by D. Brent Miller
This day, Memorial Day, to many is nothing more than a federal holiday, a three-day weekend to take a trip, go camping, picnic at a local park, or get the favorite recreational vehicle out. Maybe even attend a parade. I have done those things, but not today.
My wife and I spent the day doing a little shopping for the new house, surfing the ‘net, and preparing my world-famous beef stew for supper–it’s a long simmering process. What I didn’t do this weekend is take the bike out for a ride. I wanted to, but didn’t. I have thought about the meaning of Memorial Day all weekend long. Today, the news coverage of memorial events around the country, the interviews with moms and dads who have lost sons and daughters in a war that has become very unpopular weighed heavy on me. I watched the news coverage of today’s events, and I wanted to cry for the soldiers, cry for their families, cry for our country that is so divided and losing credibility in the world.
Before you pass judgement on me, please hear me out.
From the beginning, I have opposed this war. I could see the turmoil and unintended consequences of tough talk and arrogance. I am very proud of the commitment our soldiers have given–some the ultimate sacrifice. I am even more proud of our nation that has learned to distinguish the difference between support the troops and oppose the war, for they are two different things.
The first time I visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C., I went with a pair of old boots, in Spring, 1991. The boots were mine. I wore them during an earlier war. I am a Vietnam Veteran. It just seemed right that my first homage to that black granite memorial should include the boots I wore on that soil. At first, I was in awe of the memorial, and it wasn’t until I had looked it over, and stood back, that I was overcome with grief. I sobbed and cried … uncontrollably. I have gone back several times, and my experiences have been somber, but not like that first time. The most interesting and fascinating feature of the Vietnam Memorial is the glass and mirror like surface of the black granite. When you stand there looking at all the names etched on the wall–more than 50,000–you can’t help but see your own reflection.
I was drafted into the army in 1970, did basic training at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, spent six months at Fort Lewis, Washington, and was assigned to the 2nd Signal Group, 52nd Signal battalion, Headquarters Company in Binh Thuy, on the Mekong River in South Vietnam, in 1971. I spent ten months in Vietnam–from January to October. Even though I had it fairly good, I saw enough to know what war was about, and those details are not important here. I have always thought that we should do all we could–absolutely everything possible– to avoid another mess like that.
When it was time for me to come home, I came home to an ungrateful nation–one that blamed the soldiers for the war. It was so precarious that the the military had learned to land the airplanes and taxi to a secluded gate so that protesters could not hassle soldiers returning from Vietnam. In fact, we were not allowed to keep our jungle fatigues because those same uniforms were showing up in protests, worn by earlier returning vets. We were allowed to keep our boots. The military’s solution was … don’t let ‘em have ‘em. It took me years to be open about being a Vietnam Veteran.
I arrived home in October, 1971, three weeks before my 21st birthday. I arrived home to the baseball playoffs and World Series, and to this day, I get teary-eyed during the National Anthem before a baseball game. And on this day, Memorial Day, it all rises to the surface–all the emotions, all the memories, all the compassion for yesterday’s and today’s soldiers and their families.
As a grieving mom said to a reporter on the national news, tonight, “This day is not about the Iraq war, or the Bush Administration. It is about all the soldiers who have given their lives for our country in all the wars.”
To the soldiers who didn’t make it home … this is your day. Thank you, and God Bless you.–DBrent
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