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 5th
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.
