Veteran's Day 2009

I've been thinkin'. Thinking isn't necessarily the most calming and restful of projects; at least, not for me. Some of the thoughts I chase after seem to run along paths that are snarled up with vines, mire, and thorns, as well as other natural and unnatural impediments. Every now and then - more now than then - there will be other thoughts hanging from one of those vines. As easily as I am distracted, that is just as likely to send me down an entirely different path, likely to never get back to where I left off.

It's Veteran's Day, don'cha know. I'm partial to Veteran's Day. I'm a veteran. Three out of my four half brothers were vets; two Marines and one Army Medic. My Dad fought in World War I. That was the Great War, the War To End All Wars. I'm not sure why they called it the Great War. From what I've read, it was a lot of things, but “Great” wasn't amongst them. It probably would have been more fitting to have called it the Horrible War, but then that pretty much describes any and all wars. There is something about war that isn't overly pleasant, kind, mannerly, or good for living things; living things like people. Hell, the Civil War was anything other than civil. Bullets, artillery, mustard gas, grenades, and land mines have a tendency to render bodies to less than factory condition.

I'm not sure there is such a thing as a truly necessary war. The more I read about World War I, the more I believe that one could have been skipped entirely. Korea, the forgotten war, doesn't appear particularly necessary. Vietnam, the war that would like to be forgotten, was an adventure in the absurd. If you ask me, and even if you don't, Iraq was so unjustified as to fall under the heading of “Cluster Fuck.” If the President had pursued the justified mission in Afghanistan, our troops would be home instead of debarking on their third and fourth rotation to the Mid East.

You may have noticed I didn't mention WWII in the above paragraph. There is a reason for that omission. As near as I can tell, it was truly justified. The generation that fought that war, at home as well as abroad, exemplify the very best of what America is supposed to stand for.
The sad thing is, until someone figures out how to alter human nature, a standing military is necessary. No matter how much we work for peace, no matter how much we yearn for peace, no matter how many prayers are sent soaring to wherever they go, the probability of war looms just down the street and maybe around the corner.

Those that serve in the military, be they volunteer, conscript, man or woman, make a sacrifice. The sacrifice may be as relatively minor as having their lives put on hold for a couple of years while they are order-taking, uniform-wearing, sometimes-reluctant, guardians of their country. The sacrifice can be as great as the destruction of their body, their mind, their very life. That doesn't begin to account for the sacrifices of those that love and wait.

I never thought much about respect back when I was in the service. Most of the time, I was busy doing what I did, which was mostly taking orders from some college boy that thought he knew everything there was to know. When I had some thinking time, my thoughts were most likely directed down the path that was lined with cold rum and coke, hot and willing women, primo weed, and motorcycles. Hey! What can I say? I lived a life rife with fantasy.

There surely wasn't much respect for the Vietnam Veteran. We were an embarrassment. We were a lot of things, none of the particularly positive. You know how it was. We came home and got busy doing what we had to do, what we could do, and tried to live our lives. Letting anyone know that you were a Nam vet was a sure way to run into condescending attitudes or a lot of questions that should never have been asked and that you surely didn't have any intention of answering.

Twenty years down the road, it suddenly became popular to be a Nam Vet. Maybe folk had watched enough Chuck Norris movies to believe it had all been one grand adventure and “damn, I sure wish I had gone to Vietnam instead of burning the flag and running off to Canada.” Maybe it was all the collective guilt kicking in. Who knows? It was what it was.

Yeah, all of a sudden it was “Welcome home.” That felt good. That hurt. But you take what you can get and make do with it. I finally reached a point where I didn't want to hear it any longer. I'm grateful that my contemporaries finally allowed me to come home. I never wanted to be thanked for my service. I served, not for thanks, but because it was my obligation and now that obligation is paid. I just wanted to come home. Quite honestly, and no disrespect intended, being thanked has come to embarrass me.

Odd thing, that. Over the years I have thanked many a WWII vet for making it possible for me to speak American as a first language. I've acknowledged the service of Korean vets. I've not been remiss in telling our current warriors that I appreciate what they're doing for the country. But when it comes to me, I'm embarrassed.

We do owe our vets, current and past, a debt of gratitude and support. They stand, and have stood, between our country and whatever, whomever, posed a threat. That is a shinin' thing. I'm not sure buying a magnetic sign to slap on a vehicle actually demonstrates support, though.
The last letter I received from my Dad, as he lay dying in the Leavenworth VA Hospital, was written by a Gray Lady. Gray Ladies were volunteers that went into the VA hospitals to tend to the patients. They wrote letters, visited, played cards, provided hygienic products to the patients; basically they did whatever they could to help the patients. If it hadn't been for one lady that cared, I wouldn't have even known my Dad was ill until I received the Red Cross notification after his death.

I wonder how a letter or card would cheer one of our warriors on duty in Iraq or Afghanistan – or any foreign soil. Actually, I know how it makes them feel as I received responses to letters I have written.

The holidays are rapidly approaching. Budgets strained to the breaking, I'm betting there are military dependents who are going to find mighty slim pickings under the Christmas tree this year. Local reserve units can point toward need.

How about the spouses left to tend to hearth, home and children while the husband or wife is off standing watch between us and peril? Is it possible they need a sanity hour every now and then, or help with something around the house or yard? It doesn't take much to give an hour or two.
Then there are the aging vets that are lonely, unable to drive, perhaps physically challenged. What can each of us do to make their life a little easier?

The first time I went to Nam, a retired school teacher from down home wrote me a letter. Even though we had never met, she felt it important to write each and every one of the home town boys that were serving in harm's way. Yeah, the letters were boring, but damn if I didn't appreciate that touch of home.

Seems to me that finding needs within our community, and then giving a little of ourselves to help meet those needs, is a shinin' way to say, “Thank you for your service.”

Life is sweet – because there are a lot of folk that care and back up that caring with action.