"There is no difficulty to him that Wills" -Haines Family Crest, Plymouth 1620
Jason Haines, a shipmate here in Afghanistan, shared an email with me that I thought appropriate for my friends and family as I sit here in Kabul in my cozy "dorm" room on my secure compound. It was about one of his family member's that epitomizes the word hero.
When you think you have it bad, Moses, take a look at the real generation that is leaving us at a rapid rate. According to a Cheshire Herald article, World War II ended almost 70 years ago, and veterans from what has become commonly called “the greatest generation” are dying off each year. An estimate produced by the Department of Veteran's Affairs in 2009 revealed that as many as 1,100 veterans may be dying per day. Jason's grandpa fought in the Pacific after he joined to Navy in December 1941. He was underway heading west by 11 January and would not finish his first cruise until 10 March...no, not two months...it was finished in 1943. Look at this picture of his ship to get a small sense of what he endured. This is the USS Minneapolis after the battle at Tassafaronga. Read about it here. After heading back to Hawaii, and six months pier side, he headed back out again for his 2nd cruise.
Oh to have men like that in this generation. I must say we are soft. I pray it is not because we do not value the freedoms they valued and determined to fight for...just that the good life God has given us has made us soft. We complain about 3 days of rain, the chicken was too dry in the chow hall, and the coffee was not fresh when we sat down for that piece of pecan pie.
The next time you are walking down the mall and you see one of those old guys with the blue hats that declares he is a veteran of a war gone by, stop and talk to him...tell him thank you. I guess all I am trying to say is, if you think you got it bad, think again.
It's all relative, my friends. As for me and my lot in life, this ain't "nothing but a thing!"
I really enjoyed this Russell. Thought provoking even if we've never served in the armed forces. I emailed it to my husband Doug. He is a veteran. Your (never met) cousin in Swartz Creek, Michigan, Valorie.
ReplyDeletePS Congrats on your soon to happen homecoming! And, A BIG Thanks for your service to you AND your wife and children :)
hey cuz! thx for the words. i hope to meet you one day. we gotta do some road trips with these boys before they get too big!!
ReplyDeletethx for reading...
As a boy, I spent much time at American Legion Post #3 with my Dad. I saw WWII and Korea War Veterans working daily to better their community and help those less fortunate. These men never asked for a pat on the back for what they did in the community, or for their military service, where they fought the enemy and won.
ReplyDeleteMany of these men continued to fight. They fought daily battles with health issues directly related to their service. Many still walked around with shrapnel remaining in their bodies from wounds they received in Normandy, Germany, or the Pacific. Several of these men were so “Shell Shocked” that any loud noise would make them hit the floor, or immediately leave the area. Yet, they never complained about what they had been through. Actually, they rarely if ever talked about it. The visible and mental scars spoke for themselves.
Saturday night was poker night at the Legion Hall. Many times I would sneak upstairs and watch as my Dad fleeced the rest of these men. (Did I mention my Dad was an awesome poker player?) Poker Night was when these men talked to each other about what they had seen; what they had done; why they would do it again, and how much they loved their country. They would only do this when they were alone with each other, away from others who would not understand and possibly pity them, or be shocked by what these men had once had to do. They did not want to burden anyone else with their memories, their pain, or their problems. They kept it amongst themselves. We’ve all seen the movie, but do we really understand? These men were truly a Band of Brothers.
During many of my search and destroy missions to the 2nd floor of the hall, I would listen to their stories from around the corner; listening as they quietly spoke about things of war. Many times I would hear them cry and watched as tears slid down those old wrinkled faces. I would watch and listen as they would comfort and assure one another that they did the right thing; they would be alright; we all did the same things.… I watched wrinkled handshakes and soft pats on the back. I witnessed true friendship. I was fascinated with these men. That is why I always went back for more.
I was fascinated not only by these old men, but by what they had been through. Many times I was actually horrified by the stories they told to each other about some battle or conflict, in a remote part of the world.
Occasionally they would spot me peaking around the corner and invite me to stay awhile; to come on over and sit in on the game. They would always throw me a stack of change and let me play a few hands. Sometimes they actually let me win. The stories of war, wounds, and hardship would cease and turn to other things more suitable for a small boys ears. We talked about baseball, bicycles, skateboards, and when I got older, girls. Of course they always cussed my Dad.
In all the time I spent at the Legion Hall, I never heard any of these men complain about what they had been through; what they had been forced to do to survive. In fact they all remained humble, yet proud of their service to our great nation.
These men were “Real Men”. Men who had been to hell and back. Men who had seen the devil himself and survived. These guys were awesome. They were larger than life to a small boy. They should be larger than life to us all. They still are to me.
Today, all of those men are dead. Old age did what no German or Japanese bullet was able to do. They were proud men. They were humble men. They were good men.
Today, as they are walking with God. Their legacy lives on. They did everything from freeing countries around the world, making friends with a small boy, to the patriotic inspiration of this now grown man.
To these good men. To this “Band of Brothers”. I thank you for our time together. I thank you for the stories. I thank you for your life lessons. To them and all who serve, and fight, or have fought, the good fight of freedom. May God bless you, and I thank you for your service.
Hey dude, you are so awesome . . . it made me reflect on all my relatives who served many years ago. I'm thankful dude for them and I'm thankful for what you are doing as well!
ReplyDeleteLove ya bro!
Russell,
ReplyDeleteWhy so long between posts?
When I hear a baby crying, I think, "that kid is breathing and has got lungs that work." My niece, who just started college last fall, was too quiet when she was born and was rushed from the delivery room to intensive care to see what was wrong. She was fine, but whenever I take a moment to think about it, I reminded that even when we have it bad (like next to a screaming baby), we actually have it really good. One just needs to have the right perspective.
I'm not fond of my current job, but my boss lets me set hours that enable me to help coach. Last fall it was football and this coming week I'll start as a helper with a softball team. So, I've got it good and need to just appreciate how good I have it.
Peace...flowing down from the Father above...
Tom