tears to my eyes because of their intrinsic truth.  My proudest moment in uniform was not at 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.

The True Heroes