A Veteran’s Day Story

“I pledge allegiance to the flag…”

It’s inevitable. Sometime in the 180 school days, as those first six words are recited, a kid in my class will sneak a text, or just passively rise to his feet, a smirk plastered across his face. I once fumed, demanding respect for the Stars and Stripes, but now I just tell a story.

Spiritists say an aura is a mystical sort of field that surrounds a person and announces their presence. Now, I’d normally say that’s a bunch of hooey except that when Mr. Rudy Latta, my wife’s grandfather, entered the house, honor filled the air like somebody had just spilt a bottle of cologne, an honor that old cotton farmers fromMissouriaren’t just born with. You couldn’t help it, you just wanted to stand until he sat, or even offer him your seat. He never demanded it and often would wave us off saying he was fine.

That presence, that influence, only resonates through extreme personal sacrifice—an act of valor—evidenced by his metal brace and limp. Mr. Latta answered his country’s call after Pearl Harbor burned and eventually the sharp-shooter slugged through the mud and mountains ofGuadalcanal. A grenade ended his tour and sent him to a field surgeon’s table where he traded the shrapnel for a lack of anesthetic and a gaggle of pain. Yet, he never whined, never blamed his country for robbing the time to hold his baby daughter, forcing an awkward reintroduction when home. That grenade stole his ability to run or walk without the assistance of two rods strapped to his knee and ankle, which clicked at every step. He bemoaned the aches and pains, but never spoke ill of the land he defended.

Today, it’s fashionable to complain about theUSA, in vogue to protest Old Glory. College professors drill classes on the shame ofAmerica, and some students have even voted to remove the flag from their campuses, touting it as a “microaggression.”

Is it any wonder a middle schooler may take freedom for granted? Are we shocked when kids treat flippantly that moment of pause? At their age, I feasted on biographies of Patton or Washington or Alvin C. York; I couldn’t get enough of G.I.Joe comics. Yet today, I see kids obsessed with celebrities, stars who grandstand disappointment toward the “Land of the Free.” Yet, when my students hear of Mr. Latta, they stand a little taller, a little faster, and place that hand over their heart and repeat the pledge with pride.

We have stories among us, living epics, men and women scarred from the ravages of this decade’s war, yet clouding rooms with their regality. Their stories need telling, if anything for the sake of our youth. For how else are they going to see honor? How can they see this place is worth fighting for unless they hear from the warriors who have done it? It just might be the best schooling of their lives.

By Blue Ribbon News guest columnist Scott Gill of Rockwall, a teacher, coach and author of Goliath Catfish. Follow Scott’s blog at scotttgill.tumblr.com and read all of his “Front Porch Ramblings” at BlueRibbonNews.com.