Today is Veterans Day. Lots of people get the meaning of today confused with two other holidays.
Memorial Day is the day we remember and honor those who gave their life in the service of our country.
Armed Forces Day is when we extend our thanks to those currently serving.
And today, Veterans Day, we respect those who served and returned home from that service, and are either still living or died as veterans and not active-duty personnel.
Like most everyone my age, I had a number of veterans in my family. But the one I most respected was my dad.
He graduated from Lee County High School in 1950 and entered the workforce. But the United States was in the midst of a military conflict with Korea, and we had a draft back then, so the Army called and my dad answered the call.
He paid a dear price for his service. As a result of injuries suffered in Korea, he lost his left leg above the knee and had nerve damage in his left arm and hand.
For many people, that would have brought a devastating end to their future and their hope. But for my dad, it was a new beginning.
Dad enrolled in Berea College and earned his degree in education. He became a teacher in the Lee County school system. He married my mom, and they had two sons. Dad worked hard to make a life for his family. His handicap didn't slow him down. Even with one leg and without the full use of one hand, he could outwork me in the yard or garden until he was well into his 60s. He raised a huge garden and took care not only of his own homestead, but that of his widowed mother, who lived a mile away. All of my dad's siblings had migrated to Bullitt County, and he had been working in Louisville before going to the Army, so he felt an obligation to care for his mother as well as the rest of us.
In the early 1980s, he had some health problems that required a couple of lengthy hospitalizations. So, after 24 years as a teacher, he retired on disability. The timing ended up being right. My mom developed a terminal illness the year he retired, and he spent the last year of her life taking her back and forth to Lexington for treatments. At 56 years old, my dad became a widower.
Both of us boys were still home at the time of mom's death, but we ended up following careers elsewhere. Dad remained independent, caring for himself and staying busy with outside activities, although it became obvious the older he got that he was slowing down. I ended up moving back to Lee County in 2002, and was able to help him some.
Eventually, his body wore out. The artificial leg wasn't easy to use, and his good knee had seen the Itis family take up residence. His mobility was greatly reduced, he started using a crutch and eventually his wheelchair, and quit driving, and made the decision to go to the Thomson-Hood Veterans Center in Wilmore. The timing of that decision was good, as well. Not too long after he went there, he suffered a stroke or some sort of health issue that basically rendered him bedfast. He died in 2010, eight months shy of his 80th birthday, after being in the vets' nursing home for a little more than two years.
Dad never talked much about his service, or his injuries, and I never really asked. He never complained about what had happened in his life. He more than made the best of it. I could never hope to match his physical strength or his work ethic. Life seems overwhelming to me, but I never was gravely injured on foreign soil or had to adjust to a completely new way of life, relearn how to walk, or go through life without the full use of my body.
I've had so many of his former students recall him fondly and tell me that he was the best teacher they ever had. He just touched those lives for one year out of the 12 they spent in school, but he was a permanent fixture in mine. At home, Dad was quiet, but he was stubborn and he was opinionated. He didn't express his views often to acquaintances or non-relatives, but when he did, you could be certain he felt strongly about it. We agreed on a lot, but not everything. And even now, I find out that most of the time, he was right and I was wrong about someone or something.
I looked up to my dad in every way. He was an imposing physical presence, and even when I got to be as big as he was, I still saw a bigger-than-life man. He could be firm sometimes -- you didn't want to get a spanking from him -- but he had a heart of gold and was so generous to his family. This big, stoic, non-emotional man cried when Mom died and he cried again when her dog died a few years later.
I'll never be the man my dad was. I'm not tough enough to go through military training or endure the rigors that service would entail. Service affects different people in different ways, and sometimes it's hard to understand why a veteran might have the opinions they do on certain topics, but they've lived something I could never survive.
That's why I honor and respect the service of everyone who put on the uniform. Whether they served in peacetime or in battle, they've made a sacrifice that many of us could not do. I probably won't be able to thank every veteran I know personally, but I do appreciate them. You should too.
