Early this morning, I raised my flag and then slowly lowered it to half-staff. As I always do on this day, I took a moment to myself to sit and stare at my flag and remember.I always begin my ritual by remembering my parents who are buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I think back on both funerals and remember the awesomeness of it all. I remember what a positive influence they were in my life and I remember how they were honored in death.Then, my mind wanders as I continue to stare at my flag and I begin to remember thoughts that I haven't even shared with my family.
Thoughts of people around me falling helplessly in the chaos of it all. I remember smells of flesh burning. I remember people screaming. I remember how my hair would stand up on the back of my neck as another bullet whizzed past my head. I remember the smell of gunpowder in the air.I also remember the letters from parents who wrote asking how their son died. As their commanding officer, I was always instructed to answer by referring them to a Public Relations person for their answer. To never give the parents the specifics.
It was one of the most heart-wrenching things I've ever done.I do remember, however, on one specific occasion when I violated those "guidelines" and actually told the truth to a parent of one of the soldiers under my command. I really happened to like this kid. I even wrote a letter of recommendation for him to attend Officer's Candidate School after his tour of duty in Vietnam.His father happened to be a Lt. Col. Stationed somewhere in Philadelphia and he wrote asking how his son died. He already knew that I wasn't supposed to tell him, Tears, but he begged me anyway.
This time, I couldn't deny a parent's request, so I told him the circumstances (but avoided telling him the specifics of, Tears, his son's mortal wounds). I told the parents of their son's bravery. I told them of his enthusiasm for life. I told them of his leadership skills. I told them just how much their son was admired by everyone who knew him.As I sat in front of my flag, I remembered the letters that followed. I remember how the father asked me to meet him for lunch when I returned so we could continue our conversation.
I also remember how I couldn't bring myself to meet him face to face. I never did meet that young man's father (even though he tracked me down after I returned). To this day, I just don't think I could meet with his parents and discuss his death.Since my days engulfed in war, I've become successful in many ways. I'd be willing to bet that if you talked to anyone who knows me now, they'd probably say that I'm self-assured. I'm a successful business executive. I'm a "futuristic" thinker. They'd say that I have a family that anyone would be proud to claim.
Heck, if you talked to a few of my closest friends, they'd even say that I'm lucky to be here at all. You see, I also have several Purple Hearts.But every year, on this day, I find time to reflect on my life and those lives that have touched me in ways that (fortunately) most people don't get to experience. I remember the dead. I wonder what they would have been like if they had survived the horror of war.Quite honestly, I lose my composure every year on this day. Today, I remember with tears.
Do yourself a favor and take the time to sit in front of a flag. Even if you have never been in the military, think about someone who has. Just know that he or she gave their ultimate sacrifice so that you could have the luxury of sitting by your flag in a free society that allows us to worship and think as we choose.In a way, it's sad that it took a "September 11th" to revive a spirit of Patriotism in this country but after I sat looking at my flag today, I also looked down my street and realized that many of my neighbors were doing exactly what I was doing… honoring people who sacrificed their lives so that we could sit in our yards and stare at our flags.