Veterans Day is upon us again. I cannot let this day go by without commenting on it. At this stage of my life, placing these ideas in front of you seems one of the few meaningful gestures that I can perform. Our vets deserve much more, but this small thing is what is within my power to do. And so this column, today.
The honoring of our vets has always held special meaning for me; it’s a lesson my parents instilled very well indeed. That memory was brought home to me as I was recently looking at pictures from a trip we made through the Gettysburg, Pennsylvania area some years ago.
It’s a particularly meaningful thing when you’re standing on that field, and something that goes well beyond the cold facts and figures that students of our Civil War will provide from their archives, about who died from what company, how old they were, or even where they were from.
Really, it’s more a feeling you get. You can sense it. It’s not unlike being at Ground Zero in lower Manhattan, or visiting Arlington National Cemetery. I’m told Omaha Beach and Pearl Harbor and many other similar sites are the same way. I’ve been at the funerals of firemen and policemen who died in their line of duty, and that was also remarkably similar.
In each case, we’re dealing with places and concepts of death. Thing is, death alone doesn’t do it; it doesn’t create that solemn atmosphere that is so unique to the above places. After all, lots of mass casualty accidents have happened over the centuries, and their sites are well marked, and revered, or at least held apart, and yet their impact doesn’t approach that of an Iwo Jima or a Pearl, for example.
Even under the shelter of the time that has passed since the events, as you stand in each place, you can still feel it; lives were lost there that were willingly (and in the case of the civilian deaths at the towers, in Shanksville, and at the Pentagon, unwillingly) sacrificed toward a higher ideal. Service is the key here that ties these events together.
Our feelings and our conclusions can be far different from what those who served experienced. Yet their lives and their service and their sacrifices, be they now living or dead, still count for something. Thing is, it doesn’t take much for us to put ourselves in their mindset. It is, I think that is something we all need to be doing, today at least.
Think of it this way: Every single man who served and died at Gettysburg, at Normandy, at Pearl and all the rest, has meaning for us, because each of them had his own life, just as we have our own lives.
These people loved, they laughed, they cried. They had a favorite food, a favorite color. A particular bit of music or of poetry stirred their souls like none other, just like we ourselves. Every bit as much as you and I love our lives, they loved theirs. Their lives were as precious to them as yours is to you. Their loss was as keenly felt by their loved ones as yours would yours. And yet, they put their lives at risk, and in the end, many lost them, for something they saw as bigger, something larger than themselves.
I had a neighbor, years ago, whose father needed a liver transplant. This neighbor willingly gave up part of his liver to be transplanted into his father. A noble action, certainly, commendable, and impressive. His family has since moved on, but to this day, I happen to think the world of the guy. But with all respect to my neighbor, the choice to do that is comparatively easy to make. He knew and loved his father, and the sacrifice was fairly light by comparison. His father lived another five years, which was a blessing to them both and the rest of the family and friends surrounding them. Every time I saw his father, I smiled because I knew what it took to make his still being there, possible.
Now, stop and think for a moment: As noble as my friend’s action was, how much more noble is a sacrifice of one’s life for people that one will never meet?
Well, here it is: The people we honor today, alive or dead, those who returned to civilian life or those whose lives were lost in pursuit of that service, gave of themselves for the benefit of people they would never know. You and I and countless others from many nations. If not for their sacrifices, you’d not be reading this, because I’d not have written it, and I don’t doubt for a moment that we’d be living in a very different world, most likely one not nearly as good to us as this one has been.
I urge you, today… Look upon those actions, those sacrifices, and know what you’re seeing is strength, courage, and nobility in measures that should not… can not, be ignored. It must be honored by us all; it was made, after all, for our benefit. We must honor such nobility where we find it, lest we lose it forever.
Such are my thoughts this day, and it is with this passage I salute our vets today.
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