Nothing sours one’s appreciation of a significant patriotic
holiday like working full time with veterans.
Having done just that for three years through the ebb and flow of
cynicism and burnout has led to such bold pronouncements as, “the happiest,
healthiest veteran is the one you can’t find” and “most veterans will serve
honorably and go back to being the losers they already were.” Even the more intelligent remarks, like, “war
doesn’t break people; life does, and some of the broken people make their way
into the military,” still suggests a diminished opinion of military service
itself, servicemembers and veterans. It can
also contagiously extend to holidays.
Every year people endure countless articles, sermons and
ceremonies about how veterans are heroes and we should honor them always and
remember the fallen and so forth. Then
awash in flag-waving fervor, sincere members of the public seek out veterans
and wish us a Happy Memorial Day. In my
darker moments, I will remind them that Veterans Day in November is my day and
Memorial Day in May is for the dead veterans and – therefore – they’re wishing
me a happy Dead Veterans Day, but better that than Happy Barbeque to Kick Off
the Summer Day, I suppose. They usually
leave at this point. I am jaded,
possibly.
I think part of the problem is that the pendulum has swung
too far for me. In the past, I (like
many veterans) used Memorial Day as an opportunity to go around acting somber
and feeling sorry for myself under the guise of grieving the fallen (a number
get completely drunk and claim it somehow honors the dead). Insofar as my mood garnered me the attention or
the respectful distance I sought, I’d say it was successful. Little of it had anything to do with the
fallen. I was selfish. Now, though, I vacillate between pragmatism
and cynicism.
I served in a different generation of warrior than my
forebears. And as much as its modern
participants will argue that war is still hell and totally awful, they forget
that military doctrine and practice have shifted considerably. These days, a man going down is a catastrophe
and usually – perhaps always – halts whatever mission they were
undertaking. Seventy years ago, men
going down was just as awful, but absolutely routine. Men go to war and, invariably, fewer of them
come home. We forget that. Of course they lost comrades. Today, I wonder if we consider it a notable
exception.
For the record, I did serve in a war, and I did lose
friends. But I temper my grief with the
knowledge that every last one of us volunteered – many of us with the express
purpose of going to war. Some of them I
deeply respected and a few I considered friends. Every single one of them left behind
families. I miss them, and I grieve for
their families. But as for us, we
volunteered. And then, I superimpose
that knowledge onto Memorial Day itself.
War, though, didn’t always look like this. War involved citizens who were mostly called
up by their nation, who served honorably even though they most certainly did
not volunteer and – oftentimes – ran headlong into imminent danger because it
was the honorable thing to do. Not because
they wanted a taste of the action. They
charged because their country asked them to.
And with men falling all around them, they were painfully
aware of their own mortality. Think, as
an example, that the capture of Iwo Jima cost the lives of just under 7,000
Marines and Soldiers. In comparison, the
Global War on Terror has claimed less than that in its decade-long
entirety. These days, we mostly expect
to come home. Back then, heaven only
knew. And for over 400,000, they did
not. They’re buried throughout most of
the free world – free largely because of their sacrifice.
The more sensitive among us will hang a US flag today and
think quite highly of ourselves for our show of seasonal patriotism. I’ve displayed a flag too, actually. But I think our debt extends beyond a flag, a
Mass, a short ceremony, or a stupid barbeque.
I believe it’s a familial responsibility. If I find admirable the men who set aside
their innate sense of self and pushed forward while their buddies dropped and
the dying screamed, then it is my duty to demonstrate character of the same sort. It begins with honoring those who have
already exhibited it, and continues with ensuring that our own sons see us do
it. It continues with raising them to
possess the same honor as those who came before us, and culminates with praying
to God that they never have cause to exercise it. Even fear of losing them shouldn’t dissuade
us.
If theirs is hallowed ground and the dead brave men, then
let us raise more of them, and let them know what honor is. That should they one day walk among the
fallen, they will do so as equals.
Copyright © Ben Shaw, 2013
