“YOU MAKE ME PROUD”

Fourth of July. Independence Day. Happy Birthday, America. The Declaration of Independence, the document that established our nation’s sovereignty after being signed by representatives of the 13 original colonies, was and is, in all honesty, simply a piece of paper with words written on it. So what makes it so special? Hard won battles fought by colonists against the British Empire? George Washington? Thomas Jefferson? The right to the pursuit of happiness? Life, Liberty (with a capital L, by the way) and the pursuit of Happiness (also capitalized)? Inalienable rights? What about Chapultepec, the Halls of Montezuma, the Boxer Rebellion? Flanders Fields? Iwo Jima? Inchon? Battle at the Hamlet of Ap Bac? The Beirut Barracks Bombing? Grenada? El Salvador? Panama? Somalia? Kuwait? Baghdad? Korengal Valley? What makes the Declaration of Independence so special?

For more than 233 years, Americans have been willing to die to ensure perpetuity of the ideals and principles of this great nation as set forth in the Declaration of Independence. It is a piece of paper that remembers and carries into the future every drop of sweat and blood ever shed by an American service member. It is the record of our will to survive. It is the image of American Spirit.

Today I was able to go to WalMart and buy envelopes, a Lady Antebellum CD, and chlorine for my swimming pool because there is a battle going on somewhere in Afghanistan. Tonight I ate yellow squash, tomatoes, peppers, and beans straight from my Victory garden because, somewhere in the world, an Airman, a Soldier, a Sailor, a Marine, a Coastie, a Merchant Marine, a Civil Servant, a Diplomat, is serving our country while on an unaccompanied tour of duty, separated from family for a year or more. Some 4th of July. But you know, and I know, because if you’re reading this you’re probably military, most of those men and women aren’t complaining. They’re tucking in and doing their jobs. So that you and I can go to WalMart and buy our celebration supplies. On Wednesday, July 1, I visited the MCAS Beaufort Station Headquarters and the MCRD Headquarters Building, what I came to know as the General’s building during two tours on the drill field. Station Headquarters was simply known as a nice place not to be during my years as a member of the MACS Pack, as those personnel were known who were assigned to the Marine Air Control Squadron aboard MCAS Beaufort. The only time I visited MCAS Beaufort HQ was to sit in on a court martial or burn classified material in an official smokestack. I visited the CG’s building aboard Parris Island more often. I can’t remember why. Official business – isn’t that a great way to disguise what Ted Corbett calls an OAS moment? The truth is, it’s been an exhausting few weeks preparing for the launch of the Milspeak anthology. The anthology was my reason for visiting those official buildings for the first time in eleven years.

Being a retired gunny, I have a habit of looking out for both troops and officers. Looking out for others was my purpose in life for so many years, it comes natural. Maybe that’s really why I began the writing workshops – I missed having troops to look out for. I missed having someone to protect. I missed having a mission. Civilian life, in comparison to military life, has been quite boring – at least up to now. I figure it was always that sense of adventure of mine that got me to enlist. It’s the same sensibility that got you into the service. It’s what Bat Rastard figured out at the end of his life – he was an adventurer. That’s why most military people don’t complain when they’re hacking away at a keyboard for hours on end, or raising a weapon above a stone wall.

But there’s more. Not everyone has that adventurous spirit. I know many folks back home who’ve never left the farm and never wanted to. That’s why some of us work at WalMart and others of us join the Army. Today in WalMart I walked by a father chewing out his young son. The boy was, maybe, seven years old. The man’s voice made me jump when I first heard him scream at the boy and felt the breeze of his slapping arm pass by my cheek. I heard the smack – it wasn’t a tap. Then the father shooed the boy off down an aisle. The boy hadn’t yet broken. He was silent. He was going the same direction I was – toward the music. He reached an older woman, grabbed her waist while he spun around to her left side. That’s when he burst into tears. The anthology was my reason for visiting the CG’s Building on Wednesday. I was dropping off “Heads Up” copies of the anthology for the CG and the Depot Sergeant Major. The Gunny who still lives in me didn’t want the brass to be caught off guard by the media attention that’s been coming my way. Yesterday I spoke with a young man writing an article for a literary journal. Perhaps it’s a review. I emailed him after our talk, asking if he would please let me see the article before it’s published. These are peoples’ lives in these stories, I said. He responded by saying he’d try to let me read the article before publication, but no guarantees. “Take good care of my writers,” I emailed in return, and then I thought about what I would do if he doesn’t take good care of my writers. This is a difference between the civilian and military worlds that I will perhaps never understand – why don’t civilians take better care of each other? Of course, the military family isn’t perfect. We have our problems, too. But for most military people, taking care of the other person before taking care of ourselves is first nature, not second. This is why our work is called “Service,” and why we are so proud to “Serve.” This is why we expect nothing from civilians, but are willing to give everything to them, including our lives. We are trained to this natural attitude of service. Once we are trained, the training never dies. This is why I serve others through writing, through Milspeak. I would rather serve than be served – this is natural to me now. This is the special bond I share with all service members, no matter their branch of service. I am certain to be wrong about many things I’ve written in MILSPEAK, the anthology. Many other military people read it before it was molded into final draft form for the publisher: F.P. Siedentopf, Jeffrey Hess, Charlotte Brock, David Ellard, and Dennis Adams. Each of the writers included in the anthology had the opportunity to read each draft of the manuscript between last December and the end of May. Each shared in the process of creating the book, and they have shared in the process of creating the script for our staged reading and performance of Scars on My Heart. They tell me I worry too much about expressing my opinions. Sied was quite proud of the book, and surprised. I hope each reader will find something to like about our work, something that will stay with him or her, something valuable about our service. Hope. Sometimes this is all service people have, particularly those locked in combat, who hope they will live through the second-at-hand, but who seldom have time to even consider hope until its necessity is in the past. I really am having a great time with the book launch. Here’s an example. It felt good to feel the boards of the old general’s building under my feet again, to smell the air of the place – it’s a scent built from the sweat of millions. I walked in as if I owned the place – and they thought I did. The copies of the anthology were left with the G3 – a full bird colonel whose beautiful secretary returned during the two minutes I explained my mission. The colonel seemed interested in the books, and said he would deliver them to the appropriate parties. His skin, hair and eyes seemed polished and engraved by desert sands. I notice this of all of them returning from there – they carry the sand back with them in the way Viet Nam Veterans carried the wet earth. Before I’d arrived at the General’s Building, I had already been to MCAS Beaufort Station Headquarters. The CO & SgtMaj weren’t in. A young Staff Sergeant was sitting watch. She too seemed to be carrying sand. I asked her assistance. As we walked down the hall toward another beautiful secretary, I asked the SSgt when she had gone through boot – 1998, she said. Well, that was the year I retired, I replied. When I was leaving, I asked her to find me a pen at the welcome station. I went to my Mariner, grabbed a copy of MILSPEAK, and returned. I stood at the counter writing in the book, writing for her, for all of them carrying sand in their pores and earth in their souls. I handed it to her, and said, “You make me proud.” Never thought I’d meet a WM who went through boot the year I retired. Never thought I’d step foot in either of those two buildings again. Never imagined my first book would be this book. Never in a million years. But before any of this Milspeak stuff happened, I always knew the only truth that matters. Each of you wearing a uniform, each of you who has ever worn a uniform, whether you’ve served in combat or not – you’ve served. You make me proud.

LOVE Links to Trace Adkins' "Arlington" USA Military Tribute Video
Independence Day by Martina McBride