When I was living in Scotland almost 30 years ago, I attended a Methodist Church in Edinburgh. The pastor was a kindly man who was unusually good at connecting with young people. Something I appreciated.
He was also, and this was hard to miss, somewhat, if not considerably overweight. He clearly liked to eat and drink. All types of food, a good pint whenever it was appropriate, and as member of the congregation used to say, no cookie or brownie was safe when Reverend McP herson was around.
That’s why my experience on what’s called Remembrance Sunday made a profound impression on me. Remembrance Sunday is recognized by churches in Britain on the Sunday closest to November 11th. It’s a solemn event, one that in Britain, like we do in the United States, remembers our veterans. It’s also not uncommon for older veterans, mostly those from World War II, to wear their medals.
On that particular Sunday, Reverend McPherson, with his extra sized clerical robes, to my considerable surprise was wearing a military medal on a blue ribbon around h is neck. I remember being startled by that. It was difficult to imagine this kindly Scottish minister ever being in the military, but I was completely unprepared for what I heard next.
At the coffee following the service, I rather indiscreetly asked him about his decoration. My question was a little brash, particularly given the reserved nature of the British, but then again, I was 20 years old and wanted to know.
Reverend McPherson smiled gently, and said, touching the medal as he spoke, that it was called the Victoria Cross. Even at such a young age, and not being British, I still understood the gravity of what he had just said. The Victoria Cross is the equivalent of our Medal of Honor.
I didn’t ask any more questions, but one of the one of the other parishioners later told me that that it was for his service in North Africa when he led a daring attack on a German position. That was all I ever found out, but it began to occur to me, how easy it is to forget that veterans are just average people. Reverend McPherson, by his appearance and manner, didn’t immediately convey the image of a military hero, but he was.
Reverend McPherson is the kind of person we recognize on Veterans Day. Most didn’t win a medal, but in the military, one of the highest forms of praise, is simply to say, “…they did their jobs.” These are the kind of people we celebrate on Veterans Day.
Most of them, by every reasonable standard, whether it’s a veteran from World War II, Korea, Vietnam, or those who have seen service in Afghanistan or Iraq seem completely average. They have families, Mom’s and Dads, wives, husbands, and children. They hold down jobs, they’re retired, they have financial worries, and they have ambitions. But at some point in their life they served their country during dangerous times.
These average men and women, our neighbors, family members, friends, coworkers and teachers, gave part of their lives, so that we could have our future. It’s that simple. So when I think about what it means to be a veteran, I think about Reverend McPherson.
That very big man, so gifted at what he did, who a long time ago, put his life in harm’s way for his country and the cause of freedom. He didn’t expect a thank you. That wouldn’t have been in his nature. And indeed, most veterans don’t expect or want any special thank you. But, they should get one anyway.
Examiner contributor David S. Kerr lives in Alexandria.
