Sacrifices, Respect, Compassion

If this doesn't make you stop and think, you need to read Tom Brokhaw’s book, “The Greatest Generation”. We gather our families in our homes and cellphones come out after the meal. We don’t visit each other and Sundays in the foyer don’t count. Our military men and women are dying to keep us free while people are killing each other in America because they feel they don’t have what they deserve. BLM? I don’t care what color you are. ALL humans are important. ~ copied, but edited to share my heart.

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I talked with a man today, an 80+ year old man. I asked him if there was anything I could get him while the Corona virus was gripping America. He smiled, looked away and said, “Let me tell you what I need ... paused ... I need to believe, at some point, this country my generation fought for ...  paused ... I need to believe this nation we handed safely to our children and their children ...  paused ... I need to know this generation will quit being a bunch of sissies. That they respect what they've been given! That they've earned what others sacrificed for."

I wasn't sure where the conversation was going or if it was going anywhere at all. So, I sat there quietly, waiting. Listening.

"You know, I was a little boy during WWII. Those were scary days. We didn't know if we were going to be speaking English, German or Japanese by the end of the war. There was no certainty, no guarantees like Americans enjoy today.”

“And no home went without sacrifice or loss. Every house, up and down every street, had someone in harm's way. Maybe their Daddy was a soldier, maybe their son was a sailor, maybe it was an uncle. Sometimes it was the whole damn family - fathers, sons, and uncles.”

“Having someone you love, sent off to war . . . it wasn't less frightening than it is today. It was scary as Hell. If anything, it was more frightening. We didn't have battlefront news. Didn’t have email or cellphones. You sent them off and you hoped and you prayed. May not hear from them for months. Sometimes a mother was getting her son's letters the same day Dad was comforting her over his death.”

“And we sacrificed. You couldn't buy things. Everything was rationed. Families were allowed so much milk per month, so much bread, toilet paper. EVERYTHING was restricted for the war effort. And what you weren't using, what you didn't need, things you threw away, they were saved and sorted for the war effort. My generation was the original recycling movement in America.”

“We had viruses back then, serious viruses. Polio, measles, and such. It was nothing to walk to school and pass a house or two that was quarantined. We didn't shut down our schools. We didn't shut down our churches and cities. We carried on, without masks, without hand sanitizer. And you know what? We persevered. We overcame. We didn't attack our President, we came together. We rallied around the flag for the war. Thick or thin, we were in it to win. We would lose more boys in an hour of combat than we lose in entire wars today."

He looked away again. Maybe, I saw a tear in the corner of his eye. He continued, “Today's young people don't know sacrifice. They think sacrifice is not having the latest phone or new clothes every season. They don’t respect old people. In my generation, we looked out for our elders. We helped out with single moms whose husbands were either at war or dead from the war.”

“It's shameful the way many parents spoil their children. Children NEED shelter, basic clothing, medical care, a basic education and food. Anything else is a ‘WANT’ they should work to earn. It’ll teach them to behave with respect and appreciation. So, no, I don't need anything. I appreciate your offer but, I know I've been through worse things than this virus.”

“But, maybe I should be asking you, ‘what can I do to help you’? Do you have enough soda to get through this? Enough steak? Will you be able to survive with 113+ channels on your TV?"

I smiled, fighting back a tear of my own . . . humbled by a man in his 80's. All I could do was thank him for the history lesson, leave my number for any emergency and leave with my ego firmly deflated.

I talked to a man today. A real man. An American man from an era long gone and forgotten. We will never understand the sacrifices. We will never fully earn their sacrifices. But we should work harder to learn about them, learn from them, respect them.