Dog Tags in Hand

Yes, it’s that time of year when I get a little nostalgic. The time of year when Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Veterans Day all come within a few months of each other. It’s as if I have a sense of standing for those who have gone before us and those who are currently serving this country. I find myself frustrated if I attend a service on these days that doesn’t focus on America and all that goes along with freedom and sacrifice. My husband and I have walked out of meetings when the focus has been on life as usual during these times, when the recognition and honor should have been placed on the American spirit and those who fight and sacrifice to defend it.

I used to only put out my little flags in my flower pots and around the outside of the yard on these holidays. Now, I change them out most of the year. The big flag still flies on our front porch at sunrise until sunset, and I am proud to know that all who pass our corner house each day see it and recognize we take pride in displaying it.

Having been a military spouse most of my married life, I’m getting into a panic right now. We are just about to go into our eighth year of living in one place. My first thought is that I might actually have to clean cobwebs or baseboards or shutters or windows. I’m used to leaving that to the two -to four-year period of getting the cleaning done for clearance of quarters. I also cannot imagine what critters have embedded themselves in the attic boxes that haven’t been touched for nearly eight years.

So, I began to set my sights on deep cleaning and rearranging. I began by cleaning out some drawers. I found the baby things I’m keeping for grandchildren some day, and as I opened the cedar chest to lay them inside, something caught my eye. It was a rusty chain with two rusty dog tags on it.

I read the inscription and saw that my dad’s name, his social security number, and his mother and father’s names and address (my grandparents) were engraved into the metal. I held them close to my chest and sobbed. I put them around my neck and wondered, where had he been when he wore these? Did he feel lonely, frightened, or sad? Was he writing one of his beautiful love letters to my mom while serving in Cuba, or was he sitting back with a smoke and joking with his buddies?

These dog tags reminded me of why I feel so defensive during times of patriotic holidays. My father and my husband served a country they deeply loved, one they believed honored freedom and all that goes with it. Their love of God and country went hand-in-hand as they served to allow others to live in freedom and the entrepreneurial spirit. They believed—and still do—in a country that stands for something so it will not fall for anything.

I am displaying these dog tags as a constant reminder to never become complacent on behalf of America. I want to always be proud to be an American in a land established on God’s truth for our country, established by our founding fathers and intended to be the foundation of who we are.

As I close with dog tags in hand, I once again say, “Thank you for your service, military families! You make us continually proud to be Americans, and we stand together with you every day in thought and in prayer as you serve this great land!”