Veteran's Day
There was a time in my family's past, not so long ago as you would think...World War II, the second 'Great War', an oxymoronic title if ever one did exist. Picture a harbor full of battleships, war planes, soldiers of every stripe and color crawling the decks and ships, standing at attention, awaiting orders, wondering just what country or field of battle they would find themselves in next.
Now picture my grandfather, a stout man with dimples and a deep laugh that sometimes sounded more like a childish giggle, walking along the boardwalk of the harbor. He's marching along, maybe whistling to himself as he sometimes does, and he looks up. In front of him stands his father. His father has a few more stripes but the Navy uniform is the same. They embrace, they hold hands as they speak. Sharing tales and grinning at the knowledge that they are both alive and well. A few moments later they improbably run into my grandfather's cousin. A harbor half a world away from the Oregon countryside they have all three called home, the three Porter men hug each other and marvel at their good fortune.
The next day they are separated, scattered across a war-torn world, fighting for the rights of all humanity to live in peace without fear of discrimination based on color or religious creed. My grandfather survived three kamikaze attacks on the USS Bunker Hill. He was a gunner and barber who took shrapnel in the spine during one of those deadly attacks, never again to feel heat or cold, though luckily he was able to walk. My great-grandfather fought in many theaters too, a sad echo of the first world war he also fought in, hoping it would be his last. The cousin made it home too, an unlikely lot of luck for one family to send three sons out to see all three return.
To these men I owe an incredible amount of gratitude, for they fought for all of us. To my maternal grandfather, who joined the Army during the Korean conflict but thankfully never left our shores. To my grandmother who worked in Washington, DC during that same conflict, aiding the effort in any way she could, I thank her. And to my own father, also an Army man during Vietnam who kept machines running from US soil and to my ex-husband's step father who fought in one of the deadliest battles in Vietnam and returned with everything but his will to live, I am grateful.
The men and women of my family are patriots to the core. From those on both sides who fought in the Revolutionary War so that we would know a country able to stand on its own and to those who fought in the Civil War so that we could call former slaves brother and sister, I thank you. To all of you I offer all of the gratitude I can and vow to never let your efforts go in vain. The blood you shed will always be remembered as a promise to all of my fellow Americans and citizens of the world. I will fight for the rights of my fellow humans to love, worship, marry, raise, and prosper. I may not be able to wear the uniforms you so proudly wore, but I will vote, protest, support, and tubthump for what I believe in.
As you promised to protect me, I promise to honor your memories. This I pledge to you.
Now picture my grandfather, a stout man with dimples and a deep laugh that sometimes sounded more like a childish giggle, walking along the boardwalk of the harbor. He's marching along, maybe whistling to himself as he sometimes does, and he looks up. In front of him stands his father. His father has a few more stripes but the Navy uniform is the same. They embrace, they hold hands as they speak. Sharing tales and grinning at the knowledge that they are both alive and well. A few moments later they improbably run into my grandfather's cousin. A harbor half a world away from the Oregon countryside they have all three called home, the three Porter men hug each other and marvel at their good fortune.
The next day they are separated, scattered across a war-torn world, fighting for the rights of all humanity to live in peace without fear of discrimination based on color or religious creed. My grandfather survived three kamikaze attacks on the USS Bunker Hill. He was a gunner and barber who took shrapnel in the spine during one of those deadly attacks, never again to feel heat or cold, though luckily he was able to walk. My great-grandfather fought in many theaters too, a sad echo of the first world war he also fought in, hoping it would be his last. The cousin made it home too, an unlikely lot of luck for one family to send three sons out to see all three return.
To these men I owe an incredible amount of gratitude, for they fought for all of us. To my maternal grandfather, who joined the Army during the Korean conflict but thankfully never left our shores. To my grandmother who worked in Washington, DC during that same conflict, aiding the effort in any way she could, I thank her. And to my own father, also an Army man during Vietnam who kept machines running from US soil and to my ex-husband's step father who fought in one of the deadliest battles in Vietnam and returned with everything but his will to live, I am grateful.
The men and women of my family are patriots to the core. From those on both sides who fought in the Revolutionary War so that we would know a country able to stand on its own and to those who fought in the Civil War so that we could call former slaves brother and sister, I thank you. To all of you I offer all of the gratitude I can and vow to never let your efforts go in vain. The blood you shed will always be remembered as a promise to all of my fellow Americans and citizens of the world. I will fight for the rights of my fellow humans to love, worship, marry, raise, and prosper. I may not be able to wear the uniforms you so proudly wore, but I will vote, protest, support, and tubthump for what I believe in.
As you promised to protect me, I promise to honor your memories. This I pledge to you.