Remembering

There are few interviews that surprise me anymore.

I have been doing this job for a long time and I have seen my share of stories that will remain branded in my brain for the rest of my days.

But last week's interview with Capt. Greg Cole would be one of the most jaw-dropping I have had over the years.

Volunteering to go over to Iraq to bring lost soldiers home was a noble cause no question, an amazing sacrifice of family time and home time that is for many of us startling.

More amazing, though, was the willingness, the desire to serve. Our country, that flag, that anthem sung before ball games, the liberty and freedom to express our opinions pretty much as we please.

Maybe amazing isn't the word, better to use grateful.

Because it is the Greg Coles, the Robert Ramseys, the Buck Watfords coaching baseball just weeks removed from his third tour of Iraq, and their brethren who did not come back or were never the same, those are the folks who deserve some thoughtful reflection this weekend.

This will be the official start of summer season, a newly-restored beach beckoning on the peninsula, the waters of the bay rustling a siren's call.

This is a time of barbecues and baseball, of three-day weekends for those so fortunate, for three days of hectic activity for others.

This will be a weekend of motoring, of biking, of walking, of enjoying Mother Nature in what is surely her most glorious.

But save some time for those who have provided their very lives, their blood, time with their family and those barbecues and walks on the beach, so that the many may enjoy.

Often out of my mouth is that any politician is worthy of respect simply for putting his name on the ballot, hoping on the flip side that more would exercise the fundamental freedom we all enjoy - the right to vote and make it count.

That respect, though, pales next to that for those who have donned uniform and made the ultimate sacrifice to that those politicians can put their names on a ballot; that we can, if we so wish because the state has made it abundantly easy, cast a vote on that ballot.

We have made a cliché about somebody who we would want in a foxhole with us, rendering meaningless the life and death line that is underlined in such a statement.

We talk about throwing verbal grenades, about putting somebody in the firing line, about flying under the radar and we forget the underlying life-altering actions that are at root in such everyday life language.

Hundreds of motorcyclists escorted a wall recently because of what it symbolizes, the sacrifices made by those who answered a call. Hundreds lined their route to join in that communion.

A sea of red, white and blue, of young children just wanting to touch, to see, was at one with the message these Patriot Riders were sending, "We have not forgotten nor should you."

Put unfortunately, too often we have forgotten. Economic times seem to have erased from many short-term memories the reality that war continues in far-off lands.

Soldiers still die and mothers and fathers to still send their sons and daughters off and never seem them again save a flag-shrouded box.

Men and women remain lost thousands of miles away, requiring cadaver dogs to bring closure to their families.

The reality is painful to think about, but think about we must for it is what made this country, this city, this community, this county, what it is and can be.

For if we think about the sacrifices, think about the stories such as that on the front page about Clifford Sims, who made a stunning decision unfathomable to most of us who never had the privilege to serve, we gain perspective.

We can glean a piece of what some of these men and women aspired to and never achieved, what the fabric of these men and women was and what they could have provided society, their families, their home towns.

We will understand both our loss and our gain through their sacrifice.

And we understand that what passes for importance these days is too often as petty as it comes. What ensnare our lives are too often the small things.

Enjoy the barbecues, the beach, the sunshine and this piece of paradise. Enjoy the postcard.

While mindful of the incredible sacrifices made to make all the possible.

Whether graves in Normandy, names on a wall that travels the country, a generation that was nearly wiped out by a war between states, the debt owed is not one seen in numbers on a ledger, a tax notice or a medical bill.

The debt is not captured by words, but part of the payment should be remembering.