Sarah Kanning

Today is Veteran’s Day, and so I’m thinking of something I often think about: the idea of giving one’s life as the “ultimate sacrifice.” I’m not going to argue here that it isn’t, but there is another ultimate sacrifice we ask of people who serve in our nation’s military: taking the lives of others.

People have been killing each other for a long time, so it’s hard to call it unnatural; but one bit of received wisdom in military training is just how hard it is to get people to shoot other people.

My Uncle Dick served in World War II; I remember the dusty glass box of medals he kept in his den and never talked about, although I seem to remember some family rumor that he fought in at least one of the more bloody battles on the European front. The story he told me is how when he got back he discovered that his fiance had jilted him, but then he met my Aunt Lois, so that worked out all right. Sixty years later, the story still made my Aunt Lois roll her eyes and take on an uncharacteristically uncharitable expression.

My Uncle Allen served in the Korean War (aka Police Action), manning a 50mm gun with his cousin Alfred. They enlisted together, figuring it was better to stick together than be drafted separately. The story he told me was about the first day of boot camp, when the drill sergeant called out, “Schindler, A.!” and Alfred stepped forward and said “Here!” Then the sergeant looked at his list again, did a double-take, and shouted out, “Schindler, A.!” and Allen stepped forward and said, “Here!” They were immediately pegged for wise guys. What my uncle tells my mother, though, is this: “You weren’t there. You don’t know, you couldn’t know what it’s like.” He is still very angry, and haunted by what he saw and had to do there.

My father started high school at Concordia the private Lutheran high school that everyone else in his family had attended and graduated from. At the time, Concordia required male students to be in ROTC for at least one semester, but my dad thought that was stupid, so he didn’t do it. Finally during his senior year the school told him he’d have to if he expected to graduate…so he transferred to Central High School, where he graduated.

And was promptly drafted into the Army. It was the tail end of Korea, so instead of being sent there, after basic training my dad was shipped off to Germany where he drove a staff car for his tour of duty, chauffeuring around generals and such. He never talked about it, never kept in touch with anybody from his army days, and I’m not sure I ever would have known he served at all if I hadn’t come across his dog tags one time while I was rummaging in a drawer, looking at old pictures. I used to joke about what a bad soldier my dad would have made; he was the opposite of a warrior; he was good at making peace and listening to people. He was a soft touch.

My father served, but he was never asked to make that other ultimate sacrifice, so I’ve had the luxury of thinking that he never would have been able to take a human life. I know now, though, that just like all those other guys, he would have done it if he’d had to, and would have come back changed, too. Dad was not morally superior to those guys, he was just lucky.

But I’m thinking about Dad and his peace-making ways today. I’m hoping that the man we have just elected to the highest office of the United States will lose no time in beginning the difficult work of making peace, and leading our country back to the point where it is truly the last resort to ask our fellow citizens, our parents, siblings, children and friends to bear such tremendous sacrifices.