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SALT LAKE CITY — I thought that I understood all about the bonds that men share. I have coached young men all of my adult life, and male bonding is not new to me.
Athletic teammates at all levels, from Little League though college, share a strong bond, stronger the more they play together. Some of my best friends are, to this day, the men I shared my experiences as a swimmer in high school and college with. There is something more, something beyond, something that I will never completely understand for those who have the shared experience of combat.
I have read all the books, from Crane’s “Red Badge of Courage” and Remarque‘s “All Quiet on the Western Front” to Uris’ “Battle Cry.” I have seen films from the John Wayne movies of the ’40s and ’50s to the current Clint Eastwood produced films like “Flags of our Fathers.” I still don’t really understand the bond of combat veterans. Every author and filmmaker working with the subject of combat tries to get a grip on this relationship.
My son is a recently returned Afghanistan veteran, having served as a corpsman with a Marine reserve unit. We have talked about his combat experience, and I have tried to understand. I simply don’t have the frame of reference to “get it.” But I did get a lesson not long ago.
When he finished, he did tell me I wouldn't get it. When I asked why, he said it was like being a father, until you have done it you don't and can't really understand.
My son and I were walking into a store. An older gentleman wearing a Marine Corps baseball cap with a Vietnam veterans pin was at the entrance soliciting donations for a veterans organization. The two locked eyes and said something to one another in what was almost a foreign language. They then hugged warmly. My son told me to go ahead and get what I needed and pick him up when I finished.
Again, I was intrigued. I stood inside the store and watched the two men through the window for a few minutes before I went on with my shopping. The facial expressions and body language was that of two old friends meeting. I must admit to a certain amount of jealousy. Here was a man neither my boy nor I had ever met, sharing a connection with my oldest son that I would never have.
On the ride home, I asked about his new acquaintance. He told me he was a gunny who had served two tours in Vietnam in the late ’60s. He smiled the rest of the day. I could tell that two men whose service was separated by 40 years and three continents had lightened one another’s load in the 45 minutes they spent together.
I called a friend, a Vietnam veteran who went through the Tet offensive, to get a bit of perspective for myself. I asked him about the experience. He had no problem talking about it, saying it was the most intense experience of his life. However, when he finished, he did tell me I wouldn’t get it. When I asked why, he said it was like being a father, until you have done it you don’t and can’t really understand.
Organizations like the VFW and the American Legion make a great deal more sense to me now than they did before. Anyone who has worn the uniform shares a connection that comes from service. A very special sub-set of that group is those who have gone in harm’s way in the service of their country. This is an exclusive club with only one way to join.
I am truly grateful for all who have worn the uniform and even more grateful to those who have worn it into combat. And I have a father’s pride in a son who did so. But somewhere in the back of my heart is a bit of envy for his connection to a group of heroes that I can never share.
Guy Bliesner is a longtime educator, having taught and coached tennis and swimming. He is school safety and security administrator for the Bonneville School District in Idaho Falls, Idaho. He has been married for 26 years and has three children.
