As part of our celebration, we were asked to bring photos of our loved ones who have served. Without hast, I proudly brought pictures of two of my best friends, my Papaw and my Dad. Both of whom served in the Navy and Air Force respectively. As I stood in front of that bulletin board with pride, a co-worker came up to me and made the comment about how young everyone looked. And in the blink of an eye, I was like I realized just how young they really were.
My Papaw often humbly told stories of his time in World War II (or W-W-2 as he often referred it to). However, the truth of the matter is that he was an 18 year old kid who had hardly ever been away from Paducah, KY and was about to seen things unforeseen. He would often make light of the fact that his draft notice opened up with "Greetings", as if it were some sort of party invitation. It that envelope and draft number that sealed his fate for years to come. As a child, he would often entertain the grand kids with stories of going off to the Navy Pier in Chicago and being told that he needed to dive for a swim test. After telling them that he didn't know how to swim, the pushed him off the board, and in his words, he learned that day. It wasn't long after that they he would be on a Naval carrier to participate in the island hopping campaign, fighting in the Battle of Tarawa, that took place from November 20-23, 1943. Often he would tell stories about being so nervous on the ship, that he and others would vomit out of fear, and of his friend Benny. Who was a total stranger until they bonded on that ship and leaned on one another for comfort, friendship, support, and courage. It wasn't until I was a grown women, that I really and truly knew and understood what my Papaw did during his time in the Navy. He faced death, destruction, and possibly guilt and fear, so severe, that many of us will never fully comprehend it.
Then there is my dad, who in 1966, knew his draft number was coming sooner rather than later, so decided to enlist in the Air Force, because at least something would be on his terms. He was 18 going on 19 and had barely been away from home, when he found himself in basic training in San Antonio then off to Wetherfeild, England to serve in the 20th Tactical Fighter Wing. When you ask my dad about his time in the service, will will often share with you stories of drinking at pubs in London, eating fish and chips, and the friends he made along the way. But what he doesn't realize is that he is so humble about what he did. In addition to enjoying his time across the pond, he also would take supplies and other materials for our troops to Benghazi, yes that Benghazi. Putting his life on the line with each trip in and out of that militarized zone, in order to make sure the war effort in Vietnam carried on.
These two men, and many other veterans out there, were still kids when they signed the papers to put their life on the line and step into a world of unknowns. At the age of 18 or 19, I can't imagine leaving my friends and family, not knowing when and if I would see them again. So often, it seems that many veterans, are so humble about their acts of courage. However, I don't know that words could ever really and truly tell their stories of bravery.
In my opinion, we could never really and truly give the thanks that these men and women deserve. We can also never pay it back, but we can always pay it forward. Rather it's a thank you, cup of coffee, nod of the hat, or a care package. Let them know.
Tomorrow, I will be walking into that assembly with my chest puffed out, proud that two of my best friends are on that wall.
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