Phil Rosenthal group email message, November 12, 2012
“What Veteran’s Day Means To Me:
It was 42 years and two weeks ago exactly when this poor hippie kid from New Jersey boarded the plane that would ultimately lead him to the far corners of the earth to horrific yet everlasting adventures while serving in his country’s military. At first, when he came home to a world that he no longer knew, to friends he no longer knew, his service would be a source of embarrassment to be kept secret at all costs. He grew his hair long and never spoke of it until years later, when it was no longer a bad thing to have served one’s country. Even his ex-hippie
wife derided his service and told him not to talk about it to his friends. She made him put his beret, uniform, paratrooper’s wings and combat medals earned in Southeast Asia, the Caribbean and the Middle East at the bottom of a toy chest.
Then one day it all changed. Now years later, working in Corporate America in New York City, a co-worker and fellow veteran asked him if he was going to the parade to honor Vietnam vets on 5th Avenue. He chose not to, but felt pleasantly surprised.
It wasn’t until (sic) years later, however that his oldest son started asking him questions. He hadn’t said much about his service, just like his Dad hadn’t. It took his Dad’s early death and a look through his papers for the son, now the father, to find out his always gentle,
loving Dad had been awarded the Silver Star for heroism in the Normandy Invasion.That was when he realized what the look was on his Dad’s face when he told him he was being deployed to a combat zone. He knew first-hand of the unspeakable horrors that awaited, horrors that are still
unspeakable to this day, but never very far away from the subconscious.
When he finally went to the old toy chest and took out the dusty objects, his son swelled with pride and not even Mom could deride it then.
Now the veteran is approaching the autumn of his life, enjoying good health for the time being and his grandkids and sons, who have grown to be fine men, with one of them having served many years in the military. He now looks at those early years with pride, although it is hard to think that he and that young man were the same person. He was accorded the ultimate honor a few years ago to mentor a ‘Green Beret’ aspirant and when the young man was one of the 3 out of every 100 to actually get through the training and be selected as a Green Beret, the mentor was there at the graduation to place the hat on the soldier. He had to admit that when he passed the parachute jump towers at the base that he looked longingly, although he knew that the next jump might be his last, with his now considerably more brittle knees, made so from 154
parachute jumps, 2 chopper crashes, some shrapnel and too much contact sports. He couldn’t help but feel in envy of the young soldiers, who in a scant few weeks, would be in harm’s way, so close to death 24/7, but never so alive. Oh, to ride in on the skids of a helicopter again at 100 mph, skirting the elephant grass and bamboo, feeling the wind of the enemy bullets whizzing by, seeing the muzzle flashes of the enemy guns, but yet feeling invulnerable. That is, until you hit the ground and the first man dropped to the ground in a red mist. Then, it was sheer terror and always a challenge to get up and run towards the firing, but yet he always did it.
Now, the man, foolishly thinking that he missed this, thought about his kids and grandkids, and came to the satisfied conclusion that the young people should have their time;, he had had his and what a time it was!
Just some musings of an old warrior who has left the warrior behind and hoping that his children will never have to see what he has. But still, for some perverse, strange reason, he is glad he did.”
Phil Rosenthal group email message, November 12, 2012
“What Veteran’s Day Means To Me:
It was 42 years and two weeks ago exactly when this poor hippie kid from New Jersey boarded the plane that would ultimately lead him to the far corners of the earth to horrific yet everlasting adventures while serving in his country’s military. At first, when he came home to a world that he no longer knew, to friends he no longer knew, his service would be a source of embarrassment to be kept secret at all costs. He grew his hair long and never spoke of it until years later, when it was no longer a bad thing to have served one’s country. Even his ex-hippie
wife derided his service and told him not to talk about it to his friends. She made him put his beret, uniform, paratrooper’s wings and combat medals earned in Southeast Asia, the Caribbean and the Middle East at the bottom of a toy chest.
Then one day it all changed. Now years later, working in Corporate America in New York City, a co-worker and fellow veteran asked him if he was going to the parade to honor Vietnam vets on 5th Avenue. He chose not to, but felt pleasantly surprised.
It wasn’t until (sic) years later, however that his oldest son started asking him questions. He hadn’t said much about his service, just like his Dad hadn’t. It took his Dad’s early death and a look through his papers for the son, now the father, to find out his always gentle,
loving Dad had been awarded the Silver Star for heroism in the Normandy Invasion.That was when he realized what the look was on his Dad’s face when he told him he was being deployed to a combat zone. He knew first-hand of the unspeakable horrors that awaited, horrors that are still
unspeakable to this day, but never very far away from the subconscious.
When he finally went to the old toy chest and took out the dusty objects, his son swelled with pride and not even Mom could deride it then.
Now the veteran is approaching the autumn of his life, enjoying good health for the time being and his grandkids and sons, who have grown to be fine men, with one of them having served many years in the military. He now looks at those early years with pride, although it is hard to think that he and that young man were the same person. He was accorded the ultimate honor a few years ago to mentor a ‘Green Beret’ aspirant and when the young man was one of the 3 out of every 100 to actually get through the training and be selected as a Green Beret, the mentor was there at the graduation to place the hat on the soldier. He had to admit that when he passed the parachute jump towers at the base that he looked longingly, although he knew that the next jump might be his last, with his now considerably more brittle knees, made so from 154
parachute jumps, 2 chopper crashes, some shrapnel and too much contact sports. He couldn’t help but feel in envy of the young soldiers, who in a scant few weeks, would be in harm’s way, so close to death 24/7, but never so alive. Oh, to ride in on the skids of a helicopter again at 100 mph, skirting the elephant grass and bamboo, feeling the wind of the enemy bullets whizzing by, seeing the muzzle flashes of the enemy guns, but yet feeling invulnerable. That is, until you hit the ground and the first man dropped to the ground in a red mist. Then, it was sheer terror and always a challenge to get up and run towards the firing, but yet he always did it.
Now, the man, foolishly thinking that he missed this, thought about his kids and grandkids, and came to the satisfied conclusion that the young people should have their time;, he had had his and what a time it was!
Just some musings of an old warrior who has left the warrior behind and hoping that his children will never have to see what he has. But still, for some perverse, strange reason, he is glad he did.”