Honoring our Veterans

I came across a photo the other day -- you know the kind -- in a box given to you by a family member, most likely one of your parents. Among the pictures of nameless souls is a photo of a young seaman in sailor whites standing next to two hula dancers (or at least that's what they seem to be!). The photo is small so I needed both my glasses and a magnifying glass to see who that sailor was. Upon close inspection, the sailor looked very much like I did as a much younger man. Of course, it wasn't me -- it was my father. He enlisted in the Navy during World War II by lying about his age so that they would take him before he actually turned 17 (it was only a month or two away anyway).

For three years, this sailor traveled the world, spending most of his time in the South Pacific on a sub-chaser, PT boat (aka a tin can), but most proudly serving as a mess assistant on the USS New Jersey. He "saw action, " as they say but his service was undistinguished: he had no medals for valor and was honorably discharged a seaman. He was one of the thousands of Allied servicemen that did whatever was needed to bring a horrible war to its end.

As my Dad grew older, he was more and more willing to share his experiences during his time in the Navy. It became increasingly evident that this was his proudest achievement -- he had risen to the occasion when his country needed strong young men, and he put his life on the line in service to that nation. Indeed, at the end of his life, his Navy service provided a framework for him to understand his value and his worth as a man. It was something that permeated everything he did in life. Even at the very end, he spent three years in a nursing home dedicated to servicemen, most of whom were WW II vets. In one sense, his life and its meaning had come full circle. He "became a man" by entering military service and spent his last days among his fellow travellers -- men (and some women) who had many of the same epxeriences and were filled with the same pride for having accomplished something important well.

At his funeral, he was remembered as a common man, one of many in a generation that saw what needed to be done and did it, one of Tom Brocaw's Greatest Generation. Having heard how I described my dad, the organist quietly played the theme of Aaron Copeland's Fanfare for a Common Man as we walked his flag draped coffin down the aisle for the last time.

To my Dad, and to all Veterans who shared and still share that life, I give honor and gratitude.