Hero
They wore that uniform with pride. There was determination in their focus and purpose in their heart. They knew precisely who they were and exactly that for which they were fighting. If I were a betting man, I would wager to say that perhaps they even knew the price. You can almost see them standing in front of the mirror of their bedroom, just staring, almost as if they were catching a glimpse of their image as a whole, to remember, to memorize, as if they would not see it in the same light again.
In walks their spouse, their husband, their wife. He turns to face her at attention with head held high. Her hand over her face, not knowing whether to smile at this strong, beloved soldier...or to cry with uncontrollable tears at the overwhelming thought that he may not return. What if this was to be their last hour together? What words do they exchange, or does it speak louder to remain silent and simply cherish the moment.
Not too much time passes before the kids burst into the bedroom with a breath of fresh air thus lightening the heavy load which lay ahead. There is something so disarming about the sincere embrace from your son and daughter. When all they want to do is hold on for a few more seconds...all other woes fade into the distance. They are the apple of his eye, and the arrows in his quiver.
He pointed the sorrowful chin of his boy upward and charged him to take care of his mother and younger sisters in his absence for a short while thus knighting him Man of the House and needed to step up accordingly.
What tears must have befallen his worn cheeks as he lifted his little girls in a George Bailey fashion and vowed to never let go. I would go so far as to guess there may have been something like promises of large stuffed giraffes and a trip to the zoo upon Dad’s return from the war.
Finally, holding his wife one last time, one ultimate kiss, one more dance to close down the house and a promise to always remember and to return home alive...which could only be fulfilled by the Good Lord above. Can you imagine...headed into battle with an incredibly low chance of survival with a shred of hope that in the sacrifice your wife and children will live in Freedom. Can you imagine the sadness of never being able to hear you nieces' giggle at a dumb joke, or never again being able to wrestle your boys to the ground or smooth your fingers over the cheeks of your wife as you brush the loose hair behind her to reveal her radiance.
They shall march before us once again in uniform with pins in place, a straight gig line, and a firm grip on Old Glory as she waves her beauty in bright colors with Style and Then Some. Can I encourage you then as our colors parade through, to hold your hand over your heart in remembrance of the fallen soldiers, in salute to those who sacrificed their lives, who proudly hold the flag high, seeing it the frame of Francis Scott Key who longed for, who looked for, who hoped that when the dust settled, and the fog cleared, that our beautiful flag, though tattered and torn, crimson with the blood of family men, of sons and fathers, of countrymen, would still be flying high - protected by the many soldiers who defended our freedom and fought against injustice for liberty so that we may live and work and play and worship in a country like this. O' say does that Star Bangled banner yet wave? I guess that is a question only you can answer, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.