It has only been recently that I’ve come to appreciate what it means to be a veteran.
Just thirty-four days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, my father was drafted into the US Army. By Veterans Day 1942, he was on board the HMS Rangatiki enroute to north Africa. The following two Veterans Days, dad was in Italy manning the antiaircraft guns onboard a halftrack. My dad never spoke much about his experiences in WWII. Most veterans didn’t.
By the end of the war in 1945 more than 16 million Americans had become veterans. All would be impacted for life. Sadly, 405,399 never made it home, another 670,846 suffered significant physical wounds. It’s no wonder they chose not to talk about it.
For me, an Air Force recruiter’s visit my senior year changed the direction of my life. In 1972 the Vietnam war was still active but winding down. The threat of being drafted into the Army made the Air Force’s offer of being a Law Enforcement Specialist sound pretty good. As it turned out, it was one of the best decisions of my life. How else would a farm boy from Nebraska end up living in California and Spain?
Unlike my dad, my enlistment was not out of a response to an attack on our country. It wasn’t a sense of national pride that drove me to become a veteran. My dad’s service had always intrigued me. Not due to his colorful war stories, because there weren’t any. But somehow, I knew that his service time had shaped his life, and by extension, mine as well. I was proud that he was a WWII veteran.
In 1977, I returned to civilian life. When the war in Vietnam came to an end the returning troops were not treated well. We were directed not to wear our uniforms off base. The social environment was very anti-military and not respectful of veterans. It has not been until recent years that America has finally embraced veterans. I have however felt unworthy of the “thanks for your service” and group recognitions at various events. My service was not anything close to the war time service by my dad. I went to Spain, not Vietnam.
A few years ago, I overheard a conversation. Unlike my dad, this WWII veteran never went overseas. His service was all stateside, never exposed to the risks of combat. He, like me, felt somewhat unworthy of the title veteran. “You went where you were told? Did what you were ordered to do, right? Well, that’s exactly what we all did. We are all veterans.”
So, to all those that have served. Regardless of the era, regardless of the geography, no matter your Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). THANKS FOR YOUR SERVICE VETERAN!
