People in America often take freedoms and rights for granted, never giving much thought to the price of those sacredly-held treasures that much of the world doesn’t have, let alone understand.
The thing many people often forget is that every freedom assured the citizens of the United States of America have been bought by the sweat, tears, toil, and often, the very blood, of members — men and women — of the U.S. Armed Forces, which include the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard.
Serving in the military, though conscription — forced enlistment, such as during a draft — has not been mandatory in this country for many years. Despite a lack of draft, there are still many Americans who still feel a duty, an obligation, as all free citizens ought to feel, and voluntarily enlist and serve their country. It’s those Americans, most of whom selflessly serving, out of a sense of duty, honor, and country, that help ensure the founding principles of this nation continue.
Today, Tuesday, November 11, 2008, is Veteran’s Day, a day designed to honor and remember the veterans, living and dead, who have served, defended, and protected this nation. As the last of this nation’s World War II veterans live out their final days, and as coffins are received at Dover Air Force Base with the remains of American service members recently killed in the Global War on Terror (GWOT) in Afghanistan or Iraq, it’s important we all remember all veterans.
When I was a child, Veteran’s Day always was a special day for me. I knew several Vietnam vets who had served more than three tours each, and, because my father opted to run back to his mother’s apron strings in the Show-Me state, they saw fit to take an active role in my childhood. That very act by those men is what ultimately led to my future enlistment in the Army, and through their years of involvement in my life, embedded principles in my young mind that still help lead my life to this day.
While considering what would be an appropriate tribute this Veteran’s Day, I reflected on a poem I read years ago while serving as a soldier myself. I also remembered a tribute that I saw not long ago that hit home. Both items are reprinted below. Be sure to read them, slowly, and give thought to the very meaning of each.
Many years ago, back in the early 1980′s, when I was in the Army, hanging up fairly new OD Green utility fatigues for the new BDU (battle-dress fatigues, aka the Woodland pattern camouflage fatigues that were Army standard for over 20 years), I read a poem published, I believe, in Soldiers magazine, the official monthly magazine for those serving in the U.S. Army. It reads:
Ode to The Infantryman
The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half-man, half-boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s; but he has never collected unemployment, either.
He’s a recent high school graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten-year-old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock ‘n’ roll or jazz or swing and 155-mm Howitzers. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first-aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water; if you’re hungry, his food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and his weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life — or take it — because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, yet still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime. He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and he has helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-Grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
He is an INFANTRYMAN!
The next tribute is one I found on several sites, all citing an "author unknown" byline, without any copyright information. It’s sad the author of this piece is unknown, but the thoughts penned by the person truly touch the heart. That tribute is:
Who are the American Veterans?
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carrier didn’t run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth whose behavior is outweighed in the cosmic scales by four hours of unparalleled bravery near the 38th parallel in Korea.
She is the nurse who fought against futility in Da Nang and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years.
He is the drill instructor who has never been in combat, but has saved countless lives by turning no-accounts into Marines.
He is the parade-riding legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the white-haired guy bagging groceries at the supermarket, aggravatingly slow, who helped liberate a Nazi death camp.
A vet is an ordinary and extraordinary human being — someone who offered his life’s vital years in the service of his/her country.
He/She is a soldier and a savior and a sword again the darkness, and nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.
We will never be able to repay the debt of gratitude we owe.
~Author Unknown~
Remember, today is Veteran’s Day. Remember the 11th hour, the 11th day, of the 11th month. To all fellow vets who may be reading this, let me give you a heartfelt "Thank You!" for having served. If you’re a non-veteran, be sure to take every opportunity — today and every day of the year — to greet veterans you know and meet, giving them a handshake, a hug, and a sincere "thank you", and if you dare, even buy them a cup of coffee to seal the deal. Every veteran, even those with a chest full of ribbons, medals, awards, and commendations can still get a cup of coffee, just like you, at most every coffee shop or restaurant, for about $1.50. Buying a vet a cup of coffee for $1.50 to say thanks isn’t too much, is it? Not when you consider the sacrifices they made for your freedom, your life, and your protection.
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