My Daughter Made A WWII Veteran Cry
She was five years old, just about to turn six and she made a World War II Veteran Cry. She didnt mean to do it.
In Washington D.C., there is a monument built largely with private funds. Its not as tall as many of the monuments, its not as audacious as those erected for past presidents and founders of our country. Its really sort of a simple monument, the Monument for WW II Veterans in Washington D.C.,. Thats where it happened.
My Daughter had been on the mall with me and my wife, she played, walked through the congressional hallways and contemplated the height and meaning of the Washington Monument. She still believes in her Nation and her flag. Forgive us for being sentimentalwere old. Thats her, on a warm day, in little girl clothes, looking up at the tower we built to honor General Washington. Then, we walked to the World War II Monument.
When we arrived at the Memorial, there were families walking about it. The wind was blowing softly and the day was unusually mild for D.C. Then the bus arrived.
World War II may be unique among wars in which our country has fought. The young men and women who fought it are no more brave or good than the young men and women who fought in any of our wars. But, the scope of the war was unique: the entire world was truly at risk of being run over by a man who believed in the supreme power of the science of his day; in Hitlers twisted mind helike, Stalin, the man with whom he pad partnered before he betrayed himread in Eugenics, the great science of his time, that there we grades of human beings, some races ahead of others. Some races of human beings were so far behind, indicated the science of Eugenics, that Hitler and Stalin would be doing the world a favor by wiping out men and women and children and little babies even little girls who stare at the sky and see in it possibilities for love and hope and happiness. Mad men are not uniqueSaddam Hussein was a mad man, Mao was insanebut the world had allowed a stink-breathed psychopath named Adolph to roll over human beings and, because of appeasement, the risk of his winning half the world was real.
Then our boys and girls got into the battle.
The bus I mentioned unloaded old men, some women, but mostly old men. They leaned on canes, they rode in wheel chairs, a few walked, but they were in the minority. Even in the warm weather they wore coats and hats. My daughter gripped my hand and asked me, Daddy, is that man in the wheel chair a soldier? I told her he was. What is the jewelry on his shirt and hat? I told her they were medals and what they meant and what he had probably seen and done to rescue the world from pure evil.
Is he a hero?
Why dont you go ask him?
She released my hand and walked over to the old soldierthe WWII VeteranI followed, but not too close. This was her moment with this man, with this history.
Hi.
The man smiled at her. Hello there, he said.
She pointed at his medals: my Daddy says you are a soldier.
The man looked up at me and I smiled. He looked back at my Daughter.
I was, yes, I was. He took my Daughters hand and patter her head.
Are you a hero?
How do you answer that? My dear friends who have served in Iraq and AfghanistanBryan, Kelly, Ben, David, Dennis, Mark, Sonia and many moretell me that they dont feel heroic, they just did their jobs. But, how do you answer a little girl, her eyes filled with admiration and a sense that youthe old man in the wheel chairare something more than a guy who did a job?
Thats when he cried and, with all the might he could muster, picked her up and set her on his knee. She touched his ball cap filled with emblems. Little one, the man spoke, I am not a hero, I am just an old soldier these men he sobbed a little and rubbed her back and then looked at her again, my friends were heroes and soldiers and I came here for them.
My Daughter looked into this mans eyes and did something only a little one would ever do. She put her finger inside her sleeve and she wiped the mans cheeks.
He laughed and I walked over.
She got down and said, he says he is not a hero, but his friends are.
What do you say to that? To your little girl with the tears of an old soldier on her bright pink and white sleeve? You know what you dont do? You dont ruin the moment snapping pictures, you absorb it into your being.
I looked the old soldier in his green eyes and said, Honey thats what true heroes always say and we just have to tell them thank you.
The old man nodded and mouthed thank you.
Thank you to everyone who served and to everyone who died serving. We hold you in our prayers. We offer our sleeves, we offer our hearts, we thank you for the safety in which our children will sleep tonight.
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Wonderful story, Dave. Thank you through the tears.
Happy Independence Day!!