Today Is Pearl Harbor Day - [Matthew]

I saw him several times as I moved from aisle to aisle at the grocery store. I would steal a glance as I moved from ‘Cookies/Snacks/Chips’ to ‘Household Items/Stationery’, then back to ‘Bread/Rolls.’

An older, heavy-set man, fully occupying a Hoveround-style cart, wearing a blue cap with some kind of military insignia. He sat at an end cap, going nowhere. Waiting for someone, I guessed.

I bet he’s a veteran, I thought. I should tell him ‘thank you for serving’. I’ve done this before. Not as a habit, but here and there. For me, it’s not just some sweet little thing that makes me feel good. I mean, thanks to guys who served, I can do the stuff I do, pursue my dreams, live in a house in a safe neighborhood with my wife. The biggest injustice I have to suffer is when some jerk cuts in line at the Starbucks drive-thru. This is the gloriously free life we get to lead because these guys stood on the wall for us. So I figure, a little bit of awkwardness in saying ‘thanks’ is a small thing.

I made my final approach to the checkout, moving toward him. Then, at the last minute, I just went to the checkout. I don’t know why. I don’t think of myself as a shy person, but I have these fleeting moments.

While checking out, I saw some blurb on a magazine cover about Clint Eastwood’s ‘Flags of Our Fathers’ movie. I glanced to my left and the guy was still there.

My opening line was ‘Did you serve?’

“Why d’ya think I got this?”, he replied, motioning to his hat.

I don’t remember his name; I do remember when I shook his hand, his grip was strong and that he didn’t let go of my hand. I remember he looked me square in the eye. I remember he said he was there at D-Day. I remember noticing one of his legs wasn’t his own. I remember him lifting his hat, showing me his souvenir, a deep, ugly, scabby wound covering most of his head.

What can you say to a group of people who did so much for us? All I can think of is to say, I remember. We remember.

And thank you.


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