Football players and other entertainers make bad messengers these days

     As military people, we hold ourselves to a higher standard of performance than most civilians. Indeed, by law, we are bound to adhere to a far more rigid standard than the rest of you.

     For instance, we voluntarily surrender many of our constitutionally guaranteed rights when we join ... the rights to freedom from search and seizure, freedom of speech, the right to a trial by a jury of your peers, the right to peaceably assemble to petition for a redress of grievances, all are held mostly in abeyance for those of us in the military.

     But we tell ourselves it's so that you in civilian life can continue to enjoy your freedoms.  And we mean it.

     So let's take a minute and examine the current wave of "taking a knee" or hiding in locker rooms by players of the National Football League while our national anthem is played.

     On one hand, it's their right.  Rights are only good if they are observed, utilized and respected by all.  As long as one is prepared to accept the consequences for their own actions, you can make any statement you want in our country.

     On the other hand, let's take a look at what they're doing.

     The National Anthem, if it is a political statement at all, is a statement of political solidarity between us all!.  When you stand for the National Anthem, you are standing as a tribute and as a statement of intent to honor the miracle of the American Republic that we have all built over the past two-plus centuries.

     When NFL millionaires protest that anthem, they are telling the rest of us something that we already know ... that our Union is an imperfect vessel.  They are saying that, as good as our nation is, we nevertheless still have a ways to go to ensure freedom for all.

     But NFL millionaires may not be the best messengers here.  

     First, there's the problem that many of them are convicted felons.  People who have epitomized bad behavior, gotten caught, and were sent to prison ... before coming back onto the football field to work on making their next million dollars.  Bad mediums for this particular message, I'm thinking.

     Secondly, these players are little more than ENTERTAINERS ... not political policy advisers.  

     I put them in the same class of pompous loudmouths as actors and actresses, who feel empowered to advise we commoners on the right way to run a government.  (George "There's Never Gonna Be a President Trump" Clooney, Ashley "I am a Nasty Woman" Judd, and Cher all come to mind at this point.)

     Entertainers.  That's all.

     And we commoners get the final vote on entertainers.  We can give them a resounding "Shut the Hell Up" by simply not watching them.  (Look what happened to comedienne Kathy Griffin when she posted a photo of herself holding a Trump head.  Her career since then is in tatters.)

     If you don't like what these millionaire football players are saying with their Take-a-knee-or-hide-in-the-locker-room protest, turn the channel and watch something else.  Hell, maybe talk to your family or even go outside for a walk or something. 

     They'll get the message.

Fathers Day ain't official unless it's messy

(My first Father's Day ... AFTER I cleaned my beard and changed my flight suit)

Your first Fathers Day doesn’t count unless it involves baby poop all over, or about a pint of half-digested strawberry yogurt in your face.

My first Father’s Day coincided with my name appearing on the flight manifest of a US Navy P-3 Orion patrol bomber, and a prospective long-ish mission out over the Pacific Ocean.  The 13 men (we were all male back then) of the bomber’s crew were all waiting around in the time-honored military tradition of “Stand by to stand by.”  That means we had to wear our flight suits everywhere, keeping our helmets and survival gear close to hand...and then just sit around waiting for the call to launch the mission.

So there I was, at home, in my flight suit, sitting around with my (then) toddler daughter, Johanna.  We were doing the “fly-like-Daddy Game” in which I lay on the living room floor, and she latched onto my legs and hands, and I lifted her up yelling (what else?) “Fly like daddy!”

This game never failed to bring gales of giggles from her.  Well, almost never.

On this day, Johanna had eaten almost a half-pint of strawberry yogurt about a half-hour before our FLD game kicked off.  Evidently it didn’t sit well with her.

Anyway, on about our 13^th FLD takeoff, instead of gales of giggles, Johanna made a sound like a piece of plumbing backing up, and turned an interesting shade of green.

Then the half-digested yogurt came pouring out of her mouth, straight down, onto my face and into my beard.

Her mom looked at me, with pink-colored goo dripping down my face and onto my sorry mess of a flight suit, and (stifling a laugh, I’m sure) wished me my first Happy Fathers Day.

And it only got better from there…but those are the substance of other stories.

One Last Service to Render

Our uniforms don’t fit like they used to.  Our waistlines now are somewhat more expansive than they used to be.   Our chins, which once jutted proudly over our stiff collars like the prows of warships, now tend to sag a mite.  Rather than standing tall in formation, some of us are stooped from age, while others are confined to wheelchairs.  Our hair, once all the colors of the spectrum, now tends to mostly gray and even solid white.

None of that matters today.

We’re standing here in the hot Florida sun to render one last service to one of our own.  We’re here to render last military honors to a World War II vet who passed away and is being interred today.

The “we” in mention is the Honor Guard of the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post #10209, of Spring Hill, Fla.

Yes, I’ve become one of those guys … who wear military style hats and crisp white shirts.  I’ve become of those guys who show up to march in small town parades behind the fire engines; those guys who sit outside WalMart stores to sell paper poppies on Armistice Day, and who show up at military funerals to fire ragged rifle salutes with ancient M-1 Garand rifles.

It’s necessary, you see.  If “we” don’t do it, who will?  There aren’t many of us left.

                                                               *     *     *

Veterans organizations like the VFW, the American Legion and the DAV, exist today because we have – as our British cousins would say – “seen the elephant” and most of you have not.

We have been forged and changed in the crucible of military service, and it sets us apart from the other 99% of the American population who have not served.

You may not even notice it, except that we act “different.”    But we notice it.  A lot.

Serving in the military, especially in wartime, changes people in ways that their civilian friends and family cannot begin to fathom.   Once you’ve served in the military, you’ll notice that you are no longer defined by the same limits as many of your civilian friends.   Where once you might be tempted to just throw up your hands and walk away from a task too difficult or too dangerous, military people are taught and trained to dig deeper, hang on, and to find resources inside they never knew they had.  

“Do or die” now defines us, instead of “Close enough for government work.”

The US Marines like to say that “The Change is Forever” … and it is.

When the first Veterans came home from the American Civil War, they founded in 1866 the first ever US veterans organization, the Grand Army of the Republic.  It was because veterans needed someone to talk to.  Anecdotal tales from the time noted that veterans found they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) discuss the war with their families.  Indeed, they found they couldn’t really discuss their experiences with anyone who hadn’t been there. ..with anyone who hadn’t also “seen the elephant.”

No disrespect intended towards loving family members and caring civilians, you understand.  It’s just that you wouldn’t understand.  You lack the cultural and experiential reference points to fully comprehend the changes in us.  Even among ourselves, we find it difficult to put into words what we’ve seen, what we’ve done.  But there’s the key.

Among ourselves, we don’t NEED to put it into words.

Looking around a crowded VFW post during a meeting, you can hear the same coarse jokes and vulgar language we learned in Boot Camp or Basic Training.  Look a little closer and you can see the same thousand-yard-stare in everyone’s eyes.

Among ourselves, we can let our (white) hair down and relax a little.

There’s something else at work behind veterans organizations.  Something shameful.

This country has a long history of backing away from its promises to veterans.   Nowadays, it’s not at all uncommon to hear Congressmen or Congressional budget analysts talk about the expense of Veterans health care (which was promised to us), while their own health care system is superior to everyone else’s.  Some even talk openly about trying to balance the federal budget by cutting funds for the Veterans Administration.

We get it. We really do. We’re an expensive commodity … but in a country where 99% of the population chooses not to serve, we’re worth every penny.

                                                           *    *     *

Which leads us back here to the cemetery and the VFW Honor Guard waiting in formation.

Even in a veterans’ organization like the VFW, not every member wants to experience this.

Honor Guard members know that, the moment the commands are given and they fire the rifle salute, taps is going to play from the electronic bugle carried by another of our members.  That’s when the family nearby will know they’re saying goodbye to their beloved grandfather for the last time.  That’s when the wracking sobs will start, and the heavy feeling of grief will truly set in.

We know that our rituals and ceremony are part of their leave-taking and closure.

We share in those moments with the families.  Every time.  But we don’t do it for them.

We do this so our departed brother or sister will know their comrades were here for them.

After a lifetime of service in uniform, we do this difficult task as one last service to one of our own.