What It Means To Be A Veteran

A person who has served or is serving in the armed forces.

That’s the dictionary definition, but every year at this time I think about the deeper meaning. What it means to those I’ve served with, my family, and friends. What it means those who don’t truly know me or many other veterans - just the idea. Plus what it means to me.

At it’s the most basic level, as someone once summarized it for me, it means USMC:?

U Signed [the] Motherf***ing Contract

It may seem like a joke, but it’s the core tenant that ties all veterans together— regardless of branch or specialty. We all signed on the dotted line and gave the government a blank check saying in effect

if necessary, you can have my life in defense of the?country

Don’t get me wrong, a legal clerk in the Chair Force has a significantly lower probability of dying in battle than a special forces operator, but in principle they both signed on the line, and in my mind both get to call themselves veterans.

With that out of the way, I want to walk through a couple of perspectives of “what it means” to be a veteran. The military is something that so few people today experience, fewer still understand, and so remains largely misunderstood. My hope is that it resonates with those that have been there and also shines a light into this world for those that have not.

If nothing else, I hope that by describing those I served with, where they came from, and what they went through you will see the similarities to someone you know. Someone who a generation or two prior would have been drafted and fought in a major war. Someone who, simply by the lottery of their birth year either would have had nothing to do with the military or had their life transformed by it.

For My Parents

For my parents, the military means a feeling of pride. It started from a family tradition of service on both sides — with my father and his father both enlisting during their generation’s war and my mother’s father serving in the Navy. More recently it’s pride in seeing their sons give back to a country they care so much about. A means for their children to get an education that they said was valuable but couldn’t afford to help with. And it was two full years of misery that I can’t even begin to imagine when my brother deployed to Iraq for 6 months, then I went for 12 months, and then he deployed for another 6 months. We literally passed each other on the way in/out and have the photo to prove it:

My Brother

The smarter of the two of us, but in a way that society under-appreciates. Jay has common sense, street smarts, and an ability to connect with people that is amazing to watch — especially because the sum of it breeds a fierce loyalty in those around him that awes me every time I see it. I bring it up because it’s important to understand that guys like him that make up the majority of the military and the fiercely loyal camaraderie it’s known for.

In the human capital-intensive meritocracy of the military, he shone brightly. If I’m remembering correctly, there were not one but two meritorious promotions out of the gate and things went up from there to include graduation from basic recon course and two combat deployments where, above all else, he earned the respect of every Marine with whom he served. For him, the military was the right amount of structure, training, and a leash just long enough to excel; he was what you read about and see in movies when it comes to a small town kid with a work ethic being infused with confidence by the fiery forge of the military.

The above may sound like embellishment or looking back with rose-colored glasses, but it’s not and anybody who has served knows it’s true. As a Marine I met just recently said, “The people I met and worked with in the Marine Corps were some of the best and worst people I’ve ever met in my life.” Jay was one of those that people met and thought was the best.

Marine Corps, you really screwed up by letting that one getaway.

For My Wife

You — and I imagine many a military spouse — had no idea what you were signing up for on so many levels. When I look back I think

Wow. That was one hell of a wild ride for?you.

From my initial ask and your decision to drop everything and move across the country to California when I got stationed at Camp Pendleton, to the shotgun wedding when I got 4 weeks notice for a year-long deployment, to the uncertainty of “where next” when you’re awaiting orders, the crazy “stay in or get out” decision that so heavily impacted our future to the fact that you married the kind of crazed loon that would go into the Marine Corps in the first place. Looking back that decision to become a Marine was an obvious tell that I have a warped sense of risk-tolerance that to this day causes you stress, but I’m glad you didn’t catch it at the time!

The military is inextricably a part of our past and therefore our present. It is full of great memories, tearful goodbyes, angry arguments and friendships born out of shared experiences that continue to survive the test of time and distance.

We were married for 4 years before we finally reached the tipping point of having spent more nights together than apart. That’s crazy to think about and proof that the military is hard on marriages.

You have lived through and agree with the crass but well-worn statement:

the Marine Corps makes a hell of a?mistress

For Me

The military started out as a means to an end. I wanted to go to college and they offered to pay for it if I would just give them 5 years of my life. You need a job when you graduate anyway, so it seemed like a good deal. Seriously.

When I look back one thing that jumps out at me is that I genuinely loved the responsibility of leading Marines. Nothing makes you examine yourself — every thought and action — than being in front of others in a leadership position. Especially when you’re a boot lieutenant. It’s a topic for another post, but I still have yet to understand how a college degree makes you in any way shape or form qualified to be an officer other than the fact that you’re 4 years older and just a tiny bit wiser (or less impulsive and stupid?) than your dumbass 18-year-old self. So even at the naive age of 22 it’s unnerving to step in front of a platoon and shoulder the responsibility of legally being “in charge” when you know damn well you’ve yet to earn their respect. Here’s about 15 seconds of what probably went through my brain those first few times:

Am I properly prepared? Did I say the right thing? Did I do the right thing? Did that come across as it should have? Why is my staff sergeant looking at me like I’ve got a dick growing out of my forehead? What did I just do wrong?!?

The larger military machine and the small, prideful, tough, threadbare front bumper that is the Marine Corps were a love/hate relationship for me on so many levels.

At the junior enlisted level, I loved the way some people (e.g. Cpl Apicella now… Major Apicella!) took to the structure and ladder it offered as a challenge for them to climb over. I loved how once you earned their trust they would run through a wall for you because they knew you cared about them and trusted that if you were asking, then it was absolutely necessary.

On the flipside, I hated how one individual could infect others like a virus with a bad attitude and misbehavior. That the 80/20 rule held very true, so that I spent 80% of my time dealing with personnel issues and disciplining the 20% that weren’t worth the time.

At the senior enlisted level I loved having guys like SSGT Cruz, GYSGT Baxter, MSGT Cadle, MSGT Wentz, MGYSSGT Diaz, GYSGT Duran and SSGT Creek, whose hearts were in the right place, heads were on straight and who loved the work it took to turn a bunch of individuals into a team and accomplish the mission. I loved the experience they brought to the table and the sense of humor they mustered in even the shittiest of circumstances.

I hated how some senior enlisted were so bitter they left a bad taste in your mouth. That some of them were just biding their time to get to 20, but doing it in a flawed system that somehow allowed them to get to senior enough positions that they could cause serious damage with just their attitude. I hated that there was little I or anyone else could do about it because “they were close to retirement.”

I loved the challenge of being a junior officer. Thrown into the water and not even being told to sink or swim — it just being implied. I loved how it pushed you to your limits every day in some way — physically, emotionally, mentally. That every day was something new and you had to thread the needle of whether it was best for you, your platoon sergeant or the whole platoon to do. I loved the level of responsibility you got right out of the gate. My friends from high school were riding a desk at best, while I was responsible for the health and welfare of 30 people and millions of dollars of equipment. It was amazing.

I hated the pain of learning that perception is reality in a leadership position. Being outsmarted by Mustangs who understood the system a hell of a lot better and first made me wonder why officers don’t have to go enlisted first. I hated losing to my Marines in anything, but I still suck at running to this day so it happened a lot more than I care to admit.

I loved how seriously some people took the profession of arms. How they really got the gravity of it and made sure the rest of us understood that it wasn’t just a 9 to 5 job, that it was a deadly serious responsibility; that we were given people’s sons and daughters as the material with which we accomplished our mission, but that to accomplish that very somber mission?requires a level of trust between the individuals in a unit that can only be earned and forged through shared hardship.

I hated how it chewed up human capital at scale and left behind a trail of individually broken bodies, minds, livers, marriages, families and lives. How so many struggled to survive in a system that — in order to be most effective — must ferret out and destroy any signs of weakness, which then works against all those that find themselves less than whole when they get home. How bad the transition is from the military to the civilian world — even though so much work has been done to improve it. How the civilian world thinks that the military is so top down and robotic when in reality it does an amazing job of pushing responsibility and decision making down to the lowest level possible — much better than the average corporation.

I loved the camaraderie that formed when you sweated, cursed, ate, slept, shit and drank next to the same person for months on end. How they were people you would have NEVER crossed paths with if it weren’t for the military but who changed the course of my life (Agur, Kiko, Mike Brown, Justin Luczyk, Matt Beatty and Mohammed are just a few). The way you saw through to the core of who they were based on how they reacted under fire — both figurative and real. I loved the fact that if you were willing to be a sponge you could look around you at any given moment and learn so much about leadership — both good and bad — in any given 10 minutes or 10 feet.

Oh, and I loved the travel…

I’m serious when I say I both loved and hated the military.

Now I’m a veteran who left the military over 14 years ago. Who looks back fondly with rose-colored glasses — especially at how damn good of shape I used to be in! Who cherishes the chance to get together with other veterans, especially those of the same service who truly speak the same dialect. Who wonders what life would have been like if I’d stayed in. Who tries to explain the military to children whose only military experience is a rare drive-by of a base and child-safe funny stories of pranks and the stupid things we did. Who is thankful for the experience, but has mixed emotions about the larger impact our government had on countries our military touched during his time. Who is now a parent and, after reading about the betrayal of public trust that was Vietnam and then watching it happen again with Iraq and Afghanistan, wonders whether he really wants his children to go into that machine. Can it be trusted not to waste the gift of their lives? I also recognize that if everyone has that attitude, then we fail. Someone has to step up.

Above all else, I’m a Veteran who realizes he’s one of the lucky ones that came back.

For Those I Served?With

I miss the good times. When we really knew each other well and laughed and made good memories in the worst of circumstances.

I sometimes think about the bad times and how glad I am that you were there and understand just how shitty it was.

I wish you lived closer and we saw - or even just called - each other more often.

I wish that on really bad days we could hold on to some of that combat perspective in terms of what really matters.

I pray some of you were still with us and others that are had far fewer scars from our service — both emotional and physical.

I hope you and your family are doing well, feel bad about how terrible I am at keeping in touch, and want you to know that I think about our friendship far more often than I write or call.

I salute those of you that are still in. I know yours is not an easy job, but it is rewarding and to that end please know that I am thankful that you’re doing it.

For Those Who Haven’t?Served

Realize that the military-civilian divide is real. In a room of 100 people, on average there are only 7 veterans. Of those 7, we’re far more likely to be economically poor or middle class and minority than the average cross-section of corporate America.

We veterans are probably walking around on veterans day and thinking about our years in the military. About how strange it is that we walk around and nobody even realizes how much the military was a part of our lives. That in so many ways it defines who we are, but on too many days it is accompanied by a profound sense of… loneliness.

As a result of that divide, being a veteran in today’s society carries with it an odd sense of space and strangeness between us and you, because you simply don’t understand what it was like.

It’s not your fault and neither good nor bad, but it is there whether you notice it or not. Much more so than it was 70 years ago after WWII or 40 years ago after Vietnam when large portions of the population served. What’s worse is that most of us veterans have no idea what to do about this gap other than not think too hard about it and hope that we get used to it with time, which it fortunately does for most veterans.

Days like today, though, there’s no avoiding?it.

If you were to ask me what you can do about the divide, I would say do NOT thank a veteran for their service.

Instead, ask them what it was like… show them you care enough to take 5 or 10 minutes out of your day, not just 5 seconds. It will acknowledge the space between us and, more importantly, go a long way toward bridging it because at the end of that 5 or 10 minutes there will be a connection. It may be small, it may be short-lived, but it’s a hell of a lot better than that awkward feeling of space between us. Plus, I guarantee the smile on that veteran’s face after telling a few stories and reminiscing will be a lot bigger than the one you would have gotten from simply saying thank you.

Thanks ahead of time for taking the time to talk with a veteran this Veteran's Day.

Please feel free to share if you think it could help someone out — veteran or not.