The Forgotten Heroes

The lights dimmed as we sunk into the cushiony chairs. Only minutes before I had been perfectly positioned in my prime viewing location. That was before the lady asked me to move over one seat...and then three more.

 "Sure. No problem," I responded. I hoped she couldn't see that I was actually a little perturbed, even though the rational me knew that it was the right thing to do. My unobstructed view was gone, but "whatever"... I was resting my tired feet after three days of walking around New Orleans.

As the lights dimmed, she leaned over to me and whispered, "Thanks. I'm with Wounded Warriors, and I'm not sure this crew is gonna make it to the end. Have you heard about the movie?"

"Only that everyone says it's amazing."

"Okay. Then I won't ruin it for you."

I gulp. What have I gotten myself into?? We're about to sit through "Beyond Boundaries" in 4D at the National World War II Museum. That fourth dimension is what makes it so powerful and startlingly realistic. With Tom Hanks and a slew of other familiar voices narrating, we are given a play-by-play of my grandparents' war. When the tanks thunder across the screen, our chairs vibrate.  At Christmastime, snow gently flutters down on us from the rafters of the theater. We are inside the jungles of Japan, and the factories of America. It is phenomenal. And heartbreaking. We see the Western Union telegrams delivering the news that no wife or mother ever wants to hear. Tears rolling down our face, the woman turns to me, "It's beginning," she sadly states, and nods toward the young girl sitting next to her.

Yes, I said young girl. She appears to be in her 20s, African American, with a perfectly styled pixie-cut and large dangly earrings that swing back and forth as she crumples under the weight of it all. Her jacket is drawn up to her face. Whether she is hiding from the images or trying to hide her emotions, I'll never really know. Probably a little of each. Her escort asks if she wants to leave, and up and away they go.

The movie continues, and I know that "the bombs" are going to be dropped soon. The woman to my left whispers conspiratorially, "Look at him. He can't stop moving." Sure enough the young man several seats to my left is in constant motion. He's drumming his fingers on his knees as if to will his legs to stay put. Then his feet join in the rhythm. He taps his heels on the floor, alternating...LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT. He looks like any other twenty-something. An attractive white guy in a ballcap, he resembles the boy-next-door. My newfound movie buddy excuses herself, goes to him, and wraps an arm around his shoulder.  Finally, it is too much. As a former pilot describes the scent of burning flesh after dropping a bomb, he is gone.

I expected to see veterans at the World War II Museum, but not these kind. Fresh off the battlefield, scarred with so many unseen wounds. My heart ached for their lost innocence . On the screen, I watched the tickertape parades as the troops came home. Where were these soldiers' tickertape parades? Visiting the museum, I was awed by the ways in which our entire country came together to triumph over seemingly insurmountable odds. The work ethic and dedication of the men, women, and children of that era rightfully earned them the title "Greatest Generation." However, I believe that there are some pretty GREAT people in this generation, as well. So, on this Veteran's Day, I vow to remember and thank not only those who bravely served our country 70 years ago, but also those who are risking their lives TODAY on the battlefields of the world, to protect our freedoms and continue the fight for "justice for all." Their sacrifice and loss is no less than that of the Greatest Generation. Today, these Forgotten Heroes shall be remembered by at least one more wife and mother who is eternally grateful for their service.