I grew up in a military family. This history extends from my great grandfather down through time to my two younger brothers (now retired). I was just a kid during the ht. of the Cold War. At the time (late `50s-mid`60s) my dad was stationed at both Norton and March AFBs. My grandfather (retired from the Army) was still working as a civil engineer for the military (pretty much what hed been doing since WW1). My brothers and I had our own government issued dog tags. We were inculcated in the drill; military service was a civic and moral duty.
I turned 17 in 1971. The war in Viet Nam war was never further away than Walter Cronkite was from the chairs in the kitchen, and had been since I was 8 yrs old. I got my hands on the, until then, classified study performed by the RAND Corp. on the history of U.S. involvement in SE Asia (Viet Nam, specifically). I read the entire report once, and then I read it again. I went from being gung-ho to disgusted in a little over two weeks.
I was still determined to serve (one doesnt get to choose ones wars or peace if one is going to be a soldier) but I did it on my own terms and enlisted with the guarantee that, if I survived basic, Id be sent to Ft. Sam to be trained as a medic. In some silly, adolescent, romantic, way I believed that if the war again heated up, and I was shipped out, that in some miniscule fashion Id be afforded the opportunity to make sure that bloody ground would get a little less to drink.
So, I did my duty in the Miltonian sense that `he also serves who only stands and waits.
And, for this one vet, this is Remembrance Day.
For those who served in battle; you have my undying respect.
For those who still endure their wounds both physical and/or spiritual; I wish you relief, solace and some sense of peace.
For those dead; rest well, for you are with us always.
Through the declining days of my life I will always consider it to be a distinct honor and singular privilege to have simply worn the same uniform.
