My day started with a long drive. When I arrived for what would be the first of a two 5 hour meetings, I was greeted by a former Marine with the words "Happy Veterans Day" and a handshake. I returned his greeting with a smile. The Marine is was a mortar man in Vietnam. I was an aircraft mechanic stationed in the California desert. I'm proud of serving my county, even though I was a complete screw up.
It was because I was a screw up that I was given the opportunity to serve in the base honor guard. It was much better than having me work on airplanes. I warmed to the duties of the Honor Guard over time. It was painful duty. I participated in over 150 funerals. Sometimes I would fold the flag, sometimes I would shoot blanks as part of the traditional 21 gun salute. And on rare occasions, I would give the flag to the grieving parent or spouse. I enjoyed serving. I was good at it.
At a funeral near the end of my time in the Honor Guard, my unit gathered around an airman who had died in an accident. He had fallen off a ladder. As the crowd gathered for the funeral, I recognized a face or two. I had this feeling of dread. I looked at the name on the burial orders but drew a blank. A few minutes later a police officer in full dress blue walked up to my unit. I knew him from my childhood. He was a friend of the family. I knew his children too. My sense of dread was confirmed. I knew the young man in the coffin. We had played together as children.
I gave the flag to the police officer along with a few shells from the 21 gun salute. He cried. I kept my military bearing. It was important to me the my friend be honored properly. He was.
This event happened over 20 years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. When I think about the nature of service, death, and honor, I remember this event. I remembered it again today. And just like normal, I teared up.
