VETERANS DAY

I admire anyone who is a veteran of our nation’s armed forces; I never would have had the courage to sign up--not even for a day. I am scared of guns and rifles, and I don’t particularly care to engage in any kind of conflict, let alone a war. I am a coward.

I became more aware of what war was about when I was in high school. The Vietnam War was a horrific staple on the evening news--night after night, year after year, there it was in the living room on our black and white TV. Soldiers dodging bullets. Medics rushing the wounded to helicopters. Young men dying before our eyes. And for what, I wasn’t sure. I remember thinking I was lucky to be female and not subject to the military draft, but I worried about those I knew who might have to leave their families and go halfway around the world to put themselves in peril. In an old scrapbook I have a news clipping listing the order of birthdays drawn for the 1969 draft. Names of boys I knew are scribbled in beside certain dates. A circle is around 115, the draft number for my own birthdate.

Over 57,000 Americans were killed in that war. Soon after the Vietnam War Memorial was unveiled in 1982, I was in Washington, D.C. to see it. The long list of names engraved on “The Wall” is a somber reminder of those who died too young. Name after name after name of broken dreams. Why did they have to die? What could they have accomplished with their lives if there had not been a war? How did their families endure the loss? Why can’t people live in peace?

Freedom has one hell of a price. I suspect veterans realize that all too well.