If You Can Believe in Something Bigger than Yourself

This Friday, Veterans Day is a day off, and maybe an opportunity to get a head start on Christmas shopping for many of us. Yeah, I know most of us have more wishes than wallets but we're getting to the point of the calendar where events seem to pile up on top of one another. 

I'd hope you could spare the time Friday even if you are shopping to find an observance, there will be more than conducted across the region, honoring some, most, and actually ALL of those who've worn the uniform of our Armed Forces just to make note of their sacrifice and of their service. 

Veterans Day gets confused often with Memorial Day, but from its beginnings, as the pause at eleven minutes after the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918 to mark the end of World War I (the war to end all wars-who says The Lord has no sense of humor?), it's much more universal and more all-encompassing.

Veterans Day, if I'm being honest (and savor this because it doesn't happen that often) is one of the few days of the entire year when I remember my family's ties to haircuts, uniforms, shoe shines, and open-rank inspections. I served eight years in the Air Force; everyone who served with me has often (and very loudly) said it felt longer and then I worked for the Department of Defense for another thirty-five years. 

I think about my dad's two brothers, Uncle George (his older brother, Michael's real name. No one ever told me why he was called George. George was in the US Army stationed in Germany and went home to California to work for Sparkletts (who bought drinking water in the 1950s, Los Angelenos, that's who) with his braut, Mitzi)) and his younger brother, Uncle Jack, who spent almost a career in the USAF before his wife, Alice, died of cancer and he was left to raise their tribe of children by himself.

I recall my mother's two younger brothers, Uncle Jim (on the US Army CISM swim team. Jim served in the Honor Guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. He smoked Camel cigarettes that he opened from the bottom of each pack) and Uncle John (who was wounded at Pork Chop Hill during America's nearly-forgotten war, Korea).

John should have never been in the Army because he could only see out of one eye. When the doctor administered the vision test, he covered his bad eye with his left hand and read the chart. When the doctor told him to 'change eyes', John switched hands but continued to cover the bad eye. 

All of them were ordinary men, as were all of those with whom they served. The famous people who are mentioned in our history books are only possible because of all of those whose names are NOT in them. All made extraordinary sacrifices for generations unborn and never to be known by any of them. That's what Friday is all about.

There will be a small event Friday starting at one o'clock at the Richard Hourigan Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) Post 594 in the Norwich Business Park, sponsored by the post and the Norwich Area Veterans Council (NAVC). 

I always try to attend even though I don't know anyone from either the VFW or NAVC. They don't seem to mind that I tag along and I'm pretty sure they'd be okay if you came, too. You could sit near me, as oddly, there's always plenty of room.

The ceremony is not so much somber as respectful usually with guest speakers who do what they can to help us to remember to say thank you to anyone who ever wore a uniform, wherever and whenever that might have been. As times change and we age, memories are sometimes our most precious possessions, and observances like the one Friday help keep them alive and part of our shared experience. I hope you'll remember to attend.
-bill kenny