Living in the Valley they call Silicon, which is at some distance from any military installation, there’s nothing here except department and furniture store sales to remind one of Veterans Day. Without a big federal workforce, the traffic won’t even be lighter than usual.
But I’m still thinking of the men and women who do the dirty and dangerous and dreary jobs that encompass providing for the common defense. Those in the service.
I often wonder how it is they stick it out, because in general we (through our elected officials) underpay them, begrudge them healthcare, welsh on financial commitments wherever possible and pretend we know nothing about them at all.
Except today, when the pols will be waving flags and declaiming their undying gratitude And blah, blah, blah, because it’s a sound-bite photo-op. Tomorrow they’ll go back to fundraising and obfuscating and relishing their self-importance.
The rest of us—unless we know someone in the armed forces—probably won’t think much of it at all. Especially if we’re in urban areas and don’t see the uniforms.
But they’ll feel it in the small towns, where any loss is marked and remembered. For the day, let me give you the funeral procession of Specialist James M. Kiehl, of Comfort, Tex., who was KIA in Iraq in 2003, age 23.
Kiehl made the ultimate sacrifice, along with, well, untold hundreds of thousands over the years. And you should think of him and those others.
But also spare some thoughts for those who wore the uniform and bore arms in our behalf. It’s called “service” for a reason.
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