I went to a wedding this last weekend.  People should be required to do this once a year. It restores hope in our lives and is good food for the soul.  I had to forego the adult beverages due to the sorry state of my liver, but I really don’t miss that anymore. I’m lying. Yes I do-and cigarettes, too.

     The gentleman marrying the daughter of my wife’s cousin is getting out of the Navy after 12 years. All his groomsmen are still in so there was a heavy military presence there. During the toast to the groom, the best man asked every Vet to stand up and be toasted as well.  I honestly expected there to be thirty or more among the two hundred guests. I was nonplussed to see only 12 stand with me. It got me to thinking just how unique we actually are.

     The state I live in (Washington) has a heavy military presence with several Naval establishments, the large joint Army/Air Force bases of Lewis and McChord, and several others scattered about. As many retire here, there are far more than in other states. Thinking further, I recall that while I was working, I only employed 3 veterans over a 35 year period. I never sought them out to employ but certainly did not exclude them.  The fact is Vets are a distinct minority of sorts.  We constitute 27 million of 307,212,123 as of July 2010. You can do the math, but it is about 8% of America. That’s less than some of our other racial minorities, believe it or not.

     Of the three Vets I employed, one is dear to my heart. Dave, known to all as Bubba, was the best drywall man I ever had. He had a PTSD issue a mile wide which we worked around. He never sought help for it and it occasionally caused alcohol/AWOL issues. We hunted and camped together for over a decade until I got remarried and moved away.

     The most priceless memory I have of Bubba is attending a housewarming party in 1980 for some clients we had done a complete remodel for. It was in Medina, Washington which is very upper class for the left coast. These people are, for the most part, what we call “new money”. Their relatives cannot be traced to the passenger list of the Mayflower. If any were, they are shirttail relatives of the indentured servants on board. Their silver service is definitely from Nordstroms and not Lord and Taylor. Bubba became fast friends with the three year old daughter of the clients so they asked me to make sure he attended. This was not Bubba’s element. I had to loan him a shirt and tie and make sure he wore clean blue jeans with no holes.

     In the course of the party, the subject of Vietnam had come up and someone mentioned that I had “participated” as if it were optional. Eventually a man and his wife sauntered over with the haughty airs one attributes to recent affluence. The gentleman said “I understand you fought in Vietnam.” I acknowledged as much. He immediately said “Yes. Well I’ll have you know I protested that war.” The hostess was glaring at me and I knew where this was heading so I smiled and politely said. “Yes, well lots did. That’s why some of us had to go fight it for you.” His wife was itching to get into this, too and Bubba had materialized at my right elbow when he heard the word Vietnam. Bubba and I had recently gone to see Full Metal Jacket, a movie about that war, to see if the special effects even came close to what we remembered. They didn’t but that is a Hollywood failing. It’s very difficult to reconstruct that kind of mayhem.  The wife got right up in my face and launched into the standard liberal tirade of “how could you kill women and children?” Bubba stole the famous line from FMJ and said “Well, gee. I can’t speak for NOD here, but it’s incredibly easy. Women and children can’t run as fast as zipperheads so you don’t have to lead them as much.” I don’t need to explain to the reader how that went over with a 38 year old mother of two. My hostess was not happy either.  The fact that Bubba was smiling and positively glowing like a light bulb from the amount of liquor and lefthanded tobacco consumed and decidedly at the far edge of sobriety didn’t help either. I did get other remodel jobs in the area from retired military in the years after, but the invites for the open houses were rare.Thanks Bubba.

      So, look around you at your fellow citizens when you go out in public. Recognize that you are terribly unique. It makes no difference whether you served in time of war or peace. It’s irrelevant which branch you served in. Only 8 of every 100 people you see around you served their country as a citizen soldier. Some of us, like Bubba, may have been drafted to serve, but that in no way diminishes their contribution. I count the few Veteran friends I have as being some of the most honest and trustworthy.

     One last note.  When I was in the habit of barhopping looking for the second future Mrs. NOD years and years ago, I discovered that virtually all men my age there said they had also served in Vietnam and had lots of medals. I never gave it a thought until the wedding last week. It must have been easy to get a parking spot downtown while we were all over there. How did women get pregnant without them during that period? Consider also the fact that large numbers of males emigrated to Canada for its fresh air and clean water about that time.  So many questions and so few answers. And no, Mrs. NOD and I were not introduced to one another in a bar. My ex-girlfriend  introduced us right before she became my ex-girlfriend. I waited politely for six years for her to get a divorce before I proposed. 

     A warm, heartfelt thank you to these 8 percenters is due-every day. When I read that 18 Vets, on average, are taking their own lives each day due to despair and depression, I get the impression that they don’t get enough praise or recognition for their sacrifice. This is America. We, of all nations, can do better than that.