~the very least that we can do~

I'm a stickler for saying the Pledge of Allegiance correctly in my classroom.  I've been known to stop the recitation of it when we were halfway through and have the class start all over again. If someone is saying it half heartedly or too quickly, we stop and begin once more.  I've been that way for a long time, as a matter of fact 39 years of a long time.  

It's a matter of principle and patriotism to me.

Today is Veteran's Day, a time that we honor all those who have served in the armed forces of the United States.  They are those men and women who have fought and died to protect the very flag that we say the pledge to each and every day.  

I never thought too much about Veteran's Day as a kid growing up back in Kansas, that is until the summer of 1967.  My little hometown of Haven experienced the loss of two young men, only two weeks apart from the other, in the jungles of Vietnam.  Henry Fisher and Sergio Albert paid the ultimate sacrifice and gave their lives in a conflict that was about as unpopular to be involved in as any I have ever known.  I was only 12 years old and just a kid myself, but their deaths in combat made a lasting impression upon me.  When I go home to Kansas, I often stop by their graves at Laurel Cemetery to pay my respects to them.  Those young men, forever frozen in time, did what they were called upon to do.

My brother, the late Mike Scott, was an Army veteran who served his time in Vietnam as well. I was only 10 years old when he left for that place so far away from home.  I still remember when we took Mike to the airport in Wichita to get on the plane that would deliver him from the safety of the American Midwest to the unknown of a place in southeast Asia.  Everyone tried to fight back the tears as we said our good-byes but it wasn't easy.  Everything seemed to be changing.  During his year over there, my mom would bake cookies like crazy and pack them as well as she could for mailing overseas.  Most of the time they arrived as cookie crumbles, but it didn't matter.  Those broken bits and pieces represented home to my brother. He and his buddies gladly devoured them, right down to the last crumb.  It helped my mom get through those dark and lonely days of wondering if we would ever see him again.

We had the most beautiful Veteran's Day program yesterday at school.  The kids sang their hearts out with spirit and meaning.  Veterans that were in attendance were ushered in right before the program started.  My heart swelled with joy to see people in the audience rising to their feet and giving them a standing ovation.  

Towards the end of the ceremony a moment of silence was observed for those veterans who had already passed.  In the stillness of our gym, the sound of "Taps" could be heard.  When it was played yesterday during our practice time, tears began to come to my eyes.  It was the first time I had heard it since my brother's funeral in 2007.  It was very meaningful to me.

The trumpet's mournful sound, signaling day's end or the very end of life itself, reminds us all that the blood of many Americans has fallen in order that we might enjoy the freedoms that we have today.  

Pausing on one day of the year to remember and honor them is the very least that we can do.

In the summer of 2013, Mike and I had the opportunity to visit the "Traveling Wall" in Montrose, Colorado.  It is a replica of the permanent one that honors those who died in Vietnam.  I'm standing by the panel that bears the name of Henry Fisher, a young man from my hometown of Haven, Kansas.