"C-Rats and Dusty Boots"

I carry a large group of keys with me; my key ring looks like it belongs to a jailer. Some of the items on my ring are a couple of sets of car keys, church keys, house keys, lock box key, discount tags for some stores, a key for a traffic control and something else. That something else is a piece of pressed metal about an inch and a half long and an inch wide; it has letters and numbers pressed into it, and it is over forty-three years old; it is my old "dog tag" from my days in the Army. Years ago, I found it while cleaning out some old boxes from our shed, I held it in my hand for a while; I rubbed my fingers over the letters of my name; it almost had a magical quality as it carried me back to a twenty-one year old Joe, standing in formation with a group of men he became very close too. Some of us were volunteers; some of us were draftees, all of us were soldiers. Our job description was ELEVEN BRAVO, combat infantrymen. I was a sergeant, a rifle squad leader; later to be a platoon sergeant. These men were gathered from all over the United States: Illinois, New York, New Jersey, Kentucky, Alabama, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and Virginia, to name just some of their home states. This started out as a group of strangers, but it didn't finish that way.

Every college and university has courses on learning about relationships with other people; how we can all get along better. I'm sure you've watched Oprah or Dr. Phil or Dr. Oz, or some other "guru" of understanding, speak about the subject of how to bridge our differences with others.

I have my own plan on relationship resolution: sit in a hole that took you three hours to dig, don't take a shower, eat a dinner of cold ham and eggs out of a can, walk into the nearest clump of trees to relieve yourself and then sit with a relative stranger in total darkness, staring directly in front of yourself, hoping nothing will happen. I guarantee you a conversation will start about everything that has happened in your life up to that point. This is an amazing relationship starter! You are both covered in sweat and dirt, but your rifle is clean, and you begin to share stories; first is usually girls, followed by cars and then family. By the end of your "camp out" you will have formed a bond that is virtually unbreakable. I remember the favorite meals and best hangouts of numerous men that I haven't seen in decades; I remember seeing pictures of Moms and Dads, sisters and brothers and girlfriends, as I'm sure they remember mine. Several years ago, while sitting in restaurant with my wife, I heard a familiar voice behind me; it was my old platoon leader, Lieutenant Horowitz, a great guy, I turned and addressed him as lieutenant, and he looked at me and said "Joe", in total surprise; we talked and I introduced him to Adrienne: it was as if time had never passed, I really missed him. This is a bond that is reflective of every person who has worn a uniform for their country.

Tomorrow is "Veteran's Day": I remember it every year with both fondness and sorrow. I remember those "dusty boots" and "C-Rats" and friends of years ago. If you know a "vet", say something nice to him tomorrow. I promise he will appreciate it, even if he says "No big deal".

(I'm taking tomorrow off to remember some old friends; see you on Monday.)