Mac-Coleman

18 November 2011 –

Bumper Sticker of the Day – Would you trust your future to someone $15 trillion in debt?

The following comments should have appeared last Friday, on Veterans Day. They apply throughout the month of November, but better mental discipline would have produced more appropriate timing. Alas, the muses are in control and rarely respond to direction. One can cajole them. One can suggest topics to them through study and discussion. But, in the end, the muses dispense in ways that mere mortals can only describe as capricious.

After thirty years on active duty, I must declare that I don’t like Veterans Day. Don’t get me wrong: I visit cemeteries and attend memorials to talk to compatriots on both sides of the veil. When I meet another veteran, I ask where and when he or she served, what he or she did, and try to get a feeling for his or her strength. I want to connect. I always will, I suppose, even when my grandchildren’s generation are old enough to serve.

But, I don’t want to be thanked for my service. Simply put, I don’t handle it very well. It never fails. Every time I think I have put that part of my life in a box with a heavy lid on it, somebody’s sweet, heartfelt thanks rips the lid off, and the ghosts cackle as they escape. Then, I either cry or I withdraw from the scene.

I don’t think these feelings are all that uncommon among veterans. You see, few of us above ground are heroes or want to act like it. In today’s military, for every Pat Tillman who gave up fame and fortune to fight for his country, there are thousands who had more mundane reasons for putting on a uniform. I remember in 1976 deciding to join the two-year Air Force ROTC program as a junior in college because my wife and I desperately needed the extra $150/month. After commissioning and during the early years on active duty, there was no epiphany that converted me to the life and ethos of a professional officer. In fact, I easily accepted the military lifestyle because it closely resembled what I already considered an ethical life. It also allowed me to serve my country and to provide for my family at the same time. In other words, I accepted the contract as it was offered and tried to fulfill it. I think many veterans feel the same way. No rah, rah. No Audie Murphy or Rambo movies to inspire us. Just a hard job to do and committed Airmen, Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, or Coastguardsmen to do it.

The joke is still funny: Do you know when a recruiter is lying to you? Simple, when his lips are moving. Admittedly, the contract had difficult times, which I did not foresee. I moved my family more times than I can remember. My children grew up overseas. From there as well, I left for months at a time doing what the Air Force required—trying to save the world. I was gone for years. Some things I did were scary. Many were exciting. Most were lonely. By far, the worst times were the lonely times. I was never tempted to do be less than stellar when I was scared or excited. Training took over. But, it is hard to train against loneliness. In sum, nobody can handle such stresses well all the time. Every veteran who was challenged with such times knows that. We all know that we are not perfect. Most of us wish that we had done better when called upon to “go to the sound of the guns”, to work late yet again to ensure the job was done right, or to stand up and risk the bureaucratic choking off of one’s career by speaking the truth. Now, many of us would all rather move on than to be continually be reminded of our service on the whole. We fulfilled our contract.

And yet, when we see on TV honor guards rendering sharp, somber salutes to the remains of fallen servicemen on their way home from hell, we hie back to the scary, exciting, and lonely moments in our minds, wishing instinctively that we could take our fallen comrades’ places and let them live. We often want to go back to “the head knocking area” as one general put it, to make sure that our brethren and sisters don’t have to risk it alone. It is the ghost of not having done enough in uniform that haunts our quiet moments.

Frankly, I didn’t serve a career in the Air Force for civilians. If I were called back to active duty, I wouldn’t think about them either. I would do it to be with men and women who think and feel as I do: A horribly difficult job has to be done and we best be about it. I would again be with men and women who rise in dangerous and stressful times to lead and to succeed. I would again give them my unbreakable trust. How can I explain that to civilians? The only word that comes close to capturing the feeling is sacred (If you haven’t felt something sacred, you won’t understand, and I don’t have the patience to teach you). I want to be on the battlefield when the last round is fired so my friends can live. Then, I want to be left alone.

In closing, let me relate a story. I was in Air War College in 1996-97. One day, our fifteen man seminar was combined with another seminar to listen to remarks from senior military leaders. I was sitting next to a friend, a Marine lieutenant colonel who had just come from commanding the famous “Black Sheep” squadron of WWII and Pappy Boyington fame. The lecturer entered the room, and we stood at attention. He was a Marine brigadier general who immediately told us to sit. The general then looked over the thirty or so of us officers and spied my friend. He told him to stand up. My friend shot to his feet and stood at attention.

The general asked, “Colonel, do you know me?”

My friend answered, “No, sir.”

The general then asked, “Colonel, would you die for me?”

My friend shot back, “Yes, sir.”

The general then asked, “Why?”

My friend answered clearly and quietly, “Because you are a Marine, sir.”

The general then asked my friend to sit and proceeded to talk about honor, commitment, duty, trust, and courage. And, yes, I would die for my friend. You can honor Veterans Day and the month of November by learning what is sacred and embracing it. Then we can talk.