Afton---Honor Thy Father

In honor of Veteran's Day today, this memory has to do with before you were born. To honor the Veteran who took center stage in your life.








The spectre of Viet Nam loomed oppressively everywhere in the later 60s. It was a polarizing reality, of such a scope and breadth, that it impacted literally everyone and everything. But not on the same level, certainly, and not in the same way. D. was a founding member of the Y Americans his last two years at BYU. With his wholesome good looks, he sang patriotic songs, "This Land Is Your Land", "Freedom Isn't Free", on tour from Disneyland to the Ed Sullivan TV Show in New York. It was good times had by all, singing about freedom. Putting your life on the line for it, well that's a whole different animal.

Freedom is a pretty abstract, almost generic term, as used by most of us, casually, and with only a layer or two of understanding and appreciation. But those who have paid a price for it, by losing an eye or a leg or a loved one, or through blood, sweat, and tears, have far greater depth, far greater intensity in actually loving freedom. Because love is far more a song, than a parade, than a feeling; it's a dedication, a behavior, a way of life.

I think it's like romantic love or parental love in a way. What would you, could you, hold back from your beloved, or from your precious child? Only when you are willing to and actually do sacrifice for someone do you truly experience the completeness, the absolute knowledge of your devotion. The greater the sacrifice, the greater love. Some spiritual parallels are relevant here.

But sometimes to contemplate being asked to commit to making the ultimate sacrifice, putting one's life on the line for the love of freedom, when you're young and just beginning to step into all that life seems to promise, is a rather heavy thing.

And so it was for your Father. He had no desire to serve in the military, and had spent several years safely sequestered from that opportunity through college and mission deferments. But Congress passed a lottery system for the Draft the year he graduated from college. Two months after our wedding, his number was called up from Idaho, and so we left Seattle for him to report.

I remember his Mother driving us several towns away to the train station to drop him off, and she and I weeping all the way back to Geneva. I was soon to leave for Chicago to live with my family, scared of what the future might hold.

Found out two days later that the future is always full of surprises. Rejected because of back problems from his motorcycle accidents, he showed up out of nowhere with a big grin on his face before I left for my flight. Phew!

We moved back to Seattle and resumed life. Every couple of months, he would be called up again, this time in Washington State, would go and report and come home usually that day. Yawn. Got to be enough of a joke that they would hold mock farewell parties at work for him. The following summer he would be 26, and the draft could no longer touch him at that point. We felt comfortable enough to go ahead and start our family, a little earlier than we'd originally thought. Why not? Life seemed benevolent, if not magnanimous, to us in comparison to what had been a close call.

And so of course, life twisted, as it is prone to do. That spring, a month after we found out we would become parents in the Fall and welcome you, he went for one of these routine report for duty calls by the Draft Board. He didn't come home that night, or that weekend. Not even a phone call for two weeks! I had no idea where exactly he was, but I was sure the military had kidnapped him.

Devastated, picturing him decapitated in a jungle, a corpse before your birth, I fell apart in the bathroom. I wept and howled and screamed for two days and nights in there without coming out, until there was no emotion left. Quite a trooper, huh? Never had I felt so numb, so alone. I don't know if being pregnant, or being more than a thousand miles away from any living soul that I knew, exacerbated my fears, or if I am just naturally dysfunctional.

But just as strong as my vehement negative reaction to these events that were so out of my control, was the simultaneous and pervasive deep pride in my new husband, stepping up to the plate and being the man who accepted this mantle, even though he had absolutely no desire to. I had watched him initially when the first summons came the summer before and I knew without words being spoken, how foreign, how abhorrent this idea was to him. Never a fighter by nature, but a peacemaker, to think of killing or being killed was more than out of his comfort zone. I had observed his quiet times of contemplation without intruding, but I had wondered what I would do if I had been the one facing this destiny. Much later I asked him if he had thought about fleeing to Canada. Depending on the intent, that could be a noble option as well. Of course, he had given it serious thought. But in the end, he had soldiered up. The feelings that swelled inside me knowing that come what may, he had made an honorable decision were something I had never felt before. He jumped in and took the risk.

It ended up, happily for us, that he got orders to go to Germany rather than Viet Nam.(Can you believe I actually cried when he got those wonderful orders? Not for joy, I just didn't want to leave the States! And I worried he might not be able to take us with him too. One of the most amazing experiences of my life ahead of me, and I whimpered.)

I want you to know that those deep, deep feelings of pride I had as a young wife surfaced and throbbed once again with full intensity as the Color Guard who had played "Taps" and shot the rifles at your Dad's gravesite folded the flag that covered his coffin and placed it in my hands. He didn't have to pay the ultimate price, but he was willing to.

For men and women who like him, were willing to give it their all, and especially for those who did, I hope you and I forever keep a tender place in our hearts.