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He's A Veteran

A boy went away
and came back a man.
You used to know him, but he's changed somehow.
He's a Veteran, and he's proud.
Some nights, he sleeps all night.
Other nights, he doesn't sleep at all.
He may be back in a foxhole,
or at 40,000 feet, or behind enemy lines.
Berlin, Inchon, Saigon, Beirut, Kuwait.
The times and places change but the story is the same.
The screams of the wounded, the nearness of death,
the feeling of trusting his life in the hands of a buddy,
and loving him closer than a brother.
Don't say you understand him.
You don't.
You can't.
You never will.
You weren't there.
He was, and all alone, a million miles from home.
He searched every face he met on the street
looking for someone from home.
He still does it, now looking for someone who was there.
He's not hard to pick out from a crowd.
He's a Veteran, and he's proud.
Just look around when Old Glory passes by.
His back will be ramrod straight,
and there may be a tear in his eye.
When a low flying jet screams over head,
he'll be the one with goose bumps on his arms, and when he thinks nobody's looking,
he might even snap a salute.
He catches himself standing up in a theater,
expecting to hear the Star Spangled Banner.
He's a Veteran, and he's proud.
Proud of his nation, proud of his service,
with a seething, rabid hate for communism and
all forms of oppression, and a love for his country
that cannot be measured, even by him.
If he feels like talking about it, then please take time to listen.
He desperately needs you to listen.
Don't say you understand him.
You don't.
You can't.
You never will. You weren't there.
If he doesn't feel like talking, then leave him alone.
You might find out something you didn't want to know.
But he'll probably just turn away--forever.
In spite of all her faults, he still thinks
that America is the greatest place on earth.
He's a Veteran, and he's proud.
And he's right.

Jack A. Hunt