Opinion Veterans in the making

David Brandon, killed in action in Viet Nam, May 29, 1966.

Sunday November 11 is Veterans Day, and perhaps no other Veterans Day in recent memory carries as much meaning as this one.

All too often, we take the men and women of our Armed Services for granted. To our credit, this is probably not one of those times.

Veterans represent every race, color, creed, religion and all those other compartmentalizations that we seem driven to create. Yet, they are all Americans.

When I hear the word "veteran," I rarely think of myself. Rather, two other people spring to mind.

One is my father, a veteran of nearly four years of service on both coasts, the Aleutians, and the South Pacific during World War Two.

The other is a high school classmate of mine, whose service lasted only a few months. His service, however, also lasted a lifetime.

At the age of 19, Private David B. Brandon, Jr., died in battle on May 29, 1966, in Viet Nam.

I remember David as a quiet, easy-going sort of fellow with a big smile. I liked Dave.

While he was dying, most of the rest of us were busy enjoying our lives as Americans.

David's parents, Bud and June Brandon, live here in the Sisters area. I visited them last week, and David's mother showed me his several medals, including -- of course -- his Purple Heart.

I've known her for many years, and we chatted comfortably for several minutes. When she brought out his things, however, there were some difficult moments. Memories last a long time.

June explained that David was supposed to have been "in country" for only six months. It turned out to be a little longer; and, in the end, it was much, much longer.

"We were expecting him home any time," June said, "but I don't think there was anyone left in his unit to come home. Ironically, we received the news on Memorial Day."

During my visit, I learned something about David that I hadn't known. He was a poet. His mother said that he had enjoyed and written poetry since grade school.

Among his personal effects, they found a poem in his wallet that he had written.

It was titled "An Unsolved End With No Beginning or Epitaph."

As might be inferred by its title, the poem was a melancholy one. It spoke of fate and pain and sorrow.

No one said that becoming a veteran is supposed to be fun. Those among us who serve or have served under arms are the appointed warriors, enforcers, couriers and agents of our society. It's a job that requires a certain resolve. A resolve that, frankly, not everyone has.

As a mother, June Brandon is still worrying.

"I can just see this happening all over again," she said, "with the boys who are now going into another unfamiliar country -- probably worse -- in Afghanistan."

As Americans embark on missions in Afghanistan to protect our way of life on a continent half a world away, we must remember to be grateful that we are blessed in this country to be served by a dedicated corps of new "veterans-in-the-making."

A teenaged Marine named David died more than 35 years ago, but what he stood for lives on in the new faces that follow him into Afghanistan -- or wherever public policy sends them.

We must never forget -- and always honor -- the sacrifices that David and thousands like him have made.

Some veterans die in the course of service. Thankfully, most do not; but all are bound and changed by the concept of "service."

The purpose of Veterans Day is more than just a holiday. Rather, it is to remind us that we have a long-standing debt to a particular class of Americans.

Isn't it a wonderful thing that we have that debt? Thankfully, it's not one that our nation is ever really asked to pay.

How could it?