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I still have (many!) more thoughts on the National Tragedy, but wanted to take a moment regarding today's holiday. I haven't forgotten that we now have a US President who's endorsed by the KKK, but I don't want to let Trump overwhelm the contributions ordinary folks have made for eons. Whether the wars they fought in were misguided, just, or otherwise... the sacrifices were real.
To wit:
This was back when American Sniper came out. I have a bunch of reservations about that movie, which you can read here. Regardless, I was sitting in the theatre, Cinerama, left of center, toward the front, where I like to be when I go to films alone. To my right was a boy in his twenties and his companion, a woman who looked to be in her early eighties. As the end credits played, I could hear them speaking to each other.
"What'd you think?" The boy.
"It was good."
"Yeah. I couldn't help but tearing up a few times."
"Yeah."
He elaborated. "I couldn't help thinking about him, the fact that he was actually over there, and he went back over there… it just kinda blew me away how many times he went over there and came back. Made it back."
In a quiet, scraggly voice, the elderly woman said, "yeah, you know, it really was like that, with the kids carrying the bombs. You had to be careful, 'cause often they would train children to do that. Sometimes we just didn't know, and we had to make decisions like that."
I had misheard the young man. He wasn't saying he, in the above sentence. He was saying you. How many times you went over there, and made it back.
"Well," he replied, "I just didn't realize how close I was to losing you. I was too busy thinking about dad trying to get me to eat spinach for six hours!"
They stood slowly. He waited for her to get situated, gave her time to rise at her own pace. After they were both standing I approached them. She was a diminutive, decrepit shadow of a woman whose presence you might not even notice out in the world. But she was a powerhouse, had suffered, lived large, known the tortures of conscience, been placed in situations and sacrificed to a degree she didn't know possible when she started out. She was at the center of it all, once, and painfully. I don't often say "thank you for serving," but I needed to now.
"Hey," I said, almost whispering in the great big dark room. "Could I shake your hand? I'm sorry to interrupt, I couldn't help but overhear. Thank you for serving."
"Oh. Thank you," she said, in her aged voice.
"It means a lot," I said. "Have a good day, you guys."
They walked out together, slowly.
--
A vet in his early sixties came aboard my bus a short while later. He mentioned a toe injury he's had since Vietnam. He'd finally gotten some surgery for it, and was feeling better. The movie theatre incident was still prominent in my mind, and I said it again:
"Thank you for serving."
He lit up. He thanked me. Then he said,
"You're the sixth person to say that since 1979!"
To wit:
This was back when American Sniper came out. I have a bunch of reservations about that movie, which you can read here. Regardless, I was sitting in the theatre, Cinerama, left of center, toward the front, where I like to be when I go to films alone. To my right was a boy in his twenties and his companion, a woman who looked to be in her early eighties. As the end credits played, I could hear them speaking to each other.
"What'd you think?" The boy.
"It was good."
"Yeah. I couldn't help but tearing up a few times."
"Yeah."
He elaborated. "I couldn't help thinking about him, the fact that he was actually over there, and he went back over there… it just kinda blew me away how many times he went over there and came back. Made it back."
In a quiet, scraggly voice, the elderly woman said, "yeah, you know, it really was like that, with the kids carrying the bombs. You had to be careful, 'cause often they would train children to do that. Sometimes we just didn't know, and we had to make decisions like that."
I had misheard the young man. He wasn't saying he, in the above sentence. He was saying you. How many times you went over there, and made it back.
"Well," he replied, "I just didn't realize how close I was to losing you. I was too busy thinking about dad trying to get me to eat spinach for six hours!"
They stood slowly. He waited for her to get situated, gave her time to rise at her own pace. After they were both standing I approached them. She was a diminutive, decrepit shadow of a woman whose presence you might not even notice out in the world. But she was a powerhouse, had suffered, lived large, known the tortures of conscience, been placed in situations and sacrificed to a degree she didn't know possible when she started out. She was at the center of it all, once, and painfully. I don't often say "thank you for serving," but I needed to now.
"Hey," I said, almost whispering in the great big dark room. "Could I shake your hand? I'm sorry to interrupt, I couldn't help but overhear. Thank you for serving."
"Oh. Thank you," she said, in her aged voice.
"It means a lot," I said. "Have a good day, you guys."
They walked out together, slowly.
--
A vet in his early sixties came aboard my bus a short while later. He mentioned a toe injury he's had since Vietnam. He'd finally gotten some surgery for it, and was feeling better. The movie theatre incident was still prominent in my mind, and I said it again:
"Thank you for serving."
He lit up. He thanked me. Then he said,
"You're the sixth person to say that since 1979!"
I have great uncles and uncles who have served, and while I feel weird about saying thank you face-to-face, my custom is to send a thank you email to every vet whose email address I have each year on this day. I think many vets came home to a nation who devalued their sacrifices, esp. from Vietnam. I don't want to get complacent about my freedoms, and I am grateful for and to those who helped to ensure them.
I dearly hope the day comes when war is no longer used to solved problems between countries.
Like a brief one take.
I've just finished reading "Soldier Girls" by Helen Thorpe. And I've decided that I need to do this every veteran's day. Raise my awareness of everything veterans endure. As you said, whether the wars they participate in are misguided, just, or otherwise...these women and men still sacrifice a lot for our "comfort" and freedom.
I laughed out loud at your last sentence. From that one man on your bus. A part of me loved his spunk. Another part of me was stricken that he's only begun to count the number of people who've thanked him on two hands.
It's a stress relief for me to read your posts. :) Keep em' coming!
Yeah, his reply was both funny and heartbreaking at the same time. I couldn't believe it.
Thank you for being on the bus the other day, and for taking a moment to read this piece! A philosophy friend of mine argues that the organizing principle behind all societies is sacrifice, and the sacrifices made by yourself and the folks above is of a magnitude and complexity I think most of us are not able to comprehend. Thank you, good sir!