Not for my children...

"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers."

José Narosky - writer

It happens so frequently like this, that I am tempted to say, it’s always like this.  It begins with a “sure, let’s do it…” response to a small and routine thing.  The end result, if one can say there are really end results, provides a meaningful and thought provoking result.

This time it was a Thursday evening and Molly said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had Greek food, let’s go to that little place at the bottom of the hill.”  I responded, “Sure, let’s do it…” and the evening meal site was settled. 

Mostly, I look at food as fuel, meaning I enjoy most of it, but am not so thoughtful about it.  With the exception of shellfish for which I developed a lethal allergy in my mid-thirties, there isn’t much I can’t or won’t eat.  There are a few foods, however, that I truly enjoy the process of eating as much as I appreciate the energy I know they will produce.  Greek food is one of those.

Immediately, I could almost taste the salad with pepperoncini peppers, the dressing, the pita bread and gyros meat.  While I like other Greek food, this is my favorite.  It’s light, tasty and does a little more than simply satisfy my hunger…it makes me feel good.  In fact, I found myself looking forward to dinner…the company, the food...well, it doesn’t get much better than that.  You know, the small and intimate things in life!

The restaurant...

John, a late 20s, early 30 year old, Middle Eastern/Mediterranean looking young man was our waiter.  He was clearly American born, polite and very good.  Good table waiters, I mean really good table waiters, aren’t that common.  The frequently found, friendly, “How is it going guys…” is my most common experience.  Stepping up to other levels, bring a more scripted, “Good evening, may I start you off with…” some sort of suggested thirst quenching drink.

John simply said, “Welcome, it’s nice to have you with us this evening…” and moved forward from there.  He looked at us and engaged us straight away.  This character of this place fell somewhere between an “Oopa!” atmosphere, and a quiet dinner restaurant…yet it was ‘neighborhood fare.’

A side comment lights the fire...

As our dinner arrived, John said, “Nice sunglasses, I had a pair just like them.”  Dinner in Southern California doesn’t necessarily mean ‘it’s dark yet.’  I have a pair of military wrap around sunglasses with eye pads on the inside to keep dust from getting behind the lens.  “Were you in the military?” I asked, to which he responded in the affirmative.  “Thanks for your service,” I noted, as I always try to do when I come across a fraternity brother from that commonly experienced institution.

His response caught me by surprise.  “That doesn’t happen often to me,” he said. “I’ve been called a pig and baby killer, but not often thanked.”  I’m a Vietnam Veteran, and that is a language I was familiar with after returning home in the late 70s from a very unpopular war…but I was pretty sure the atmosphere for our young soldiers was different this time around.  I am sure it was the confused look on my face that prompted him to say, “When I have a moment, I’ll explain.”

It turns out he had been in Washington, D.C. with a relative when he found himself in the midst of a small war protest.  He was wearing some part of his military uniform...maybe a beret. It prompted strong and condemning language, which apparently affected him quite a bit.  With a bit of a far off look, as though placing himself back in that situation, he said, “They had no idea… they weren’t the ones ‘carrying the 50’,” – an expression in reference to a 50-caliber machine gun and a metaphor for his war experience. 

I was struck by the quiet depth with which he expressed himself, and made a note to be sure to catch him on the way out of the restaurant.  After dinner, I did just that.  He was standing alone and I shook his hand saying, “Really...I want to thank you for your service.  While I am not a fan of war, I recognize it is the willingness of young people to give part of their lives – sometimes all of it – to allow the freedoms we all have in this country. 

People who have not been in military situations in other countries, have no idea how REALLY LUCKY we are to be living in the most unique country in the world.  In addition, they often do not realize how easily it could all vanish.  Living here is more than a gift…more than having won the lottery by virtue of our birthplace…it is a privilege and with that privilege comes responsibility.  But war is a dirty business…a very dirty business.

I had done my job...

Having satisfied myself that I had ensured John knew I was sincere about my thanks, we headed for the door.  I stopped and said, “I’m an old guy and gave a little of my time.  You’re a young guy who has done the same.  Maybe your children will be called to do the same someday.”

“No,” said this young man, with a knowing…a knowing look on his face.  “Not for my children.  I never want my children to have in their minds, the things I have in mine.”  It was an ‘old’ comment…in the briefest of words, it expressed what surviving warriors have known through the millennia…it said more than the most persuasive of the most eloquent…it was the truth, and it stopped me cold.  Evident or not, this young man's life had been irrevocably altered by his military experience...he would not, if it could be helped, expose this children to the same.

A holiday here...
It’s Labor Day weekend in the United States.  A time when we stop to honor the workers upon whose shoulders this country has been made great.  It is somewhat ironic, that it is the workers in this country who find it harder and harder to find employment.  But, that is the way of history, isn’t it?  The landscape changes and what was secure for a period of time, becomes less secure.  That is the genius of the human species…we adapt – as a species we adapt.  Often those caught in the transition are not able to make the adjustment.  The politic of the day is really just background noise...fodder for the fearful by the fear-mongers seeking power. 

It's the commitment of one...

Then there is the soldier…the person who sacrifices much and often all, so there can be a ‘Labor Day’ to celebrate.  There are wars that have meaning, and there are wars that do not.  This is not a commentary on the righteousness of wars we have fought, but as the landscape changes, young men and women see and experience things that are beyond the pale of anything most of us have ever understood or thought about.

On this Labor Day, don’t just barbecue and visit with family; don’t just watch the football game and argue about the upcoming elections in this country; don’t just ask yourself how you can make your personal life better. 

Take a moment to look inward…take a moment to be grateful…look for an opportunity to express; thoughtfully and genuinely express your thanks for all of those who have allowed all of us the gift that is this country in which we live.

- ted