I agree completely ... with one exception.
My wife died unexpectedly a year ago January. Not very long after her funeral I went to a [shudder] shopping mall to take care of a couple of things that the mall allowed me to deal with all under the same roof. It was a cold, rainy day, so as much as I dislike headgear I wore a baseball cap to protect my noggin. That day I happened to grab the Vietnam Veteran cap, probably because it was on the top of the pile.
After taking care of my errands, I grabbed a plate of Chinese food in the food court and was eating by myself when a little girl (couldn't have been older than five or six) came up to very hesitantly and said, "Please don't be sad. And thank you for your service."
I have to admit, I almost lost it. I did my best to hold myself together and I thanked her very much for caring enough to come over and speak to a stranger. Then her mother came over to collect her, and I thanked the mother, as well. And I managed not to cry until they had walked away. I don't remember the circumstances of any of the other "Thank you for your service" incidents, but I'll probably never forget that little girl.
Hawk, while I agree that memorial day's meaning has been watered down, I guess what I'm getting at is that the facebook posts guilting people for their BBQs are irritating. That's all.
Regarding the kid: great story. Reminds me of one.
After the pentagon got hit, my unit spent a lot of time without a day off, doing recovery operations. Those were rough days. We couldn't leave post. We were shuttled from the site to the barracks, and on lockdown the entire time. Going from a barracks room to carnage and back for a few weeks before they finally let us out.
Throughout this, we'd pass every night by the candlelight vigil near the navy annex. My buddy and I thought it would be nice to go and thank those folks, as they had been out there cheering and clapping each time we left and the night shift took over.
We put on our dress uniforms and went out to thank them for their support. The only bright spot in our crushingly awful days were those people that were out there.
Apparently, we were the first group of uniformed troops to make the trip. We had to fend off reporters who were DYING to interview us. It almost got contentious.
A little boy came up to me, his mother watching, and handed me a little american flag. He didn't say anything, just gave it to me. His mother explained that his daddy had died in the pentagon, and he had been out there every night waiting for a soldier to give the flag to.
I hugged the little boy and lost it entirely. Meanwhile, Dorsel physically repelled the invasion of news cameras, and I don't believe they ever got a decent shot. At least, I've never seen one. BBC was most prominently present.
I deeply regret not getting the boys name. I often wonder how he's doing. He couldn't have been older than about 7 or 8 at the time, which would make him a grown man now.
After, a BBC reporter asked to interview me. I told him I didn't want to if the camera was on, and he seemed to be leading me, so i didn't say much.
That little boy galvanized me, and was a source of strength when things got tough in Iraq. I wish I knew who he was...
Anyways, people thanking me for my service always makes me uncomfortable, but I try to be as gracious as I can.
