Yesterday a man came into my restaurant whom had served beside and possibly among the men who stormed the beachfronts at Normandy.
Or maybe handled the withering heat of the South Pacific as they took on fierce Japanese soldiers on Guadalcanal.
Or wintered in the borderlands of Germany as the enemy struck out with one last gasp offensive at the Battle of the Bulge.
To me, these are not current events. This is history. This is National Geographic documentaries. Hours spent in class. More than a few books on the era digested and read or listened to in my free time.
And into my restaurant there came a man walking slowly on a cane, along with his family, proudly wearing his World War II veteran’s hat, whom had been there and lived it.
He proudly gave me his discharge paperwork, proving he was what he said he was. I recognized the paperwork from my time as a title examiner, coming upon them deep in archives from the 1940s, when it was common to record these in the public record.
It was Veteran’s Day, and the likely nonagenarian (at least) was coming in to get lunch with his family. He didn’t say even a word which I heard, but I didn’t get the sense he was without his faculties, despite his age.
I of course don’t know where this man served. He might have been a quartermaster in a regiment stationed in Georgia and never left the country, for all I know. But that is unlikely—almost everyone in uniform ended up on one side of the world or the other, fighting for our way of life.
And I know that soon it WILL be history. This man will likely soon be gone. And there are few like him left. Soon, no one will remain who recall those troubled times, the result of which set up a world order in which we are still living.
So it was with some awe for me to meet him, one of the last members of “The Greatest Generation.”
We had a pretty good deal for veterans the past couple of days, so I met more than a few, although no one near as distinctive as the veteran from World War II.
They were distinctively proud and grateful, two emotions not usually intertwined. They would take pictures of themselves with the staff and post to social media. They saluted the table at which we had set up a memorial and honor display for veterans.
One man even saluted me on his way out the door. I managed to stop myself from doing a full salute back, as I did not serve and am pretty sure it is against protocol for a civilian to salute.
I had a few tell me how grateful they were that we were doing this and honoring veterans. I knew many restaurants were doing deals for veterans for the holiday, but I was told we had gone a good bit further than most.
For me, though, it wasn’t about serving free meals to veterans. The most important thing I did was to show respect to these service members, and in some way at least acknowledge them for their sacrifice.
I’m not one who automatically honors the military. I understand that they are just people, both good and bad. Many do great things, some of which will never be fully appreciated. And some do terrible things, such as the former serviceman who shot up a bar in Thousand Oaks last week, killing eleven people at last count and posting to Instagram in the middle of it all.
But I am of the mind that at the very least we must need to honor their commitment. Whether or not we respect the reasons for which they are being sent to fight, which are rarely beyond reproach, we can all show gratitude for people who willfully choose to make a commitment to protect our people, our borders and our interests, at a very real potential cost of their own lives.
And for a day at least I too was able to be both proud and grateful.