So You Could Have a Life

We had just finished a nice dinner at our favorite local "let's-grab-a-quick-dinner-before-church" restaurant on a normal, rushed Wednesday night. Joel was still munching his last few pancakes and Ryan and I were discussing the affairs of the day. The election results were fresh and there was a tangible sense of who had voted for whom in the restaurant. Some were discussing (rather loudly) how so and so was going to "turn everything right again" while others were just trying to escape the "noise" of this last election by having a peaceful, quiet dinner. When the last scrap of pancakes had been eaten, we got up to pay the bill and at the same moment, the elderly gentleman at the table ahead of us also rose to pay his bill. On his head was proudly perched his veterans hat, the emblem of the 4th Infantry division stitched in gold lettering across the top. Ryan stopped Joel and said, "Do you know what we say to someone who wears a hat like that?" "No," said Joel, eager to get his hands on the after dinner cookie that this little eatery provides to its tiniest patrons. "We always tell them, 'Thank you for your service'," Ryan replied. "Oh, 'Tank' you for your service." said my little munchkin boy. The older gentleman stood a little closer to my baby and said, "I did it so you could have a good life." I don't know how, but the older man had with those few words and his simple kindness of listening to my little boy chatter about going to Disney soon and that he was three years old, brought tears to my eyes. This man, whoever he was, gets what it is about. He was part of that "greatest generation." He was part of the group that didn't need a "safe place" to voice their opinions and didn't need a trophy for "trying hard." No, on those dark days, he and the rest of his detachment looked the enemy square in the face and did what needed to be done. They did it so we could have a life. They did it so we could go to church freely, speak our minds (albeit sometimes we do speak it rather ignorantly...but we can save that for another post), raise families, and enjoy countless other freedoms. I can imagine that some of them did not see eye to eye with the political beliefs of their Commander in Chief at the time and I am sure some of them "didn't vote for him" (especially since they couldn't vote at 18 till we were WELL into Vietnam--but I digress), but they got dressed, wrote those "if I don't come home" letters, and geared up for the longest day of their life. I googled the 4th Infantry Division, just because I wanted to know, and found some of their engagements. Not knowing exactly which war our dinner companion had been in (judging from his "age" I was thinking he was a WWII guy or perhaps Korea), I googled that division, hoping to narrow down where he had been or what he had done for us. Google informed me that the 4th had seen action in WWI and lost 2,611 men, WWII (including being involved in the Normandy landing) and lost 4,000 men in action, and Vietnam, losing 2,500 men in action. All I can assume is that whatever war he was in, he had tasted the bitterness of the death of a combat buddy. He had faced the agony of pulling the trigger and doing what needed to get done. This was the real deal. This was not a sunshine soldier or the summer patriot...he had done the hard things. I think as a history teacher, perhaps I am more prone to nostalgia or sentimentality on days like veterans day because I know the stories. I know the stories of those guys who hit the beaches at Normandy. So many of them were just boys in reality. Sure they were 18, sure they had completed "training"--but they had never seen carnage like they were about to see. I wept right along with Kurt Klein as he liberated the camp at Ravensbrook in the biography All But My Life. I felt the desperation of Louis Zamperini as he endured the horrors of POW life. I think of my own grandfathers on days like this. I think of my Grandpa Sherm. My grandpa could tell a good story. As a younger girl, I did not love history the way I do now. I did that subject just to get through it. Then, one year, I had the best teacher I have ever had and I discovered that here in the pages of my history book was an endless source of "great stories"--and I could get into that. It was at that time that I realized my own grandparents were a treasure trove of untold stories. So, I remember listening to my grandpa talk...but he never talked about the war (he was a WWII vet). ONE TIME, just once, I got him to tell me what he did in the war. He told me only enough to peak my interest and then he moved on. I can only imagine it was hard for him. But now as a teacher, on the bulletin board in my classroom, is a treasured photo of my grandfather in those days. I keep it there to remind my why I have to keep teaching. It reminds me that no matter what the current trends in education, no matter the changes to the text, I owe it to those vets, to brave men (and women) like my grandparents to tell their story. History is not just about the collective...it is about those individuals (and I would argue that the individuals ARE the story). Without those individual men who jumped into the water to storm the beaches of Normandy, who parachuted behind enemy lines, who trudged through the swamps and marshes in Vietnam--I wouldn't have the beautiful classroom I have today with a Bible happily opened on my desk and an American flag displayed above my white board. I don't know what kind of legacy my generation (according to google I am part of the millennials---not sure how I feel about that--but that is perhaps fodder for another post that I have tried to write five times now but the right words aren't coming out) is leaving behind us, but I am pretty confident we aren't doing anything close to what the "greatest generation" did. Until we "get over" ourselves and start thinking a little more sacrificially, we won't do anything of note either. We can keep sitting around, obsessing about someone's latest status update on Facebook and lament the "state of the nation" or we can attempt to make something of this life we have been given and that someone fought to preserve. I don't think those guys in WWII envisioned a generation of people who struggle to have an intelligent conversation in person but can eviscerate one another over social media without even batting an eye. One thing I can tell you that I plan to do and you should too--the next time you see one of those veterans walking around--stop and thank them. I can promise you, they won't be annoyed that you stopped them. In fact, they will probably be shocked that you stopped them...but do it anyway. Dust off that old history book on the shelf and put yourself back there with the 4th Infantry Division--it might just change your perspective. Thank a veteran today--America is still here, in part because of what they have sacrificed.