Every meme on Facebook today thanks veterans for their service.  I scroll through the news feed on my phone while waiting for my legs to get used to being awake so that I can stand.  I contemplate my friends.  Do I know any veterans?  I came of age in the Vietnam era amongst a bunch of conscientious objectors, so possibly not.  Some, though, I’m sure.

This rumination inevitably leads me to my father, who served in Burma (yes, NPR, I know it’s called Myanmar now).  I’m sleeping in the guest room during the upstairs renovation, so when I do rise and stumble through the door, I see my father’s shadow box of war memorabilia just outside the door.  I stand and contemplate these symbols of service before raising my cell phone to take a picture.

My Dad was what you’d call a real son of a bitch.  He drank too much, beat his wife and his kids, and brought no money to the household coffers.  In his last decade, he earned some measure of redemption by excelling at grandfathering.  The grandkids who knew him have fond memories of Grandpa Sport.  My dad really came through for them.

What I know about my father explains a lot in retrospect.  He judged his worth by his Army service, and he never felt worthwhile afterwards.  He told stories, showed pictures,  and paged through his copy of The Marsmen of Burma with endless longing.  His sorrow does not justify his later conduct nor truly explain his behavior, but what I know of feeling lost helps me forgive him.  He yearned for that sense of belonging and never found it.

And something else:   I know enough of trauma to understand that my father experienced life-changing events under fire that shaped the sad decades which followed.  While it’s doubtless true that my father could have made different choices, it’s also true that World War II veterans did not get much help for the emotional aftermath of war.  So it’s not as simple as it might seem.  Yes, my dad was a real son of a bitch, but he also doubtless suffered from what we would now call Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and some measure of his behavior can be understood and even forgiven.

I’ve heard that some veterans do not like the phrase, “Thank you for your service”.  But my father did.  And so, I say that to him now.  “Private Richard Adrian Corley, we thank you for your service to the United States of America in the Burma theatre, World War II.  You did well.  You served your nation faithfully and without complaint.  We honor you today.  Rest well, soldier.”