Missing Veteran's Day

By Douglas V. Gibbs

Thursday Night my job told me work was slow, and there was no work for Veteran's Day. I slept in until 6:00 am. Sure, I would miss the income that could have been made, but yours truly has been needing the full night's sleep, and the time off. Time to recharge the batteries.

At 7:00 am dispatch called. Work was coming in.

At 11:11:11 the local TEA Party gathered at the Duck Pond in Temecula without me. I had sent an Email the night before that I might be there, but alas, I was working.

I talked to a couple other veterans at work as the day progressed. "Isn't that something?" I said. "Veterans working on Veterans Day."

"We gotta make a living," came the reply.

Indeed.

I didn't get in from work until well after 7:00 pm. Typical day, though shorter than usual. I didn't quite get to the twelve hour mark. Called my buddy Caston, an Army Veteran who served a number of times in Iraq and Afghanistan, but was on the butt-end of an IED one too many times. After between half a dozen and a dozen concussions, and a few other major injuries, they let him on his way. They gave VA benefits, the ability to go to school, and a security job for a hero.

I asked Caston if he wanted to get a few beers for Veterans Day. My wife was working, and his no longer lives with him. Usually, we have that kind of time on our hands. . . when I am not writing.

He was helping his sister move, and had to decline.

The house was cold and dark. I popped a chili in the microwave, made some fries, and feasted in my office. "Happy Veterans Day," I said to myself. I smiled. I ate. I watched the story of Al Davis on NFL Network.

During the workday a man by the name of "Uncle Doug" was mentioned on AM 830, during the Roger Lodge sports show. In Tennessee, after 43 years, he was finally being awarded the Purple Heart. He was brought up because Roger asked callers to dial in to tell him who the veterans in their lives were that they were honoring on Veterans Day.

Uncle Doug later called in. Roger asked how it felt finally getting his Purple Heart. Doug said, "It is not about me. It is about my brothers in arms."

As a veteran, I can understand that. When we entered the military, we all took the same oath. We are brothers and sisters. We all deserve a pat on the back, but don't care if we receive it. We more than appreciate the words, "Thank you for your service," but don't demand it. It was our job. It was our duty. It was our privilege. It was the least we could do.

I honor the veterans of my life. I honor Grandfather who served in the Army-Air Corps in World War II, and passed away early in the last decade. He used to tell us kids that he once punched Hitler in the nose. . . and we believed him for the longest time.

I honor Dad, who was a United States Marine in Vietnam. Supply runner, and later a helicopter gunner. They say, "Once a Marine, always a Marine." They, whoever they are, ain't kiddin'. I joke when I tell the story about why I chose the Navy when I got in the military. I tell people that dad asked why I chose to be a Squid. Why didn't I get in The Corps? "I've already been in The Corps. You raised me," was my reply to him.

I honor Uncle Bill who retired as a Lt. Commander in the U.S. Navy, and served in Vietnam at the mid-point of his career. He did it the old fashioned way. He began as an enlisted man and worked his way up all the way to officer. Those were the officers I respected in the Navy. The ones that once were enlisted. I couldn't stand when we got some snot-nosed ensign right out of OCS to head our division, and then the sucker started trying to tell us how to do our job. Usually, the children with the butter bars on their collars were wrong. About the time we finally had our ensign trained, he'd then take all that knowledge somewhere else, and we'd have to start all over again. Uncle Bill was not one of those kids.

Uncle Bill was the first face I saw when I came out of my coma in 1985. I craved a Big Mac, and he obliged. I ate the burger under the cover of darkness beneath my sheet, appreciating every bite as if it was the first time I had ever tasted the burger. Uncle Bill also informed me, at that time, that my wife would be excited I had finally awakened. "Who?" I replied. "I'm married?"

I honor my cousins who have served. Much younger cousins, and too many to start naming here. They served proudly as well, and a hearty thanks should be given to those brave souls.

I honor my shipmates during my time in the Navy. Many of my duties were arduous, and those guys were right there with me. I became qualified in as many things as I could in the Navy. I served underway watch with the Boatswain's Mates, even though I was in Operations. Then, after duty, I would still get all my work done too. I averaged between two and four hours sleep a night. The only meal I usually got was breakfast. Underway watch was cold and miserable, and that is the way I liked it. I like being busier than most. I still haven't gotten away from that tendency.

One of those shipmates I am still in touch with, so I will name him. I honor Dave in Texas. He was one of the most gung-ho guys I ever met. He tried to become a SEAL, and physically should have had no problem. He fell out of the training though. I wonder if the mind-games got to him. Now, he runs deliveries, and is still one of the most "to the point" people I've ever met. If ever there was someone that is not politically correct, Dave is it.

I honor Rick, an old friend of mine from my Navy days that did become a SEAL. He could never convince me to go skydiving with him. This guy lived for jumping out of planes after he got out of the military. He died recently serving this country as a civilian contractor overseas. My prayers, and appreciation, are with him.

I honor Matt, my neighbor, who currently serves in the United States Marine Corps. He's a staff sergeant who is ready to move up to Gunny. We have many talks about my old adventures, and his current ones. He served in both Iraq and Afghanistan a number of times.

I honor Caston, my college buddy, who served in the Army and spent time in Iraq and Afghanistan quite a bit. His stories are harrowing, and appreciated. He'll give me grief over this next statement, since he'll be reading this over at Facebook, but Caston is one of the people I consider to be a real hero. He saw the real bad stuff, yet kept on going. Kept on fighting. Kept on serving.

I honor Eric, my son in law. He's in the United States Air Force. Eric has been to Iraq and Afghanistan, and recently went over to Europe in connection to our operations in Libya. He's up for E-5, the rank I should have pursued before I got out, but decided not to because I knew discharge was right around the corner. I hope he gets it. I tease him about being Air Force. Matt and I joke with him about it. He takes it in stride, and dishes right back. And he takes good care of my daughter and two of my four grandchildren. He's a husband, a father, and an active military man. Quite a full plate, but he handles it in stride. That is the kind of man that the military often creates through the discipline instilled.

I honor Jim and Mike, a couple of the USMC's finest, driving trucks right along with me. They served in Vietnam, and are both still as hard as nails. John, the Army Veteran at work, didn't work with Jim, Mike and myself yesterday. He's up north, in the town of his birth, being honored as a local veteran.

I honor all of the other veterans in my life, and those not in my life. Like I said before: "We all took the same oath."

I wore my "Proud Navy Veteran" hat yesterday because I am indeed proud that I served. When 911 happened, I actually tried to get back in, but the history of my injuries were not exactly in my corner. One thing is for sure: I didn't serve for me. I didn't go through what I went through for glory, and I didn't complain when it got tough. I just served. I served because I am an American. I can't explain it beyond that. My brothers and sisters understand, and I honor each and every one of them for taking that oath.

God Bless our veterans, and God Bless America. I hope your Veterans Day was blessed.

Now, I am off to visit Grandpa. He's buried at the Riverside National Cemetery, with a small flag waving in the wind beside his rain battered name plate. While there, I will say a prayer for him, and each and every one of those great souls that chose to serve this great nation.

-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary