THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE

I have been asked if I plan on writing aother story for Veteran's Day.  I thought I had written it all in my last two stories that had been published in the local newspapers.  Then I thought no, it could never all be written.  In an attempt to refrain from repeating myself, I will expound on the five words that comprise the title of this story.  It is my hope that the reader will heed the importance of the powerful message they convey.
When President Bill Clinton was inaugurated in January of 1993, he welcomed countless numbers of people into the White House.  Many of these were active duty military.  His first words to each member in uniform were "Thank you for your service."  He shook their hands and looked them in the eye as he uttered those words.
I watched very closely with great interest.  There was no doubt in my mind that this was an act of sincerity being played over and over as I could see the welling in the eyes of the President and felt the same in my own.  Those words seem to have become some kind of a cliche and are and will be repeated many times with the coming of another Veteran's Day.  Thank you, President Clinton, for spreading that message.
It wasn't like that at all when I returned from Vietnam in 1971.  I wasn't expecting any kind of a welcome home, especially since we had been briefed about possibly encountering war protesters which we were told of course to ignore.  The first thing I looked forward to as we de-planed at the SEA/TAC Airport in "Washington was simply stepping on American soil after surviving the most challenging year of my life in the war torn country of Vietnam.  Many of our troops got down on their hands and knees and kissed the ground, they were so happy to be home.  After putting my foot down the next thing I looked forward to was seeing some smiling American faces and be able to talk to them and ask for assistance.
All of our initial happiness was quickly put on hold as we did encounter a group of "peace marchers."  We did all we could to ingore their remarks.  I even heard the words "baby killers" directed to us.  I was told by a security officer they had a right to say whatever they wanted to as long as they didn't cross a certain line.
How could these people be so naive?  I soon learned this was not an isolated incident.  There were people all over the country actually burning the American flag.  There seemed to be a huge barrier placed between our happiness and returning home.  Most of us were put on stand-by lists for flights home.
Maybe the airport personnel were overworked.  I don't remember any pleasant encounters with anyone.  They may have seen too many flights returning and too many uniforms.  It could be that our uniform was the brunt of their frustration.  They probably didn't realize that Americans were dying every day in Vietnam for their freedom.  Further they didn't realize that we as individuals had no choice in our involvement in Vietnam.  Those decisions were made in Washington, DC.  That is where these peace marchers should be and not allowed elsewhere.
As I write this story, I have concluded that the act of war is insane.  There has to be another way.  So many innocent people are killed.  To put my stamp on that insanity statement, read on:
First a quick history that may erase much of that naivety.  Most everyone that served in Vietnam, saw, felt and liced the war first hand and probably became more antiwar than the loudest of any of those peace marchers. Some saw their friends suffer and die.  I saw much more than my share of death and destruction, which included the maimws and mutilated bodies of children from villages that were destroyed.
Most of the returning flights carried about two hundred troops and for every two hundred there were probably fifty draftees in that total.  What is a draftee?  A draftee is a person that was forced to play a lottery game.  If they refused to play, they would either leave the Country or they may have been jailed.  When they did sign up they were issued a card.  On this card was number that was placedsomrwhere, I don't know if computers were used or not.  Somehow those numbers were secured so the game would be played fairly.
If you number was chosen and you weren't attending college, it really didn't matter in some instances if you were married or not, or if you had a good paying job or not. If you were in good health you would soon become a member of the US Army.  You would be sent to basic training for eight weeks and after another eight weeks of advanced training, you would be sent to a country thousands of miles from home to fight in a war in a country you may never even knew existed.  Many thousands of you will be killed in this war. How insane is that?
Now for what may be the ultimate of insanity.  This is something that does happen during wartime.  Take one of those draftees who was sent to Vietnam.  He was on a mission and somehow made a wrong turn and was separated from his unit.  It wasn't even six months ago that his number came up.  He had just turned twenty years old.  He said good bye to his girl friend and left his well paying job that he had worked so hard to secure.  In those days a college education was not always a requirement to land a decent job.  Now here he is lost in war torn Vietnam thousands of miles from home.  He soon comes face to face with an NVA (North Vietnamese Army) soldier who himself is barely twenty years old and was forced into this war.  Neither of vthem knew why they were where they were.  The only knowing they both had at that moment was they must take the others life or their own would be taken.  It was kill or be killed.  There has to be another way.
I retired from the Army in 1982 after twenty one years of service, two of which were in Vietnem. Since then I kept my Army career to myself and rarely talked about it because of the unpleasant memories of Vietnam.
A couple of years ago my story was published in the Newsa Herald and the Ile Camera.  Shortly after I was introduced to the chief of vthe city of Taylor Fire Department.  His name is Vince Fedel.  Vince has since become a close friend of mine.  At our introduction it sounded to me like he was thanking me for my service.  I asked him to repeat what he had said.  He then extended his arm, grasped y hand, looked me squarely in the eye and said with a firm grip "Thank you for your service."  I could feel his sincerity as I noticed the welling in his eyes.  Once again, I thank you President Clinton.
This Veteran's Day many of you will have the opportunity to be close enough to someone in uniform. v It doesn't matter if you personally know the individual or not, the uniform they are wearing represents your freedom.  I repeat, the uniform they are wearing represents your freedom.  WEhen this happens do yourself a huge favor.  You will never realize the feeling until you have done it.  Extend your arm, grasp his/her hand, look him/her in the eye and blurt out these words:  "Thank you for your service."
Again I ask that you give that moment of silence for those that did not return.  Those that could never become veterans or fathers or grandfathers as so many of us have.  Though we could never grasp their hand or look them in the eye, we can keep them in our prayers and our remembrance and forever "Thank them for their Service."