Memorial Day

Memorial Day:

I don’t want to be the typical, token, disgruntled veteran complaining about how Memorial Day is too much about BBQ’s, the beginning of summer, and having Monday off from work. Judging by the two wars we have been fighting the last decade, and if your Facebook newsfeed is anything like mine, then you have noticed that the true meaning of Memorial Day is at the forefront of the minds of much of the country.

Even here in Newport Beach – a haven for both the out of touch bourgeois rich and the naïve, left leaning hipster culture, there are flags proudly displayed, and lunch specials at corner coffee shops offering a free cup of Joe to service-members (shout out to My Galley Café at 5^th street and Balboa – Thanks for the Coffee!) The meaning of the holiday has not been forgotten, it is pounded into us through social media and peer pressure, and many times it feels forced. It’s like saying thank you to Grandma for that hideous sweater on Christmas, or sending a halfhearted gift for that wedding invitation you got from a guy you haven’t seen since high school, and barely knew back then. It is an obligation. It is something we don’t really want to do, but feel bad if we don’t. Those serving in the military make up less than 1% of the population, and true enough, to actually meet a soldier outside of a military town is something of a surprise to many. The wars are half a world away: something you hear about on the news, but that rarely comes into casual conversation (as opposed to say, WWII, where for four years the entire country was tirelessly devoted to the defeat of the Axis Powers.) Everyone has a cousin in the navy (they think…) or has an uncle who fought in Vietnam, or knows a guy from high school who joined the Army when he didn’t get that football scholarship he wanted, but how many of your average citizens actually know someone who was killed in action? The answer is precious few – make no mistake, I hold nothing against the community at large for being kept away from the horrors of war. For the most part, those affected by the cost of American freedom are a warrior caste. We are set apart from the population, willingly confined to military posts and duty stations, occasionally venturing out for Christmas leave or a long weekend. We associate almost exclusively with other soldiers. Many were born to military families, and knew from an early age that they were destined for the profession of arms. It is a point of pride that we bear the burden of our society’s comfort. But even then there is a lot that gets lost in the actual application of that concept.

The men that I served beside did not fight for oil, or land, or riches, or even for freedom, or to keep the country safe. We all have personal reasons for joining up, but no matter what those are; we do what we do for those beside us. We do it for personal pride, for honor – in whatever personal definition that word holds for the individual. We don’t strap on body armor and seek out the enemy for barbeques or shopping malls or the free market or apple pie. Those are some pretty awesome byproducts of our actions, but we do it because it is expected of us. I did it because I didn’t want men like Tony DePetris, Matt Hermanson, Nate Henry, or Brian Knapp to have to face whatever lay outside the wire without me.

The men I know who fell in battle are too many to name. That is what comes with spending most of your adult life as a soldier. It is a small Army out there, and there is never a time when I am not scanning the news after some tragic story, searching for the name of a comrade. There are times when I hate myself for being stateside while I have friends that are still fighting. These are things that I don’t expect the average American to understand – no service member expects them to. We are a warrior caste so that they do not have to understand them. There is more of a burden to defending the nation than physical scars, but we don’t need pity. There is pride that comes with the job, and when you live a Spartan lifestyle of service to the nation, then pride is often all that you have. Don’t take that away with some abstract sense of guilt or false gratitude. Enjoy your Barbeque. Have fun at the beach on your day off. Our freedom to do so is through of the efforts of the military, so why waste this gift paid for by blood and sweat, toil and chaos! We make these sacrifices specifically so the people of the United States can remain blissfully ignorant of the costs of war. The only thanks that we really crave is from those beside us: a nod of approval from a brother in arms, a pat on the back (literal, not figurative) after a rough day, or a shared drink after a shared hardship.

It is important to remember Memorial Day for the somber day that it is, but do not let guilt or sadness or even gratitude erase the freedoms that their sacrifices bought. Have your moment of silence, fly your flag, and raise your glass to the memory of the men and women you never knew, but also honor them with smiles, laughter, and time with your loved ones.

Dedicated to: Matthew Hermanson, Benjamin Britt, Tom Martin, Nick Dewhirst, Neale Shank, Tim Cunningham, Emily Perez, Jacob Harrelson, Brian Mack, and a host of others who stood beside me and were carried home on their shields.