 |
Joseph Ambrose, an 86-year-old World War I veteran, attends the dedication day parade for the Vietnam
Veterans Memorial in 1982. He is holding the flag that covered the casket of his son, who was killed in the Korean War.
(Source) |
Today is Veterans Day, a day set aside to remember the men and women who served in the Armed Forces of the United States of America. It is also the anniversary of the end of World War I, Armistice Day as it is known in a number of countries, Remembrance Day in the British Commonwealth. A day set aside to remember the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year 1918. One hundred and one years ago this very day.
To put that in perspective, when I was 13 years old, the Civil War had ended 101 years before, as an historian, both those conflicts are ever green in my thoughts. For many though, even the events of September 11, 2001 seem like ancient history. I just don't think we pay nearly enough heed to our forebears, the ones who made our today possible. For many, there were no tomorrows, some gave all of their tomorrows so that we would have today.
My grandfather was a veteran, my father was a veteran, I'm a veteran, my three children are all veterans. Do they, do I, expect some sort of special treatment because of my service? They don't, I don't. We were proud to have served our country in war and in peace. I can't speak for the rest of my family, but for myself it's enough to have served.
I think of the many who supported me while I served. Those who paid their taxes so that I might have the equipment I needed to perform the mission. Those who built that equipment, those who made home such a sweet thing to return to when my service was done, and those who just said, "Thanks" when all was said and done.
I occasionally get thanked for my service, and I really appreciate that, especially when it's from the younger generation. Don't let the media fool you, most of the kids coming out into the world today are hard-working, decent people. Remember the Meejah focuses on the bad ones, not the good ones. Just as bad news leads, so do the bad apples, of which there really are damned few, and those concentrated in just a few places.
My thought for the day, for this day, is that America is a nation worth serving, worth fighting for, and, if need be, worth dying for. America isn't just the land and the waters of the nation, it's primarily her people. Of many different backgrounds, of many different cultures, of many different beliefs, yet we are one people.
Out of many, one. I truly believe that.
God bless the people of the United States and the beautiful land we inhabit. We have our problems, we have our difficulties and disagreements, but at the end of the day, we are all Americans. It was an honor and a privilege to serve this great nation. I would not have traded my days in uniform for anything.
Thank a veteran, yes.
But thank those for whom we served as well. Without the people of this great country, what would have been the point of serving?
I will spend this day, as I do every Veterans Day, remembering those I served with, some of whom have already passed into the mists of time. I will also remember the long line of my brothers and sisters in arms who have so ably served since that April morn in 1775.
Mostly though, I will remember those who didn't come home...
Dulce et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen
Killed In Action, 4 November 1918
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Remember...
