My Promise to Veterans


I’ll never forget that Veteran’s Day event. I was a clueless, young teen in the midst of an older, uber-liberal college crowd.

At the front of the auditorium the lights reflected off the shiny buttons on an old man’s well-decorated military uniform. He didn’t bother with the podium. Instead he was in front of it, standing tall despite his age and the crutches clipped to his arms. His challenging gaze scanned the crowd.

What followed was his gruesome war story, filled with unimaginable details. It had cost him a leg, but that was easy compared to the scars he carried in his mind. I had read things like this before. But now someone who had suffered it was standing in front of me.  I looked to see how the others were reacting. They seemed unmoved.

The old man sensed it too. While his vivid recall gave me shivers, the crowd facing him didn’t seem to care. It didn’t matter that his battle wounds helped our nation.


It started in the back. One voice shouting out an anti-war curse. Emboldened, others added their voices to the chorus. I looked around and saw bitter smirks and heard obnoxious jeers. It became louder, more mean-spirited. The old veteran turned to the side as if wishing someone... anyone, would silence the crowd. No one did.

He lifted his arm, trying to say more, but he could tell no one cared. He’d been our age once—and unlike those in the auditorium, he’d volunteered to serve his country. He’d been proud to make it back home—because home was worth fighting for. The crowd refused to quiet.


He hadn’t been defeated in a POW camp; sadly, defeat had come on a college campus. As he walked away, he looked back once more. He shook his head in apparent disbelief at the disregard for all he’d done. I will never forget his final look at all of us. 

I was ashamed, even if no one else was.






I quickly made my own exit. I wish I could tell you I had been honorable enough to go and apologize. I have done it hundreds of times in my heart. 

Since that day, I promised to never forget that old veteran, or any of the soldiers who have served to protect me. Someday there will be a world without war. But until then, God only knows where any of us would be without the sacrifice of our brave military.

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Please Don't Tell Anyone

Image
She asked me not to tell. Once she shared her secret I felt ashamed and would have been mortified to actually tell someone else what was happening. I was probably eight years old and back then, no one talked about the things that happened behind closed doors. When she moved away, I never saw her again. But I've never forgotten her secret. Fast-forward to a school hallway during the hustle between classes. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I looked down into dark eyes that seemed to plead with me. She’d been one of the students who had just listened to me talk in her health class. As soon as no one was close by, she said, “Please don’t tell anyone.” Those same words. Again. Only a different girl, in a different time and place. She might not want to tell, but she’d never get free unless someone came to her rescue. Most schools have “safe places” for kids to share the dark secrets that tend to perpetuate themselves. Without intervention, 30% of ab...
Read more