Vet Day

This is the day when I contact those who have served in the military and thank them. Politics aside, my respect and appreciation for the sacrifice of those who have served is deep and very meaningful to me. There's a reason time in the military is called service.

Last night I saw In the Valley of Elah. As always, I sat to the end until the final credits rolled (all those hairstylists, animal handlers, and gaffers deserved for me to appreciate their names, too), which provided me the opportunity to compose myself after seeing the final scene where an American flag, sent by an Iraq vet to his father, was raised in the SOS signal.


And I was reminded of the oratory I did during my junior year in high school, in which I talked about my father's military service, his PTSD, the violence in my home as a result of my father's demons, and the frustration I felt with the ways young men and women are trained in violence and to kill without thought, but are not untrained. They are programmed to be killers but never deprogrammed to better fit within civilian life. The way in which vets were met Stateside during the Vietnam era with contempt and disgrace gave them no hero's outlet with which to channel the extreme violence they had witnessed and in which they had engaged.

The sadness I feel is tempered by my humble gratitude to my many family members and friends who have served, including for my friend B, who works in mental health services for the VA. Supporting the healing, while also trying to minimize the initial damage, is perhaps our best hope for a changed culture.