November 11 falls on a Sunday this year and though our school won’t close the following weekday, an important holiday is observed. Veterans Day was originally conceived to celebrate the ending of hostilities of World War I but was later expanded to honor all veterans regardless of war. Of all days it should be the most important to me, but last year I would have forgotten all about it if it weren’t for a friend’s phone call, thanking me for my service. Honestly, the holiday doesn’t hold much personal significance, not because I am ashamed of or want to forget my time in Iraq or the military. For me, days like Veterans Day or Memorial Day are meant for the ones who gave all, the ones did not get to see their families again. I think of men named Edens, Morris, and Tavae, names who make me tear up just seeing their names on the screen. I think of Darrell Griffin, who died earlier this year after volunteering to go back while I chose to come back home.
I joined the Army and I have been ‘downrange’ as we like to call it, I feel as though I did my job and was lucky to come back and carry on with my life. I don’t really like to label myself or hear others refer to me as the Iraq veteran, not that I’m not appreciative of the recognition, but because I don’t view myself as one. I once read an issue of Stars and Stripes during my tour and read a letter by a deployed soldier railing against certain soldiers who were crying about not receiving a badge or combat patch or medal for their actions; it made such an impression on me that I saved it and still have it with me.
SFC Eric Stewart letter reads in part, “…I am sick and tried of these people who have the nerve to call themselves soldiers…I have seen and heard nothing but soldiers wanting to be presented with the little baubles that show they are special or courageous. We are the defenders of our nation, defenders of those who cannot defend themselves…Danger is inherent in what we do… This endless bickering about who deserves what and who has been in more danger is nothing short of disgusting. You self-absorbed people want to be seen by family and friends as heroes. Do you want to know who the actual heroes are? the ones who did not get to walk off that tarmac; the ones who sacrificed everything. What about the Iraqi soldiers who die by the dozens daily to gain their freedom? Do they write letters demanding that little piece of superficiality?…Hold pride in what you do, not what you wear. Be proud of what you are doing, be proud of the people you are liberating, and be proud of being a soldier. Try to remember why we volunteered to be soldiers and why it is an honor to wear the uniform.”
The power of his letter hasn’t lost it’s potency since when I first read it. There is no point in flashing a badge to show how close to danger I was. I was an Army Infantryman and awarded the Combat Infantryman’s Badge (CIB). In Army circles, it is a badge of honor. I don’t wear it on anything except for dress occasions. I think of Edens and Morris, who fell in combat and weren’t awarded it because they were tankers. The badge makes me no better, no braver than the two men from my unit that happened to have a different job than me. I think of Tavae, who was shot not more than 80 feet from me and I think of Grif, who called his wife every night when I went over with them. All of them married. Eric Morris had twin girls. When I think of veterans, people that serve, I think of those that served their full measure because it’s people like them that are true veterans.