Giving honor to whom honor is due

Today I had the privilege of honoring my dad with a brick in the courtyard of the Warren County courthouse here in Bowling Green, Kentucky. I posted a picture of the brick on my Facebook page and mentioned I feel my dad is a real life American hero! Heroes today are not ballplayers that can hit a baseball 500 feet or throw 40 touchdowns in a season. Heroes today are not men who can dunk a basketball to win an NCAA or NBA title. Heroes are certainly not movie stars who might “play the part” of a hero in a movie. No, our real life American heroes are those men and women who bravely volunteer to serve their country and protect humanities freedoms here and abroad. In the case of Vietnam and previous wars before that men and women didn’t “volunteer” only, many were drafted to serve. I have seen the pictures from when WWI and WWII veterans returned, how Americans celebrated in the streets as well they should have. But I have watched 1^st hand, not as closely as men like my dad, but close nonetheless, as Vietnam veterans returned home and never were given the thanks they were due from what should have been a grateful nation.

It reminds me of a story I read from years ago … a sports story. Babe Ruth had hit 714 home runs during his baseball career and was playing one of his last full major league games before retirement. It was the Braves versus the Reds in Cincinnati. Babe Ruth was no longer as agile as he had once been, though he never ever was known to be fleet of foot. One inning he fumbled the ball hit to him then threw wildly, and in that one inning alone his errors were responsible for most of the five runs scored by Cincinnati that day. As the Babe walked off the field after the third out and headed toward the dugout, a crescendo of yelling and booing reached his ears. Just then a boy jumped over the railing onto the playing field. With tears streaming down his face, he threw his arms around the legs of his hero. Ruth didn’t hesitate for one second. He picked up the boy, hugged him, and set him down on his feet, patting his head gently. The noise from the stands came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly there was no more booing. In fact, hush fell over the entire park. In those brief moments, the fans saw two heroes: Ruth, who in spite of his dismal day on the field could still care about a little boy; and the small lad, who cared about the feelings of another human being. Both had melted the hearts of the crowd.

I tell this story not to be one of the “heroes” of this day; I’m not worthy of that honor. But rather to say that like the Babe on that fateful day, many booed and jeered the Vietnam veterans as they returned and I did not understand that as a little boy whose dad went not once or twice but four times fighting for the freedom of a people ½ way around the world. But while these brave men and women returned to a chorus of jeers from those they served, I will always be the child who grabs hold of the leg of his father with great pride and says, “Dad, you are a hero in my book no matter what those in the crowd may say! The war you fought it was not a game and you did not go once reluctantly but four times willingly. Thank you dad … maybe not from a grateful nation, but definitely from a proud son!”