Thank You For Service

In the last presidential election, where national security was a major issue, millions who were eligible to vote for the first time were 11 or 12 years old when the 9/11 attacks took place. The oldest of the so-called “young voter” bloc (defined as 18 to 29), representing about 16 percent of the electorate, were just out of their teens.

Some of them, whether pre-teens or post-teens were stunned, angry or frightened. Like their parents, teachers and neighbors. Some may have been traumatized or worse, like a friend of my daughter’s who was killed in the attack on the Pentagon. Or the survivors of police and firefighters and other first responders who ran INTO the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon, some several times, and never came out.

But for many of the then-kids, who were, after all, teenagers, it must seem now like a very remote event. Since that happened they’ve been bombarded with nightly TV clips of wars, terrorist attacks, even piracy on the high seas. And many have spent a lot of time playing video games. So the meaning of 9/11 may be lost on some of them.

Most everybody of a certain age has their special memories of 9/11. Where we were, what we thought, how we reacted. How we still feel. You will see, hear and read a lot of that today.

Like here:

One of my sons was at the Pentagon that day (catching a bus on the other side.) Another was at Dulles airport where the hijacked airplane originated. A good friend was scheduled to take that LA bound flight on the 11th but, due to the press of business, left on the same flight on the 10th. The day before. I knew people in the Pentagon who were injured.

But one of my most important 9/11 memories came a couple of years after the fact. I’m at National Airport with my daughter and her two children (8 and 5 at the time). We were having lunch at TGIFriday’s. At the next table was a mirror image foursome (grandfather, daughter and two kids), and one table over from them were four young men. Three in uniform. The other with the familiar white-wall haircut of the military.

They were talking, having fun. One of them made a spiral motion with his hands showing how a military airplane takes evasive action when it lands in dangerous territory. I knew where he’d been, or was going. Maybe for a second tour.

When the server brought the check, the soldiers started settling up. One had a rather stricken look on his face.

Meanwhile, the older guy at the next table had gotten up quickly and went to the restaurant manager. They huddled. I found out later the duffer had asked the manager if they had gift certificates for the restaurant (yes), what the soldiers bill was (he was told) and that he bought a gift certificate large enough to cover their tab with a 20 percent tip.

He went back to his table. The soldiers were still digging for dollars. Soldiers don’t get paid very much. Especially young ones!

The man gave his granddaughter the gift certificate and headed out the restaurant. As the little girl passed by their table she stopped, handed the envelope (with the gift certificate) to the four young soldiers and said “Thank you for your service.” The little boy then saluted them. All four saluted back. Not proper procedure (they were indoors, uncovered and the 5 year old wasn’t an officer). But it worked.

I wish I had thought to do that. But he beat me too it. That time.

But that’ll never happen again.

Nearly Useless Factoid
by Suzanne Kubota

Spain’s national anthem has no lyrics.

To reach me: mcausey@federalnewsradio.com

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