The Vet

“You used to work in the school system? Follow me, let me show you why I could never work in a school.”

John and I had been sitting at his kitchen table for some time. When I arrived to his house, he greeted me at his front door, wearing his United States Marine Corps hat (and by hat, of course, I mean barracks cover). This was not a baseball cap bought as a souvenir or to show support of the armed forces. Those are all fine and good, but John’s was his actual USMC issued cover from his days in the service.

I was selling to a 73-year old retired Marine who put in his full term of service. He was a stout man with a solid build. I would not have guessed him a day over 60-years old.

As I followed him - curiously, nervous - but as I was ordered, we approached his guest bedroom.

The second I entered it became obvious John was a Vietnam Veteran. This was no guest room. Sure, it had a bed in it, but this was a War Room. A walk-in trophy case. A museum of history. John’s history.

As I stood admiring his military service and the amount of history surrounding me, I could not help but think there was no sleeping in this room, not with the amount of ghosts haunting its walls.

John had a frame at least three-feet by three-feet filled with medals, honoring his actions in duty over the course of his career - one of which was a Purple Heart.

He had commandeered all kinds of trophies during his time in the service. He joined the Marines when he was court-ordered by a judge at the age of 18. His service started in 1963. He served through the entirety of the Vietnam War.

When we first entered, I was in awe of the amount of history he had covering all four walls of the room. It was so overwhelming, I thought I heard him say one of the framed flags was from when he was captured.

“You were a POW?”

“No.” He laughed. “I’m a marine. We don’t get captured. I captured this flag.”

John also “captured” quite a few other items from enemy soldiers. It was clear, without him saying it aloud, these came at a grave cost to those soldiers. The way John cared for his memorabilia was an honor to both his service and theirs.

I have never served in the military, but my grandfather served in the Marines. He served during World War II and was stationed in the South Pacific. He passed when I was eight-years old. I do not know a lot about his service, but I have a great deal of respect for him, my friends, and anyone else who has served, is serving, or plans to serve our great country. It is an amazing sacrifice soldiers and their families make.

As I followed John back to the kitchen, he continued, “You see all that in there. There is no way I could work in a school. I am a lot calmer now then I was then, but I wouldn’t trust myself to hold back if I had to deal with some of these kids nowadays. I can be calm and patient, but I have a feeling something would eventually cause me to lose my temper.”

“I hear you John. I have not been cursed out by anyone since I stopped working in the school house. It is a nice feeling.”

“Well, it all starts with the parents. I was not a good kid by any means. My father got drunk and beat me. I picked fights all the time with other kids. I was a troublemaker and that is how I ended-up in the marines. The judge told me it was join-up or go to jail, so I joined.

“But, parents today do not seem to want to parent. They want to be friends. They do not want to upset their children, and they let them walk all over them and act terribly.

“The other day, I was in the grocery store and this little nine or ten-year old boy was acting terribly to his mother. The mother just did nothing.

So, I am standing there, trying to get some produce, or whatever it was, and eventually, I said to the woman: ‘Ma’am, if you’d like me to, I’d be glad to take your son and paddle him for you, with your permission, of course.’

“Well, the boy stopped acting like a fool and hid behind his mother until I was gone.”