Say Their Names

This I believe: fallen soldiers’ names should be spoken out loud in public as a measure of honoring their sacrifice.

 For many months, about twice a week, sometimes more often, the American flags on public buildings fly at half-staff to honor New York State’s fallen soldiers. Each time I see the Flag bow to a soldier, my heart aches. I know that a brave young person has sacrificed their life carrying out a mission. I know there is a mother whose heart is broken. I know that there, but for the grace of God, go I.

           I’ve made it my mission to learn the names of each New York soldier that falls. I read their obituary, I pray for them, and I pray for those they leave behind – family, friends and fellow soldiers. Often, I buy a card and send their family my condolences. It isn’t much, but it’s what I can do. I can send them my words. I can send up a prayer. I can say that soldier’s name to honor their service and sacrifice and remember them in my heart. With every prayer and every card, I write the name of that mother’s son on my heart forever.

            This I believe: When a soldier falls in service to our country, the United States President – the soldier’s commander-in-chief – should take pause, reflect and honor that soldier publicly. The President should take time away from the duties of the office and speak that soldier’s name on behalf of a grateful nation, to write that soldier’s name on his heart. It is not too much to ask or expect of the one who sent that young person into battle.

            A soldier would never ask it nor expect it. They are bound by the heart of a patriot to serve, expecting nothing in return. They are bound by a warrior’s honor to think not of themselves, but of their fellow soldiers and their mission first. Even so, when a soldier makes the ultimate sacrifice, laying their life down, is it too much to spend mere seconds honoring them? I don’t believe that it is.

            When a person enlists, they become nameless and faceless in their mission. They look alike, they walk with one accord. They live and breathe to keep us safe. When they fall, their families and friends bury them, honoring their memory with rites reserved for heroes. They would expect nothing more.

For them, I expect more. I expect that we would honor them, think of them and appreciate them.

Health care reform, illegal immigration and the economy take so much of our time and energy. News reports fly fast and furious on every minute detail of these issues. The passing of a Hollywood “legend” will flood the airwaves for days on end. The death of a soldier barely gets a mention. Occasionally, a photo of a flag-draped coffin makes it’s way to the Internet. We are momentarily sad, but then we move on.

America’s bravest deserve better. The President should speak the name of each and every soldier that falls under his watch, now and in the future. It is the very least – the very least -- he can do for the soldier who followed his command without question. If that small act of respect cuts into the time spent campaigning and strategizing the next political fight, so be it. It would be a small sacrifice to make room to recognize a much bigger sacrifice.

April, Month of the Military Child

A glance at the calendar the other day revealed that April is set aside as the Month of the Military Child. This month was set aside to honor the youngest patriots among us. These tiny heroes get less recognition, and their sacrifice is tremendous and life altering. In 1986 Defense Secretary Casper Weinberger set April aside as a month to recognize children of military parents.

My father served in the Air Force long before I was born, as my husband served before our children were born. I grew up in a family where my mother was a full time homemaker and my father worked a regular 8-hour day in the local steel plant. Our life was blessedly ordinary, as was the childhood of my own children. 

There is no greater sacrifice to the nation than military service. When that sacrifice is borne by an adult, it’s daunting.  As a mom to a soldier, these past few years have been tumultuous. The uncertainty, the wondering, the fear of the unknown – all are excruciating for a parent. It has seemed like a very long haul since my son enlisted. As the months of his service wind down, I am eager for his time to end and have him return home. I’m a grown up. I’m able to understand the concepts of time and waiting. I truly cannot imagine how difficult it must be for a child to watch a soldier parent deploy.

The challenges faced by children of service men and women are many: transient life moving from base to base, even country to country. Consider the irregularity of schedules and the not knowing when or if their parent will be taken away for months, years, or possibly forever. That would be a heavy load for a grownup, but for a child, an unbelievable burden to bear.

If you are interested in learning more about the Month of the Military Child, a few links follow:

http://homefrontunited.com/2012/04/month-of-the-military-child-giving-thanks/

http://www.thepilot.com/news/2012/apr/11/purple-up-for-month-of-military-child/

Not to be forgotten are the non military spouse. It is a heavy burden for the spouse of the soldier who must remain and care for the family, keeping life intact, making it seem ordinary. It seems a daunting challenge to me, and few can probably fathom the struggles and the hardships faced by military families.

If you have the opportunity to do something kind for a military child, please take that opportunity. While they have not pledged their service to the country, their sacrifice is huge and not to be dismissed. Perhaps it is the military child who gives more than any of us.

More about banners

I teach fourth grade in an elementary school in a suburban area just outside Buffalo, New York. (No, it doesn’t snow here ALL year, and YES, we would love to win a Super Bowl or Stanley Cup game, but I digress). When I got to work the other morning, I met a colleague named Tom in the hall, and we exchanged pleasantries about the weekend and Easter recess. Then he asked, “Tyler’s your son, right?”

I thought, “Hmmm, why is he asking about Tyler?” I was certain he had never met him, and I couldn't imagine why he'd know him by name or be asking about him. 

Then he told me. As it turns out, my colleague, Tom, had seen Tyler’s picture on a Hometown Hero banner in my town. Tom is very familiar with the banner project because his nephew is also among the men and women honored as Hometown Heroes. What a small world. It is a small world indeed.

They say that every person is only 3 connections away from anyone else in the world. While I’m not sure I necessarily find that to be absolute, we are more closely linked to our fellow humans than we think. No where is that more true than among military families and their friends. It seems that wherever I go, I run into at least a couple people who have served in the military, have a close relative serving or are friends with a military person.

The first time you get an inkling of the bigger “family” of the military is when you see your child off for the first time. In our case, we attended the swearing in ceremonies of our boys, then raced to the airport to meet up with them again before they flew out to the bases. Both times, we met parents and shared our pride, our worries, and our life stories as we watched and waited for our children.

There is nothing like pride, worry and separation anxiety to help parents forge a make-shift support group on the fly. It just happens. No matter how fleeting the minutes, much can be shared and much strength can be drawn from each other. Each time we have attended a Basic Training graduation or met our boys at the airport, we somehow gravitate to other parents of other soldiers. The comfort that the brief interludes bring washes over and keeps you going.

So as I travel Buffalo Street in Hamburg, I look at the faces on the banners. I read the names each time I pass by. I think of their families – some I know, but most I don not know. I say a silent thank you to all of them for their sacrifice. I know what they have gone through, their greatest fears, the moments of desperately wishing to be able to hug your kid.

Military families bear a heavy burden, but together, with communities standing behind us, supporting and honoring our loved ones, we withstand what come our way.

Thank You for Serving

As a person who loves words and writing, I am always amazed at the power words have over us. Think about it. When you hear, “I love you,” does your heart not skip a beat? When your baby says “Mamma” or “Dadda” for the first time, there is nothing like it. Time stands still, if just for a moment.

Sometimes it is the lack of words that impact us. Words left unsaid, for whatever reason, can cut deeper than a knife to the heart. My husband served in Viet Nam. Those were hard days to serve. It became popular sport for Americans to show their displeasure with the war by treating our soldiers with disdain and disgust. And if not that, then to simply ignore our military personnel as they returned from the war zone.

As a mom of two soldiers, it disgusts me to think how men like my husband were treated upon their return. No bands playing. No crowds gathered. No one to even say so much as a “thank you.” Imagine the wounds we inflicted our own young men. Imagine that. If anything ever made me ashamed to be an American, it is how we treated our soldiers returning from Viet Nam. To put it lightly, it was despicable.

I am proud today to know that as a society we have evolved in how we treat our soldiers, at least in the respect we give them. Whether it is a side effect of the outbreak of national pride that infected us after 9/11, or whether it is just becoming a kinder, gentler, wiser nation as we age, we have begun to do a better job of expressing our thanks and appreciation for the role our warriors play.

If you know a veteran or a person currently serving, you probably realize how matter-of-fact they are about what they do. They don’t expect thanks, and most shy away from it. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t thank them or continue to find new ways to let them know we appreciate the sacrifices they make.

Last week, in my hometown, a thank you was unveiled for military members who have deployed and served in combat zones since 9/11. Banners bearing names and photographs of 32 hometown heroes now grace the main street of our town. The banners project became reality thanks to the hard word of another patriot mom, Sue Jantzi, whose daughter, Capt. Jennifer Jantzi, served two tours in Iraq. Mrs. Jantzi got the idea from a similar project in another town, and happily, she brought it to Hamburg, NY.

My son, Tyler, is one of 32 soldiers being honored with a banner in  Hamburg, NY.

The banners not only express the thanks of a grateful community, but they let us know just how many friends we have serving. I was surprised to recognize three names in addition to my own son’s name.

The real point here is to take pride in our young people. Show them how much you care and how much you appreciate the job they do each day to keep us safe. And if you see them, thank them for serving.

 It’s amazing what two simple words can do.

Two Small Words, One Big Difference

Two Small Words, One Big Difference

There are two small words that make a world of difference in interpreting the first amendment of the U.S. Constitution - from and of.  We barely give a thought to these words when we speak them. Small words, but definitely not interchangeable.

Almost every day there is a news story about individuals or organizations at odds over religion, or just implied or perceived religious overtones. This week was no different.

At Camp Pendleton in California, the existence of a memorial to fallen Marines is being threatened. If you are unfamiliar with the story, a memorial was constructed ten years ago by a group of seven Marines to honor their fallen comrades. Two crosses were erected high on a hilltop on the base in a secluded area, reachable only by a long, arduous hike. The memorial was constructed to honor the fallen and provide a place of quiet reflection for family members and other Marines.

Since the memorial was created several of those involved in creating the memorial died in the line of duty.

Now that memorial is in danger. Why? The crosses are offensive to a group of atheists. Citing the right of freedom FROM religion, the atheist group now plans to sue if the crosses are not removed. It is unclear why the crosses so offend the atheists, and why they feel it is any of their business in the first place.

I’d like to point out that in this great country one does have the right to be offended by the speech or actions of another. That is because we have liberty. We are free to do as we please, so long as the rights of another aren’t infringed upon and harm is not being done to another.

The first amendment, in part, reads:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ...”

Yes. Exactly. Freedom OF religion, not FROM religion. We are free to worship and express our religious beliefs as we see fit. Why don’t the atheists get it? They are free not to believe, and we are free to believe. And, we are supposed to be able to co-exist in this land of liberty. So why must there constantly be a concerted effort to wipe God out?

As a nation, we have allowed political correctness to become our religion. We have taken God out of school; we’ve tried to take him out of every public space. Prayer is viewed with disdain. We have tried to revise the wishes of our Founding Fathers (not Framers!) and pretend that we know better than they, what their intent was when they established religious freedom as the first and most important freedom we have.

Military member stand ready to give their lives defending the rights of Americans, including atheists. Why then, should their liberty be infringed upon now? Have these Marines not suffered enough, lost enough? What is so upsetting about a memorial to honor the fallen?

Perhaps those who oppose it should ignore its existence as they ignore God’s existence.

Moment of Truth

Moment of Truth

While I was painting my kitchen the other day, I thought back to the last time I had painted it. It was December 26^th, four years and four months ago. While most families were playing with recently unwrapped gifts and toys, I was painting walls furiously. It was quiet in the house, too quiet, really. The entire family had been walking around on eggshells for months. And then the phone rang.

Tyler answered it, talked just low enough for me to be unable to make out his words. Then he called to me from the other room. “Mom, its Sergeant V. He wants to know when he came come by to talk to you and Dad.” Apparently, his Army recruiter thought a home visit would be more convenient.

I didn’t have to think about it at all. “When Hell freezes over, Tyler!” I shouted loud enough, I’m sure the sergeant could have heard me without benefit of the phone.

“Uh, yes, Sergeant? She’s not quite ready to talk to you… Sure, I’ll let you know when.” That’s my boy, blessed with the gift of understating the obvious.

And the paint fairly flew onto the walls. I painted yellow, green, plum. If it stood still, I slapped a coat of paint onto it. I couldn’t get enough painting done. For days and days I painted. Then winter recess ended and we went back to school and work. There, I avoided the unavoidable -- or so I thought.

Weeks went by, and the eggshells continued to be walked upon. At the same time, my husband and I had been discussing the ROTC option with Tyler. He pursued it; that felt like a better option. If he was set on going, I wanted him to go to college first. Tyler, though, continued to press the recruiter visit as well. I kept dodging him.

Finally, in complete frustration, Tyler laid it right on the line for me. “You just think your kid shouldn’t go. You don’t mind if other people’s kids go!” And there it was, the rubber meeting the road, right in my kitchen. I was too stunned to say anything. Was he right? Was I that person? Was I the person willing to enjoy freedom but not accept the risks and responsibilities that go with it? That was an epiphany for me.

Eventually I did go to meet Tyler’s recruiter. It was a snowy, blustery, frigid day. For me, Hell had indeed frozen over. I do believe I mentioned that upon entering the office. I wore black, head to foot, underwear included. My point was not lost on anyone.

After lengthy discussion, Sergeant V. asked if I would sign for Tyler, giving my permission. Sign my child’s life over? Very quietly he said, “I know what you’re afraid of.” How could he? At what, maybe 25 years old, how could he know?

“You’re afraid that you’ll sign, and if something happens, that will make it your fault.” I could not speak. He nailed it. Tears streamed down my face. How could I sign? How could I not?

Ultimately, it was never my decision. I could only choose to support my son or drive him further away. There was really no choice at all.

How did we get to this point?

How did we get to this point?

From an early age, my father instilled in me and my brothers when we were still very small a great love and respect for our nation. When my baby sister, Darby, came along, same thing. He turned her into a little patriot.

Dad served in the Air Force during World War II as a pilot. He made many friends and lost many friends during that conflict. He didn’t talk much about his service, but he was so very proud to have served.  When I think of it now, he flew planes that look today to be little more than a tin can that had sprouted wings. My dad flew bombers in the days before flying was even remotely safe. In fact, it was still quite new. Many people had likely never seen a plan up close, let alone fly in one.

Americans persevered against all odds. If you didn’t actively serve, perhaps you worked in a factory creating items critical to the military. If not a part of the civilian effort to supply the military, you very likely were impacted by the rationing of goods. Most certainly you prayed for our country, our President, and our warriors. Needless to say, my father, like most people of his generation, felt immense national pride that has seemingly begun to wane in recent years.

Fast forward to the 1960’s and 1970’s. Some of my most vivid memories are of my patriot Dad. Dad flew the flag on our house proudly for all patriotic occasions. We went to parades and paid proper respect to Old Glory when it passed by. When the Star Spangled Banner played, he sang and we did too. He was red, white and blue, through and through. Little wonder that one of my most urgent purchases as a homeowner was an American flag to affix to the front of my house. (Last year we upgraded to an 18 foot pole installed permanently in our front yard.

Today I thank him for the foundation he gave me in proud citizenship. I do everything I can to pass that on to those in my circle of influence.

Little wonder, that I married a Viet Nam veteran who held a part time job installing flag poles all across Western New York. It should have come to me as no surprise that my boys collected and played with G.I. Joes. It seemed like the natural course of things when my son, Tyler, decided that he would like to be part of the Old Guard and stand watch at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier after a visit to Arlington. (Eventually, he changed his mind, but for many years, that was the path he intended to take.)

My feelings of patriotism came head to head with my fear of the unknown when my first son made the ultimate decision to join the United States Army. Had my father been living at that time, he surely would have said something like, “Well this is where the rubber meets the road.” No doubt, he would have come to the conclusion, long before I did, that my son was a true American patriot.

Tomorrow, read about the moment of truth for this Patriot Mom…