Veterans Day always causes me to reflect on how I ended up wearing a uniform for much 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 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 (kind of like nowadays). I 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 must 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. Certainly worth fighting for.
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 they 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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------RECURRING CHARACTERS:
ABFA – Amazing Best Family
Athlete – my daughter
in law; BR3 – Blog Reader #3 – granddaughter
#3; BRS - Blog Reader the Sequel -
second granddaughter; Cantankerous
Friend – friend since grade school who likes to argue about everything,
poses as radical leftist to attract women; CRC - Connecticut Riverboat Captain – another close friend from high
school, renowned sailor of the big river; Curbside
Girls – close friends of my daughter acquired during her single days in
Brooklyn; Czech Connection – Czech couple who’ve become good friends
along with their daughter (the Czech Shadow); Deckzilla – our backyard deck which grew to monstrous dimensions
once my wife got involved in planning; Favorite
Panamanian - the wife (of course); FBR
- First Blog Reader - first granddaughter; First Friday – celebrations to mark the First Friday of the Week; Great Aunt - my elder sister; Keene Friends 1 & 2 – friends since
high school from my home town of Keene, NH; Kindergarten Friend – friend since kindergarten whom I reunited
with after many years; Maine and
Virginia Musqueteras – two close friends of my wife – her US sisters, my
wife is the 3rd Musquetera (musketeer); Namesake Nephew – son of Great Aunt and Soxfather named after me; Neighborhood Mafioso - wife's close
friend and Panamanian mafia member; 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; PCR - Pittsburgh College Roommate – high
school friend, also a “Minor Celebrity” in Pittsburgh; PCR+1 - Pittsburgh College Roommate’s wife; Riggins - also known as the
Grandpuppy, son's dog; Seis Amigos - two couples from our condo complex
and my wife and I; Soxfather – my
brother-in-law (whom I miss more than I can ever explain); Tia Loca –
wife’s younger sister; Wingman – my
son in law; Wingmom – Wingman’s mom,
of course
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