All service is not the same.

Blog #27

Disclamer: I’ve been setting on this one for a while, concerned about offending anyone. But a rule of blogging is to not set on them too long. I know it’s the Memorial Day weekend, not Veterans Day weekend, but truth be told, many seem to forget the difference. So, I toned it down a tad and launched it.

I’ve got something in my craw that gets worse every Veterans Day and I need to get it off of my chest. I apologize to anyone who might be offended or angered. That is not my intent. Full disclosure: Physical therapy is making my shoulder ache so I might be a little salty today. Forgive me. I realize I’m approaching a sacred cow and there may not be another soul on the planet who agrees with me.

Here it is: All military service is not the same. There, I said it.
Let me explain by describing my military service.

In 1982, 22 years old, fresh from a failed marriage, out of work and doing my best to develop a real drinking problem, I needed a re-set.

My uncle (one year older than me) and I decided that a stint in the Ohio Army National Guard might provide the new start we both needed. We signed on with Company D, 216 Combat Engineer Battalion, then located in beautiful Tarlton, Ohio, and shipped out for that vacation Mecca aka Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.

After completing basic training and advanced individual training I came home to discover that other than one weekend a month and two weeks a year, I still didn’t have a job. A lot of young men and women are disappointed with this reality when they get home from NG or Reserve basic and AIT.

I liked wearing the uniform and decided I wanted to be a full time soldier. There are many types of uniformed full time jobs in the NG and after two years of applying and interviewing I was hired by MAJ (now retired Major General) Ronald Young and SFC (now retired Ohio State Command Sergeant Major) Michael Howley. I’ve mentioned both of these professional soldiers before. I was hired as a training technician in the Troop Command (a major command in Ohio) training and operations shop. This was where my real education began. I went on to serve in the 107th ACR Aviation Maintenance Company, the 122d Army Band, the Ohio Military Academy, 54th Rear Area Operations Center, and back to the training shop at Troop Command.

During my 12 years in the OHARNG I was taught more about written and oral communication and presentation, how to give an effective block of instruction, how to create and execute a five paragraph operations order, and how to conduct myself as a professional soldier than I could have ever learned in the university classroom. And they continued to pay and promote me along the way.

It was peace time. I realize that during peace time there are some service members involved in extremely high risk and high danger operations. I was not one of those people. I never left the country. I went to every enlisted and non commissioned officer leadership school they would send me to, including two, several month long stints at Fort McClelland, Alabama for my basic and advanced NCO education. By then I was an active National guardsman and an E7. They paid me well and treated me with the respect due a senior NCO in the US Army. I was somebody and my identity was intact.

It was never the Lord’s will that I serve in a combat theatre. I’m at peace with that and I have no regrets. I don’t have the need to lead anyone to believe that I did anything I didn’t do. My primary Military Occupational Speciality was as a Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Warfare Specialist. That probably would not be a fun job on todays battlefield, but I’m just guessing here. When I served in the Army Band I had to temporarily pick up the MOS of 02M, percussionist. That was a fun job, but not much use on today’s battlefield.

In 1994 I left the NG to follow a calling into law enforcement. I’m always mindful that every good thing I know that has served me well in every other endeavor, I learned in the Ohio Army National Guard. But, I never saw a shot fired in anger. I have only a clue of what life is like in a combat environment. I never humped a heavy ruck in extreme temps other than in basic training or a school in Alabama. I’ve never witnessed a soldier killed in battle. I’ve never had to kill anyone. I’ve never even lived in a time where military vets were not respected for their service. But I realize there are a lot of men and women, Active Component/National Guard/Reserve, who have experienced those things. Some live right here in our community. Some struggle with the aftermath of those scars, both physical and emotional. I know some of them personally. When it comes to our military service, we’re not the same. Their’s was a service of sacrifice, even life or death and many did make the ultimate sacrifice including reserve component soldiers. Mine was not. My time in uniform only improved my life significantly.

So here’s what’s in my craw. Guys like me, peace time soldiers who received more than they ever gave, guys who served briefly, 40-50 years ago, who knowingly enlisted in a peace time environment are too often the first to put on the “veteran” ball cap, put their basic training pic on Facebook few times a year, thank all their buddies for their service and go out in search if the obligatory free meal. For me, there is something disingenuous to dishonest to stand shoulder to shoulder with combat veterans, men and women who saw the elephant and bear the scars, and pretend we’re the same. We’re not the same. Through no choice of ours, we’re not the same. Maybe some of us wish we were, but we’re not.

“But you signed up and would have went to war if sent.” Woulda’, shoulda’, coulda’. I signed up because I needed a reset to my wrecked life and I needed a job. I don’t recall giving a thought to the possible horror of war. I know peace time soldiers who say they were drunk or high during most of their 3-4 years of service, had to sober up when they got home. Right after the draft ended apparently the Army needed volunteer bodies and hadn’t implemented those sneaky urinalysis tests yet. No “Chief Yellow Hand” Warrant Officers yet.

I’m very proud of my service, my rank, and all I learned. But, it doesn’t take a lot of self awareness to admit that the military served me a lot more than I served the military. Please excuse me when, next Veterans Day, I cringe a little when us peace time soldiers go into our mutual admiration mode and start congratulating each other for our critical, republic saving service to this great nation.

Just once I would prefer that veterans of my experience would come up with a way to say thank you to the combat soldier who saw things we only see on Netflix, or the Special Forces soldier who proved himself in the very top percentile of the American fighting man (cue Barry Sadler), or the few remaining Vietnam vets who were forced to enter a shooting war as kids who forever had their life changed, or the many men and women who volunteered to fight a war in a deadly desert oven. Our service is not the same.

I’m proposing that our motorcycle ministry spend Veterans Day doing something for the VA Hospital or raising money for Wounded Warriors or Tunnels to Towers. As a way of acknowledging that their service went far and beyond where our service took us, we should be honoring those who gave so much instead of wrenching our arms patting ourselves on the back as we pretend to be in their ranks. It’s time for us fortunate enough to have served  during peace time to display a little humility and self awareness.

I completely understand that those of you who never served in our military might find it easier to just lump all us veterans in the same category. That’s fine, but just remember in the back of your mind, our service is not all the Same.

On a side note, Phyllis and I often walk to a local Bob Evans for breakfast on Saturday mornings. This past Veterans Day we were surprised to see how busy they were until we realized they were giving free meals to Veterans in honor of Veterans Day. (My “peace time soldier” buddies love their free Veterans Day meal.)

The waitress has become a friend of ours and I felt bad that she was literally running from table to table pouring coffee and taking orders. When she made it to us I said, “At least your tips will be good today.” Much to my disgust she replied, “These guys seldom tip. They eat their free meal and leave.” Next year I’m going to offer to that restaurant that they enlist a few of us warrior wannabes to come pour coffee while reminding veterans to tip their server.

No, I didn’t order the free meal and Miss Phyllis and I always tip generously. Again, I apologize if I’ve offended anyone. Remember, my shoulder hurts. Now, stay off of my lawn.