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What Is A Vet?
WHAT IS A VET?
Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a
jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the
evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of
shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the
soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in
parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear
no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking.
What is a vet?
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia
sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel
carriers didn't run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose
overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the
cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th
parallel.
She or he—is the nurse who fought against futility and went to
sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.
He is the POW who went away one person and came back another—or
didn't come back AT ALL.
He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat—but
has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks
and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each
other's backs.
He is the parade—riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and
medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals
pass him by.
He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose
presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve
the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized
with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.
He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket—palsied
now and aggravatingly slow—who helped liberate a Nazi death camp
and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold
him when the nightmares come.
He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being—a person
who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of
his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not
have to sacrifice theirs.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and
he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of
the finest, greatest nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country,
just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need,
and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have
been awarded or were awarded.
Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU."
"It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of
the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us
freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who
has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier, who
salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is
draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag."
Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a
jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the
evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of
shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the
soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in
parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear
no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking.
What is a vet?
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia
sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel
carriers didn't run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose
overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the
cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th
parallel.
She or he—is the nurse who fought against futility and went to
sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.
He is the POW who went away one person and came back another—or
didn't come back AT ALL.
He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat—but
has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks
and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each
other's backs.
He is the parade—riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and
medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals
pass him by.
He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose
presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve
the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized
with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.
He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket—palsied
now and aggravatingly slow—who helped liberate a Nazi death camp
and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold
him when the nightmares come.
He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being—a person
who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of
his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not
have to sacrifice theirs.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and
he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of
the finest, greatest nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country,
just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need,
and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have
been awarded or were awarded.
Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU."
"It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of
the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us
freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who
has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier, who
salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is
draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag."
Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC