eleven: the war veteran

This one goes back to nearly a year ago, when I had the chance meeting with a war veteran on Remembrance Day. Eleven seems like a fitting number.

Of all the holidays that are out there, many of them are losing their meanings and to most people they are just another day off from work or school. Watered down from attempts to be politically correct, or non-offensive holidays like Christmas and Easter have become over-commercialized. Somehow a holiday that has always been associated with the selling of poppies does not seem to be commercialized or even recognized by most.

In elementary school we would always have assemblies with poppy wreaths, visiting servicemen and women, and some song about love and peace. Perhaps those even existed in Jr. high, but by then no one cared enough to go to assemblies because those were freebie skip the afternoon tickets. Before I knew about it, the day had merely become a welcoming break to finish last minute assignments, the last one, before final exams.

Most years by the time November 11th rolls around my poppy has already pricked me a few times and has lost the battle to stay on my jacket, and the only sign of respect I show towards that day is littered on the ground somewhere. Last year, I had the opportunity to sit at a table beside a veteran at a Starbucks. At first I didn’t know he was one, but I spotted a car outside the window with the poppy decal, and as I pointed that out to my friend he said the car belonged to the old guy standing in line.

Inside I got this urge to at least thank the man, as it seemed appropriate given the day. I suppose since my coffee date was mostly just two friends (or more accurately disconnected people) sitting there no longer exchanging words that could be heard, talking to a stranger couldn’t be any harder than the forced conversation. So I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder, and thanked him for serving his country. He reciprocated by telling me about his time during WW2 in Normandy, and how he was presently waiting for his wife and her friends.

I wonder what his WW2 experiences were really like, he would probably have been in his 20s when that transpired, could have even been the same age as me. How would he describe the fear and pain he’s felt? Is he ever haunted of his past? Has he ever taken another human life, or saved one? How is he able to reconcile life during the war to life after the war? Is every day like Remembrance Day for him? He seemed to be pretty well adjusted old man, and it gave me so much hope that he could overcome hell on earth scathed but not completely broken. We met on a day that I really needed to be reminded that time can heal all wounds, and there is always hope for the future if you can overcome the past.