When I looked on Facebook this morning, I saw lots of photos of men in uniforms. I don't have a marked calendar handy (oh yeah, maybe I should change the one on my wall that says October), but I presume that yesterday was Veteran's Day. Here's a little family background on those who served their country:
My dad, WOW
My father was drafted into the Army when he was 19 years old. He served two years, from 1953-1955. When he went to basic training, he expected to be shipped off to the Korean War that was underway at the time. But God had mercy and during my dad's basic training in El Paso, they got word that an armistice had been signed, ceasing battle operations. What a glorious day that must have been for my dad, his family, and his fiancé (my mom)! But a draft is a draft, and my dad had to serve out his entire two years. He spent one year manning a ground-based gun intended for aircraft on the snowy grounds of Misawa, Japan. He did not enjoy that bitterly cold year in Japan, and Japan's role in WWII just a decade earlier probably influenced his opinions of the place. I am so glad that he never had to see first-hand battle, but he was based where tensions were high and governments were unstable. A true patriot, my dad proudly flies the U.S. flag in his front yard on special holidays.
My oldest brother, CLW
C joined the Army when he was about 19 or 20 years old, after several years of college. The army promised him a chance to study at their expense. But of course, there is always more to the story. Like all soldiers, he was trained and sent abroad, where he engaged in military exercises to prepare for war. There were no wars going on at the time, so it seemed like a safe thing to do. One day during field drills in Germany, he and his guys were getting into the back of an armed personnel carrier (truck), when somehow in the truck behind them, an "unloaded" mounted machine gun went off, hitting my brother and another guy. I forgot how many bullet fragments entered my brother's body, some just missing his heart by millimeters. The other guy had to have facial reconstruction surgery. My brother stayed in the hospital for two months, enduring surgeries and mending his health. But you know, you never really get over something like that.
His wife had just had their second child in the U.S. a few months earlier; C had been in the U.S. for that; so she and the family hadn't joined him in Germany yet.
It was Friday, the 4th of July when he got shot. We didn't hear anything until Sunday evening of July 6th. It was after the evening church service, and I was home that summer from college when we got the call. My parents were upset, so I called the pastor who came over with his wife and sat with my parents to comfort and pray with us. I eventually went to bed (I think I had to work the next day), but my parents stayed up all night, making their first ever international phone calls. This was 1980, and making international calls wasn't a common thing to do.
They dialed "0" on their rotary-dialled phone to call the local operator, who put them in touch with a operator in the country of Germany. My parents had been told that my brother was in a hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. The German operator told my parents that Landstuhl was nothing BUT hospitals. And that lovely German operator stayed on the phone with my parents for hour upon hour until she called around to all the hospitals and found my brother. And sometime in the middle of that night, my parents got to talk to my brother.
He stayed in the army for awhile, but an episode like that -- where you are shot by one of your own people, by a gun that isn't supposed to be loaded -- is not something that instills trust or makes you want to stay. He suffers like many soldiers who returned from war suffer. It never goes away. He's a good guy. Please pray for him not to have any more residual effects from this event.
My next older brother, JAW
Technically, he is not a veteran. But he serves his country and puts his life on the line every single day. Not just for a tour of duty, but for a lifetime. So I think people like him should either be included in Veteran's Day or get their own holiday. Or at the very least, they should get a lifetime supply of Velveeta and Rotel cheese dip, with tortilla chips.
My cousin, RY
Richard (yeah, I'm using his real name) got married in the summer of 1965. In December of that same year, his mom, step-dad, two younger brothers and two women were killed by a drunk-driver. He had no immediate family left. Isn't that enough for one person to endure for a lifetime? Apparently the government didn't think so. A few years later, I remember standing at an airport, probably Houston Hobby airport, as Richard wore his uniform and was walking to the gate. Emotions were high that day, and tears flowed freely. When I, a child, asked why, I learned that he was going to Vietnam, to serve in the war, and if things didn't go well (as they had not for so many others), we might not see Richard again. Later in life, the impact of that departure became more real to me. Thank God, he came home. Richard is a great guy who has had to endure more suffering in his lifetime than most.
When I was growing up, every week at church we would pray for peace in Vietnam. When the war ended, I remember wondering what we would pray about now that the war was over. I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't prayed for it to end.
Other extended family
My uncle R.E., and his son, William both served in the Marines. My cousin Norman served in the Navy (in the Philippines). I'm not sure who else in my extended family served, but maybe my parents will fill in the blanks and I can update you.
Last but not least, I want to give a little shout-out to my mom who sat home on pins and needles on many occasions, praying and supporting my dad and brothers through the times of uncertainty presented by their service. I'm sure my sisters-in-law have been through a lot too. Women are often the heart of the support system to our veterans.
I hate war, but someone has got to defend us from the bad guys. Thanks to those of you who put yourself at risk for the rest of us.
My dad, WOW
My father was drafted into the Army when he was 19 years old. He served two years, from 1953-1955. When he went to basic training, he expected to be shipped off to the Korean War that was underway at the time. But God had mercy and during my dad's basic training in El Paso, they got word that an armistice had been signed, ceasing battle operations. What a glorious day that must have been for my dad, his family, and his fiancé (my mom)! But a draft is a draft, and my dad had to serve out his entire two years. He spent one year manning a ground-based gun intended for aircraft on the snowy grounds of Misawa, Japan. He did not enjoy that bitterly cold year in Japan, and Japan's role in WWII just a decade earlier probably influenced his opinions of the place. I am so glad that he never had to see first-hand battle, but he was based where tensions were high and governments were unstable. A true patriot, my dad proudly flies the U.S. flag in his front yard on special holidays.
My oldest brother, CLW
C joined the Army when he was about 19 or 20 years old, after several years of college. The army promised him a chance to study at their expense. But of course, there is always more to the story. Like all soldiers, he was trained and sent abroad, where he engaged in military exercises to prepare for war. There were no wars going on at the time, so it seemed like a safe thing to do. One day during field drills in Germany, he and his guys were getting into the back of an armed personnel carrier (truck), when somehow in the truck behind them, an "unloaded" mounted machine gun went off, hitting my brother and another guy. I forgot how many bullet fragments entered my brother's body, some just missing his heart by millimeters. The other guy had to have facial reconstruction surgery. My brother stayed in the hospital for two months, enduring surgeries and mending his health. But you know, you never really get over something like that.
His wife had just had their second child in the U.S. a few months earlier; C had been in the U.S. for that; so she and the family hadn't joined him in Germany yet.
It was Friday, the 4th of July when he got shot. We didn't hear anything until Sunday evening of July 6th. It was after the evening church service, and I was home that summer from college when we got the call. My parents were upset, so I called the pastor who came over with his wife and sat with my parents to comfort and pray with us. I eventually went to bed (I think I had to work the next day), but my parents stayed up all night, making their first ever international phone calls. This was 1980, and making international calls wasn't a common thing to do.
They dialed "0" on their rotary-dialled phone to call the local operator, who put them in touch with a operator in the country of Germany. My parents had been told that my brother was in a hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. The German operator told my parents that Landstuhl was nothing BUT hospitals. And that lovely German operator stayed on the phone with my parents for hour upon hour until she called around to all the hospitals and found my brother. And sometime in the middle of that night, my parents got to talk to my brother.
He stayed in the army for awhile, but an episode like that -- where you are shot by one of your own people, by a gun that isn't supposed to be loaded -- is not something that instills trust or makes you want to stay. He suffers like many soldiers who returned from war suffer. It never goes away. He's a good guy. Please pray for him not to have any more residual effects from this event.
My next older brother, JAW
Technically, he is not a veteran. But he serves his country and puts his life on the line every single day. Not just for a tour of duty, but for a lifetime. So I think people like him should either be included in Veteran's Day or get their own holiday. Or at the very least, they should get a lifetime supply of Velveeta and Rotel cheese dip, with tortilla chips.
My cousin, RY
Richard (yeah, I'm using his real name) got married in the summer of 1965. In December of that same year, his mom, step-dad, two younger brothers and two women were killed by a drunk-driver. He had no immediate family left. Isn't that enough for one person to endure for a lifetime? Apparently the government didn't think so. A few years later, I remember standing at an airport, probably Houston Hobby airport, as Richard wore his uniform and was walking to the gate. Emotions were high that day, and tears flowed freely. When I, a child, asked why, I learned that he was going to Vietnam, to serve in the war, and if things didn't go well (as they had not for so many others), we might not see Richard again. Later in life, the impact of that departure became more real to me. Thank God, he came home. Richard is a great guy who has had to endure more suffering in his lifetime than most.
When I was growing up, every week at church we would pray for peace in Vietnam. When the war ended, I remember wondering what we would pray about now that the war was over. I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't prayed for it to end.
Other extended family
My uncle R.E., and his son, William both served in the Marines. My cousin Norman served in the Navy (in the Philippines). I'm not sure who else in my extended family served, but maybe my parents will fill in the blanks and I can update you.
Last but not least, I want to give a little shout-out to my mom who sat home on pins and needles on many occasions, praying and supporting my dad and brothers through the times of uncertainty presented by their service. I'm sure my sisters-in-law have been through a lot too. Women are often the heart of the support system to our veterans.
I hate war, but someone has got to defend us from the bad guys. Thanks to those of you who put yourself at risk for the rest of us.
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