Yesterday I went to visit a Veterans Administration clinic in Orlando. As many of you know, I am a veteran, my grandfather-in-law was a lifer, and our youngest daughter is serving as an officer in Iraq right now. Yep, service is part of our family. But, I digress.
I went into the laboratory waiting room and looked around. It was quite a sight, in the absolutely best sense of the word. I saw veterans, male and female: World War II veterans, Korea veterans, Viet Nam veterans, Gulf veterans. You ask me how I could tell? The caps they proudly wore; the tattoos they proudly sported; the leather vests coated with reunion and unit and other patches; the POW-MIA black tees. Some were very neatly dressed and combed. Some had ponytails and beards (both young and old). Sadly, a few had that look in their eyes that said that some of what they had seen was still affecting them. Yes, it was quite a sight.
But, it was also quite a hearing. I heard Spanish being spoken. I heard English being spoken. I saw Asian descended veterans and/or wives. I caught snatches of one or two languages I could not identify.
And, here is what I also saw that made me ever so proud. I noticed that people chatted with each other and were polite with each other, regardless of their age or looks or accent. I had a couple of people tell me hello. I ended up chatting with one mother whose child is also overseas. We both commented on how we owed our parents an apology for telling them that they did not need to worry when we were active duty. Yes, both of us had realized before today that we were worrying just like our parents worried about us. I spoke to a veteran in Spanish about the World Cup and how we wished the USA had gone farther, but that Brazil looked very good for this Cup. He was born in the Dominican Republic.
And, here is what I did not see that also made me ever so proud. I did not see anyone picking a seat so as to not be close to one of “them.” I did not see anyone avoiding anyone. I did not sense any atmosphere of tenseness as the World War II very neatly dressed gentleman was next to a much less neatly dressed Viet Nam veteran.
As I observed that, I suspected that if anyone had tried to come in and insist on English-only or tried not to sit next to one of “them” or looked down their nose at any one of us in that room, that said person would have been the target of 50-some hostile glares. S/he would also have been quickly and powerfully informed that this was not appropriate. We had all served; we were all simply veterans, nothing more and most certainly nothing less.
No, veterans are nowhere near perfect. And many of us have many serious problems of our own. Yet, I found myself wishing that there were a way to teach our country what I saw in that room yesterday. I cannot force the mass of the United States into a foxhole where their survival depends on the commitment of the other person(s) in that foxhole, regardless of their background or looks. There is nothing like an oncoming hail of bullets (or shrapnel or . . .) to make you appreciate the person next to you. But, I can certainly wish that it were possible to do such a forcing.
Growing up on military posts around the world, I had friends of every ethnicity that make up this great country. We were Army brats pure and simple. It was a wonderful way to grow up.