Service and Tradition

I'm a veteran.

I never served in a war zone... I qualify for the American Legion because I was in the Air Force while the Marines were attacking Grenada, and I just caught the beginning of Desert Shield.

My military service consisted mostly of working in a controlled atmosphere in a very secure area, in a very fun town in the American southwest.

Lots of veterans would laugh, or worse, sneer at my service. But still... but still. I was there. I went through basic training, I stood inspection, I even occasionally got to carry a weapon.

I'm a member of the club.

My family was a military family. Was.... it still is. My son is in the Army, serving overseas. I am so proud of him, and so is the rest of his family.

I don't understand families that hesitate when their kids say they want to join the military. For the last eight years the Commander in Chief was a man that carried very little respect, but that doesn't matter.

It's service. That's what it's about.

Yeah, it's about having a job, it's about college, it's about a lot of things.

But it's really about service.

My great uncle was in the military. When he died, I travelled the 300 miles to be at his funeral. I did this for various reasons, reasons I really wasn't sure about at the time. I travelled alone, without my family, because life goes on.

After the church service I followed along to the cemetary. He was laid to rest there, and I was surprised to see a military honor guard from the local Air Force base.

That was why I went.

That military funeral was real, like many family events are not. I cried... not because of family, but because of the power of tradition. That ceremony connected him and me and my father and every other soldier that served for the last 10,000 years.

I'm a member of that club.

When the service was over everyone walked slowly back to their cars. I stood at my car door, watching the honor guard finish the ceremony. That itself is testament to the tradition: it carried on whether anyone was paying attention or not.

It was a sunny day, and if I remember correctly, very hot. There were no trees in the cemetery and the sun was punishing. I stood and watched and, without thinking about it, came to attention and saluted that casket as it was lowered into the ground.

It was right.

I'm not given to public displays and I was uncomfortable doing it, but I did it anyway. Strangely, if I hadn't done it, it would have been one of those things that I would have always regretted.

I have a relative that served in the Spanish-American War (winning a bronze star) and one that served in the Civil War. My great uncle served. My father served. I served. My son is serving. I have two nephews that are serving. My other son wants to serve. I can understand a lot of points of view, but denegrating anyone because they serve their country? Nope. I won't stand for it.

I'm not saying that every person that serves in the military is a saint, but dammit, they get extra points. That's it.