Veterans Day Reflection

                I suppose I should write something patriotic seeing as yesterday was Veterans Day.  In the morning we had a nice assembly with Sgt. Long and Gen. Burton from the Utah National Guard.  I always get a little misty when I ponder the freedoms I enjoy and those who have made that freedom possible.  A rousing rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” always gets the tears flowing.

    Dad always springs to mind first, since he was active duty USAF while I was living at home.  He retired around the time I graduated from high school, and was gone quite often for military training.

                The summer before I started high school he had been stateside (We were living in England) for several weeks.  When he returned to RAF Mildenhall where he was stationed, he learned that his squadron had been mobilized and were headed down to Saudi Arabia and Kuwait for Operation: Desert Storm.  He spent two days with us and then was gone.

                Those nine months were tough.  I gave up watching the news.  Avoiding reading about it was harder, as I delivered the Stars and Stripes in my neighborhood.  Eventually he returned, but then spent the next several months alternating between temporary duties in Russia, Germany, Turkey, and home.  I have to say that it was crazy not knowing if he would come home or not.

                I am grateful for him, his sacrifice, and for the opportunities I have had as a result of his assignments around the globe.  I have been places, witnessed events, and met people that have influenced my life.  I count myself fortunate to have been an Air Force brat.  It is part of who I am.

                And when thinking of other veterans who have made a personal impact on my life, I can’t forget my mom, grandfathers, uncles, in-laws, friends, and even random strangers.  The men and women who helped me to grow, especially when Dad was gone, who served their country in many ways—security, mechanics, intelligence, etc.—will never be forgotten as they are a part of who I am.

                Earlier this year I had the chance to visit Arlington National Cemetery with my wife, her father, and her brothers while we enjoyed an extended family vacation and reunion in Washington D.C.  It was the first time I had ever visited the hallowed ground, and it was every bit as inspiring as had been advertised.

                Shortly after the experience I tried to express through writing the awe and majesty I felt while strolling through the waves of marble markers—only broken by a few larger memorials—but I feel that I failed miserably.

The following six paragraphs are another attempt to capture that moment, which will most likely also fail because I don’t believe that words exist to describe the pride, the richness of history, tradition, and honor, or the reverence for the past that I felt as I ambled across those hills above the western shore of the Potomac overlooking the capital of our nation.

The air hung heavy with humidity, but as we hiked up the grounds double-time toward the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a light sprinkle began, further dampening those few spots on our bodies that were not already wet with perspiration. 

               Before we could catch our breath from the forced march, the changing of the guard began, and I was privy to one of the most awe-inspiring rites I have ever witnessed.  Pondering the symbolism, the simplicity, and the crisp elegance to which the soldiers performed their duties, I stood as the gravity with which these duties were performed washed over me.

                Shortly, the ceremony was over, and the newly charged Marine resumed his solemn vigil.  As we moved away to find the Confederate Memorial, I juxtaposed this experience with that of the occasion where I witnessed the pomp and pageantry that surrounded the changing of the queen’s guard at Buckingham Palace: bright reds and blacks and whites, thronging tourists’ camera flashes.  Although that in itself was quite the spectacle, it lacked the reverence displayed on a rainy, summer afternoon in Arlington.

               We continued our visit by visiting several memorials and gravestones—some famous, like Abner Doubleday, supposed inventor of baseball, complete with homages of weather-worn baseball shrines left by diehards—others not so famous and perhaps forgotten.  I submit that these, almost overlooked in the endless tide of white marble, were perhaps some of the most touching.  Each one represented an individual, but together they formed a powerful force to be reckoned with--equally on the battlefield in life and also in death, serving as a reminder to those who linger on this earth of the sacrifices required for freedom.

                The flame at President John F. Kennedy’s memorial reminded me of the fire that burns in Philadelphia and in other historic sites, representing past sacrifice and symbolizing the ever-present need for good men and women to step up when required and do their duty to God and man.

At the top of the hill, at Arlington House, we ran into one of my former students.  I seriously can't go anywhere (even 2200 miles away) without running into one of them, can I?  It was still cool to see Maddy and realize how big an impact one seemingly insignificant individual like me, an English teacher in Utah, can make on the future of our nation.  Despite all the screwy things that happen in our country and in the world, regardless of the corruption that runs rampant through all aspects of life, there are some things that are good and proper and right.  And Arlington Cemetery helped me put them back into perspective that gray afternoon in July.

Later on that same trip, to kill time on a Sunday afternoon, my brother and I took our families to visit a small Confederate graveyard in Jonesboro, Georgia, just outside Atlanta.  Here someone had forgotten the dead.  Without the kids noticing, my sister-in-law and I picked up a dozen or so empty forties.  It upset me to think that so much disrespect existed, especially in a land known for its tradition and proud heritage.  Still, it was nice to see the rest of the cemetery well preserved.

              After a summer of patriotic events and traversing this magnificent country we live in (23 states and the District of Columbia in 25 days), I appreciate the sacrifice of our veterans even more than I have before.