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| Memorial Day 2012 |
I am sorry. It just doesn't sound
right to wish each of you a, "Happy Memorial Day". To me the day is
an important holiday, but it is also lightly wrapped in a sense of
sadness. It is like an old package left by our front door each year
which I am hesitant to open. As I unroll our worn American Flag and walk down
the driveway of our home, I think about the sacrifices of so many brave
warriors and their families. Memorial Day is the lump in my throat when I hear
taps. It is honor. It is country. It is about sacrifice.
On our grey driveway bordered by
dark green grass, I explain to our eight year old son, Ryan the proper flag
etiquette, "Don't ever let it touch the ground. Treat our flag with
respect". As I tell him, I think of the warriors. Men and women who
at this very moment are in foreign countries around this world risking their
lives to protect us.
When I was about Ryan's age my
oldest brother, Mike was preparing for deployment to Vietnam. Mike had just
celebrated his eighteenth birthday. I thought he had it made. He was grown up.
He graduated from high school. He dated girls and he could drive. Mike even had
a sharp looking US Army uniform. It was green with gold patches with a diagonal
black stripe. I think it had a horse on it. Mike even had his very own bedroom
while me and three of my brothers slept in two bunk beds located in our
converted garage. In a three bedroom house with seven kids, having your own
room was solid gold.
Mike's bedroom door was often shut.
The door had slats on it, so I could tell when he was in there. I think he
would sometimes smoke cigarettes because I would find his cigarette butts lying
between the rocks in our front yard. I knew he was leaving for
Vietnam. The word was out. His room would be up for grabs.
The night before Mike left for
Vietnam he would play the song, "Sky Pilot" over and over.
To this day, whenever and wherever, I hear that song, I am transported back to
that narrow hallway outside of Mike's bedroom door.
At such a young age I had no idea
what war was. Innocence of youth. I did not know Mike was trading going to
college to slog through a jungle with the acrid smell of napalm and death in
the air. I certainly had no idea he was going to be tasked with killing as many
of the enemy as possible while doing his very best to keep himself and his
fellow soldiers alive. My dad knew.
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| Brother Mike US Army |
In Vietnam, 33,103 of the 58,627
service personnel killed were the exact same age as my brother Mike was on
that sunny afternoon when my dad took him to the Greyhound bus
station in Albuquerque, New Mexico. A time when so many young
lives were just beginnning. Sorrow brought home to families
across this great country, with a folded American flag.
My parents would watch Walter
Cronkite on the national news every night. At times it seemed to be a running
scoreboard of KIA's. I was too young to understand or dwell on it, but looking
back, I know my parents did. Thank goodness our door bell did not ring often.
My parents could spot a government car from a mile away. I am sure it is much
like families today who dread a news flash, a tweet, or an email from far away
countries like Iraq, Afghanistan, or elsewhere. With the instant communication
via the internet and the constant threat of insurgents and IED's, it probably
makes their lot even more difficult.
When my brother returned home after
eighteen months in combat he still smiled and would wrestle with all of us, but
he had changed. CLICK HERE to view
a 30 second video of our famous wrestling matches with Mike. He was
like our father before him. He never talked about what he had occurred in the
war. The variety of ribbons and medals on his uniform were silent testimony to
him being a proven warrior.
Though war was not discussed in our
home, I recall vividly when my mom told us to wake up Mike the morning after he
returned. My little brother, Joe and I were so excited that we jumped on
him in his sleep. It was an understatement to say his response surprised us. I
was suddenly in the air. His yell and look in his eyes sent us scrambling. We
were so naive. Even with that look in his eyes and the yelling, we thought it
was pretty funny. Joe and I soon learned to get a stick or throw things
at his bed to awaken him. He always jumped up in the same, strange manner.
Brothers can be so mean.
He wasn't home very long when I saw
my mom crying over her morning coffee. It took a day or two until all of us
kids found out why. Mike had volunteered to return to Vietnam for a second
tour. All I remember was Mike saying something like, "they need me".
If I had to guess, (since I never asked him), the reason he decided to return
to Vietnam was not as much for the people of Vietnam, the US Army, or even the
President of the United States of America. I believe he did it for his fellow
warriors. The young men in helicopters, the men on the ground and the men in
the rice paddies. Knowing my brother, he did it for the eighteen year old kids
without any experience that were dying so quickly. I think Mike returned to
Vietnam to try and slow the number of folded flags and solemn faced men in
government vehicles taking that long walk up to the front doors of homes across
America, just like ours. I suspect Mike understood he could not stop it
completely, because all warriors know someone must walk the point.
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| Brother Mike |
What makes a warrior return? What
makes people put the safety of others and their Country before themselves? l am
always in awe of warriors. Another warrior friend of mine who fought in
Vietnam is Tom Wagner. Following a firefight, "Wags" was
emergency airlifted out, likely feeling the rotor wash and hearing the rhythmic
"thumping" of the Huey helicopter rotor blades as a young medic tried
to stop the warm blood flowing from a few extra holes in his body. Despite his
close brush with death, Tom returned as well to a different harm's way, by
serving many more years with the San Diego Police Department.
I feel it is important to remember
American service personnel who are on watch around this world, standing guard
twenty-four hours a day. Proudly wearing the flag of our country on the upper
sleeves of their uniforms. A flag frequently soaked with both their sweat and
their blood. As we sleep in our comfortable beds, warriors are at the ready to
respond anywhere in the world to protect our freedom.
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| Brother Rick USN |
My brother Mike survived his second
tour in Vietnam before going to war again in Iraq. One of my other brothers,
Rick became a "brown shoe" or naval aviator like our father. His wife
Jennifer was also a Naval Officer. Mike ultimately retired from the US Army and
joined Boeing Aerospace to provide civilian support to our latest generation of
warriors. Later this week, Mike leaves American soul yet again for another
combat zone in Afghanistan. Like I said, warriors are a rare breed
My wish for each of you reading
this, is that you and your families have a great Memorial Day. I do ask a
personal favor. I am not requesting you to send a text, make a phone call, or
send an email like American Idol. I am simply requesting a whisper. A whisper
for our heroes past and present. Maybe while you are barbecuing, drinking a
beer, petting your dog, or even rubbing your child's head, whisper a little,
"thank you". I honestly think in some way all those whispers will be
gathered by a higher authority and distributed to all warriors, past and
present. Your thoughts may just help them to rest easier or to be
even more vigilant in their dangerous and honorable duties.
I look forward to my brother, Mike
returning to San Diego in 2013. When he does, I am going to take my mom's lead
and tell all three of our young boys, Troy, Raymond, and Ryan to go jump on him
in his sleep. My money is solidly on Mike. Despite him being now in
his sixties, I think all our boys will be tossed in the air, just like so very
many years ago...
Sincerely,
Ray & Theresa Shay
