I Do Not Need a Sticker to Say Thanks

It’s Memorial Day weekend, a time many of us are thankful for a 3-day weekend. Parades, barbeques, friends and family…reunions, even.

Even though I don’t have any holiday plans, I hope each of you has a great weekend. And I hope you remember what this day of remembrance is supposed to be about: the people that have died in service of their country. People that made it possible for you and me to enjoy the day-to-day of our lives. I will admit I’m not thankful often enough, mostly because lately it seems I’m enjoying more drudgery and depression than living. But I am appreciative of all those fallen soldiers.

One of my pet peeves is bumper stickers on cars. Growing up, they were cool, and I loved putting a new sticker on our car to proudly show our allegiance to Disney World after a visit, or even South of the Border. As an adult, I find bumper stickers tacky as shit, even if there is the occasional one that makes me chuckle.

When I see one of those seemingly ubiquitous yellow ribbon stickers that say “Support Our Troops,” it kinda skeeves me out. Mostly because I imagine that, if there’s a need for a sticker to state your support, there’s an *opposite* sticker on some oaf’s car: “Do NOT Support Our Troops!” It’s akin to needing stickers that say “Support Breathing and Blinking!” Who DOESN’T support breathing? And what kind of person doesn’t support our servicemen and servicewomen?

It’s just sad (and unnecessary) to me that we need stickers/ribbons to remind people to support the troops. No matter what your stance – whether you believe we should be militarily involved in Afghanistan or Iraq (or wherever) – you should still support our active-duty men and women.

My father and stepfather both served our country for a time. So did my grandfather and step-grandfather. My brother and I, too. In fact, my bro and I served during the first Gulf War. I never saw combat (thank God), but lived in England and worked a lot of long shifts to support the men and women that were in Iraq at the time.

I’ve had people thank me over the years for serving our country. I’ve learned to graciously say “Thank you,” but the truth is that I joined the military for purely selfish reasons. I was 19 when I signed up, had a wife (and twins on the way), and knew I could get my education on Uncle Sam’s dime.

As it turns out, I couldn’t afford the $100 monthly payment into the G.I. Bill (did I mention the twins?) so that education fund never materialized for me. I was an Airman First Class, barely pulling in $800 a month to support my family. And much as some people may think the military gets a free ride – so many have proclaimed jealousy over free groceries (which is not a privilege military members enjoy) – I can assure you the free ride doesn’t exist. For the first few years my girls were alive, my (then) wife and I were eligible for food stamps and WIC…a sad state of affairs for anyone, let alone someone serving their country. I recall one week my ex-wife and I had only $30 to our name to last us a week. $25 of that went to a case of baby formula, and the other $5 went to the meals for my ex and I: nothing but peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches for the next week. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Believe me, I would have LOVED free food back then.

Me in basic training, circa 1987

My military service was a blessing and a curse for me. Some of my happiest and unhappiest moments came during my Air Force days. My military time saw both the beginning (happy) days of my marriage, and the end (depression and desperation) of it, too. I enjoyed the traveling, lived in Mississippi, England, and Texas during my stint. At the end, while stationed in San Antonio, I left on my own terms.

I’m proud of my service now, glad I did it. I think most people could benefit from some time in the military.

I’m thankful for the men and women that died for my country, whether it be during the Revolutionary War, World War I, Vietnam, or yesterday.

And I don’t need a fucking sticker on my car to say I’m proud of the troops.