If you were to ask, I would never have said that my family has any sort of military tradition. Our family history doesn’t include any great heroes or participants in major battles or campaigns. However, on doing some personal reflection yesterday for Veterans Day I realized that at least three generations of my family have served.
Mind you, I am stretching a point with my father. The sum total of his military experience was a brief stint in the home guard in Belize during World War II. In the unlikely event that the Axis powers invaded the mangrove swamps of Belize, my father and his friends were prepared to defend their homeland. I only know about his service from a funny story he used to tell. It seems that while they were drilling in an aircraft hangar my father accidentally discharged his rifle. The resulting scramble for cover by his fellow soldiers did not bode well for the future performance of the home guard in battle.
My own service was considerably different. After completing college on an Army scholarship, I spent seven years in Germany at the height of the Cold War. It was a serious time – Vietnam was just winding down, there was war in the Mideast that threatened to spill over into a nuclear conflict, and the Warsaw Pact forces were becoming aggressive. As so often happens after a war, we had to deal with outdated equipment, personnel shortages, and limited training budgets. Drug and alcohol abuse was common as the Army tried to redefine itself after the debacle of Vietnam. But I learned more about life in one year there than I had in four at college.
If my war was cold, my son’s was considerably warmer. Following September 11, my son felt the need to do something and enlisted in the Army Reserve. Shortly after completing his training, his transportation unit was deployed to Kuwait for a year to provide support for the combat in Iraq. He still doesn’t talk much about his experiences there.
I left active duty to complete my Master’s degree and enter a career in public service, though I did continue to serve in the Reserves until retirement. My son completed his service and is currently enrolled in a police academy. We do not consider ourselves a “military” family. Nor do we consider ourselves “heroes” for having served. I did meet a number of true heroes during my service and I think that title truly belongs to them, not to me. The rest of us were just getting on with the job we had chosen.
Yet our experiences in the military changed us in subtle ways. The lessons I learned about leading groups of people from disparate backgrounds have influenced and continues to influence me. My son returned from Kuwait a confident, mature man. We are proud of our service and of the bond we share with other men and women who have served. But we are well aware that neither the military nor everyone who serves in it is perfect. So please don’t call us heroes; we’re just ordinary people who chose to do a particularly nasty job.