Dear Veteran: Thanks

Yesterday, November 11, was the solemn, somber remembrance of Veteran's Day. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we shall remember,” someone intoned at the first Armistice Day in 1919. It was the day marking the end of World War One, the “war to end all wars.” 

That “someone” lied. 

Not intentionally, of course. Following the horror and bloodshed that was executed - I use that word deliberately - at Flanders, the Somme, and other places long faded from our memory, it was spoken with romantic, noble, and good intention. Alas, mankind’s heart is inclined to evil, and with the fuel of nationalistic pride coupled with the world’s arrogance to think that Germany would take the brutal social and economic punishment and limitations placed upon it, thrust to the side of the roaring global stage like a kindergartener who got caught eating paste in art class, peace lasted but two short decades. A short man with a bad haircut, a terrible taste in moustaches, and sick, twisted moral and ethical values would soon throw the world, kicking, screaming, or denying, into yet another bloody world war,

In the years since, at least in the United States, Armistice Day became Veterans Day. Were Memorial Day honors and remembers those who died, paying the ultimate price for the country and fellow citizens, Veterans Day remembers and honors those who are alive.

It's been my privilege to have met Veterans from all branches of the Service. When I was a kid, inspired by China Beach and Tour of Duty television shows, when a retired Army Major named Howard showed us some of the memorabilia he brought back from Vietnam, I foolishly and naively asked, “Did you kill any?” He looked me in the eye and flatly said, "I don't know." I’ve since learned that question is taboo. My idle and foolish and naive curiosity does not earn the right to enter that sacred space where time and memory clash.  Major Howard - if you are reading this, I sincerely apologize. I’m sure I met other veterans back then but, not knowing it, I escaped further stupid questions.  

I met a man who was on the USS Arizona on December 7, 1941. I assure you, that date lived in infamy in his heart and mind. My uncle says we can now talk about the fact that his son was part of a highly secretive unit of the United States Navy which shares the same name as a semi-aquatic animal.  He must have taken creative writing in school, because his Linkedin account has some very interesting ways to describe what he did in the Navy. I have two other cousins who are mechanics in the Air Force. One uncle was a door gunner in a Huey in Vietnam. Two other uncles were over there on the ground and as soon as they got home, they tried to bury their experiences with their uniforms in Grandma's basement closet. My father-in-law is a veteran of Vietnam, also - a USAF cartographer, who got to look at pictures and make maps of Vietnam and other "interesting places."  My high school band teacher was drafted for Vietnam, but when he confessed to knowing how to type, he wound up stateside teaching typing for clerks heading overseas. I met a Korean War veteran at Wal-Mart who was at the Chosin Reservoir in 1950 with the 1st Marine Division; he swore he still hadn't thawed out 60 years later.

At one time, my previous congregation had ten or eleven WWII and Korean War veterans, members of the congregation and members of the greatest generation. I think I buried all of them. One fought up Italy with the 10th Mountain Division in WWII. Another, a Korean War veteran, was the company cook. He made so much oatmeal that, until the day he died, he couldn't even look at an oatmeal cookie without groaning. Another served on McArthur's staff, part of the occupational force in Japan after VJ-Day. A woman was in the US Army nursing corps in World War II, and a gentleman (who was also a gentle man) was at the Battle of the Bulge --- on the German side, having been conscripted at the age of 11.  I have a good friend who is a tank driver in the Armored Cav, only recently returned home from a rather interesting teaching opportunity where the classroom was a nearby battlefield.  The best man at my wedding later served in and retired from the Navy. I've lost track of all the men I've met at my church in Victoria who were drafted or volunteered. If I tried to name them, I would surely miss one, so let me simply say, collectively, they did what they needed to do and came home safely - thank God. 

Rightly, attention is given to these veterans, but a word needs to be said of the veterans of a different kind, those who “served” in the home while loved ones were away. The country musician John Conlee sings about the husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons who stay home to welcome the veterans when they return, many with broken bodies and broken minds. These men and women, the heroes of the home, deserve an honor as well. While their serviceman or servicewoman is away, they have to take care of house and children, work and school, all as a single parent knowing that being single could last a long, long time if he or she never comes home. And when they get home, it’s not always as easy as picking up where they left off. Thankfully, we know more about PTSD than ever before, but that doesn’t change the mental combat that still takes place behind closed doors in living rooms all across the country. There is one spouse whom I am thinking of in particular as I write this. I would love to tell that story, because people need to know that the battle they read about that took place in 2021, or 1991, or 1951, still rages on in some people’s lives to this day. Hers is not my story to tell, and I dare not dishonor her sacrifice by short-telling it. Service personnel receive a Purple Heart if they are wounded. To those husbands and wives who care for their wounded warrior, the nation owes you the highest of all honors: the broken heart medal.   May I suggest that if November 11 is set aside to honor veterans, we set aside November 12 to remember and honor those who stand alongside those who have served. Truly, they deserve their own honor. God bless you for your faithfulness to your love done, fighting in a battle that may not end this side of heaven.

This year, Veterans Day means a little more to my wife and me. At the school Veterans Day program yesterday, she teared up. It was a combination of the esprit de corps, the speeches, the Star Spangled Banner followed soon by Taps, and then seeing our son, a senior, on the field, with the band and choir. He plans to enlist in the United States Air Force. We are scheduled to meet with the recruiter next week to start the paperwork. It’s a humbling thing to know your child, your son or daughter, is surrendering themselves to the United States Government. We still see them as our little kids, boys and girls. They will see him, not as my son but as a tool, an instrument of war whose job, ultimately, is to kill and break things - hopefully - for a sanctified reason. I know we’re not alone as parents. Friends have sons and daughters who serve or who have served. A mother at church passes her yellow ribbon and every day thinks of her son who is getting ready to go over there. Someone send the word that the Yanks are coming.   

To each and every Veteran who might read this, please know you have my deepest respect and appreciation for what you did. Whether you carried sacks of potatoes or a 9.5 pound M1 rifle; whether you served under the sea or never left our own shores; whether you were in the court of the queen of battle or in an office pool; whether you proudly display a chest full of earned medals or quietly treasure the DD-214 that is in your safe deposit box, I don't care. Wherever and whenever you served you did what was asked. As one who hasn't served and can't serve, I won't pretend to know your story. But if I run into you, and you're wearing a cap, or a coat, or a pin, or have a bumper sticker that says that you're a proud veteran, you can expect a handshake from me. Or maybe I'll simply look you in the eye and give a knowing nod, or maybe I'll even buy you lunch or a beer. I learned my lesson a long time ago from Major Howard: I'm not asking for anything and I don't want a war story. I simply want to say thanks.