While November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada, it’s Veteran’s Day in the United States - perhaps a dissimilar name but the exact same acknowledgment, recognition and reverence. The Canadian poppy however is much more attractive and has greater prominence on a label or collar. The United States also has Memorial Day. A day honoring and revering those that fell in all wars of American participation. Memorial Day is held in May, a week after Canada’s Victoria Day. A couple of Veteran’s Days past, I walked into a local Montana bakery for a late lunch. In this establishment food is ordered at a counter. There was a fairly large line of patrons, not uncommon at this eatery. In front of me was a soldier, his only identification was a Vietnam veteran’s ball cap – it was not a cap that one could simply purchase. In that overseas misery and misfortune he had assuredly served. He was dressed in a well worn, brown leather jacket, pale blue jeans and scuffed, black leather boots. Discredited by those ascribing to political correctness, my personal ‘racial profiling’ strongly suggested this veteran was a Native American – aboriginal Canadians prefer the designation First Nations. The wrinkles and creases on his leathery face seemed to be softened by a form of honesty in brown, tired eyes. He turned and looked back at me. I instinctively saluted, why I don’t know. Perhaps quite amateurish in its presentation, but a sincere salute nonetheless - and then offered to buy his lunch. He saluted back – quite a bit more accomplished then mine and accepted the offer. His lunch was to go, so it was put into a paper bag, mine to stay and on a tray – we said nothing to each other while the sandwiches were being quickly prepared. A server eventually handed us our lunches. He grabbed the bag, turned to me and offered his hand. I took it and said, “Thank you for your service”. He said, “And thank you for the lunch.” With a noticeable limp, he strode out the door to an older, dark blue pickup truck with a tattered rear shell and exited the parking lot. Where his road ended I don’t know. During lunch, I felt privileged to have offered lunch to this man. It seems I came out far ahead in this exchange – to feel as good as I did about something so trivial on my part must assuredly be some form of gratifying selfishness. We may all wish to practice this on occasion – perhaps more than just once per year.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Nov 2014 18:03:58 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015