May as well bring this one back, I wrote it a couple of years ago and re-print it each year:
Yesterday morning the wife, the daughter, and I were down in town, and it just so happened that the mayor was presiding over an act of remembrance at the war memorial in front of the town hall in honour of Remembrance/Armistice/Veterans’ Day.
Whilst waiting for it to begin, my eyes were caught by the following poem (hat tip to Steve for publishing it):
They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.
Well, once my eyes were caught, they started leaking like no one’s business, and my daughter jumped up and gave me a big hug, her little hands patting my back.
Beginning in 1992, I spent six years in the US Navy. In the first three years of serving in the Navy, I was probably the most conscientious sailor one could hope to meet. I loved the Navy, I loved its history and I was damned proud to be seen in my crackerjacks. But something happened to me, gradually. Many of the goals I set for myself, and for which I thought I was punching all the right tickets were not coming to fruition. I was beginning to get a little burnt out on being so squared away for my first three years, with no – apparent – return other than a job well done.
After that point, I couldn’t wait to get out. Not that I actively tried, but I could have really left the Navy at the first chance presented.
I served the rest of my time, maybe not as conscientiously as I should have, but probably better than many of my colleagues, nonetheless. Looking back now, I’m a little bit ashamed of the fact that I didn’t necessarily give my best to the Navy, and by extension, my country. Back then, I could justify it by the fact that I was such a good boy, but Santa still wouldn’t bring me presents.
I may not have been proud of my service then, but I am definitely proud of it now.
You see, I have shared the experience of wearing a uniform in the service of my country with some of the greatest souls to ever grace this planet. Men who were definitely better men than I. Men who did not know what was in store for them when they signed that dotted line and received the queen’s shilling or that paycheck from Uncle Sam. Men who gave up their youths and their freedom so that the rest of us could enjoy our own. Many men whose remains now lay on the fields in which they were mowed down, or the watery graves where their ships lie.
Yes, it’s true, some of us join/ed the military because it was a way out or a way up from whatever circumstances may have been going on (I initially walked into the recruiting office because I was running away from something.) But no matter the reasons for joining, the sum total of the efforts of my predecessors, colleagues, and those who came after me was that this world is just a little bit better than it may have been had we not done our “duty”.
My father served in the Navy for 20 years. My uncle just retired from the Navy, himself. Both of my grandfathers served in WWII, one in the British Army and one in the US Army. And I am proud of all that they did.
I may have said that after my first three years I didn’t get anything from the Navy. But the truth is, my whole experience gave me the world.
Thanks to all those people with whom I shared that world and those experiences, and whose boots I could never fill. I am truly humbled when contemplating the greatness that came before, and that follows, my brief stint of service.
I didn’t see any action, and I am grateful I didn’t have to. But then, as they say, I was standing on the shoulders of giants.
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