God Bless America and Hug a Vet

I got up this morning, got cleaned up, and put on an Army uniform for the first time in eight months. The last group of cadets that I instructed at the Army ROTC program at the local university were having their commissioning ceremony today. Seven of the ten young lieutenants that were commissioned today asked me to give them their first salute as an officer, a great honor that I couldn't pass up and had been planning on (and committed to) for over a month.

I went in and attended the ceremony, watched them take their oath of office, watched moms and dads pin lieutenant rank on their sons and daughters, and I finally rendered my salutes to those young officers about to go off into the Army. After the ceremony I posed with each of them individually for pictures, spoke to the parents and grandparents and got all the handshakes and "thank you for all you did for little Jimmy" bits. Then I excused myself, changed clothes and headed to Briarwood church.

You see, I was told last night about a funeral taking place today. A young man who had enlisted in the Marine Corps after graduating high school was killed in Afghanistan on April 28 while serving on his second combat deployment. Lance Corporal Rivers was a 2007 graduate of Briarwood Christian School and had gone to school and played football with my wife's cousin Matt, which was how I found out.

I spoke to Matt last night and discovered that Westboro "Baptist Church" had announced that they were going to be at the funeral (I will refer to them as "WBC" from this point on because I can only call this group a "church" once). In case you haven't heard, WBC is a group out of Kansas that travels nationwide to protest at the funerals of young men and women killed in combat. They explain their actions by saying that God is allowing American men and women to be killed in combat because America has become a pit of depravity, specifically for allowing homosexuality to exist in our country. That's right, because there are homosexuals in America, God is killing American servicemen in Iraq and Afghanistan. (What, you don't see the connection? That's two of us.)

There was a kind of counter protest, more like a show of support for the family, being organized and Matt called to ask if I wanted to go. I told him I had a prior engagement but that I would definately be there as soon as I could.

As I pulled off the interstate at the exit to Briarwood Church there were cars lining both sides of the road along the quarter mile from the interstate to the church. The median of the road looked like a parking lot (the above picture was taken while standing in the median). A couple hundred people had shown up, all carrying flags, to show their support for the family. The fire department had two fire trucks out there with the ladders elevated and a huge flag flying from the top between them. What a great show of support. There was no sign of WBC.

We knew it was almost time when, about an hour after I arrived, two police SUVs came by with lights on, went up the on ramp to the interstate and stopped traffic in all four south-bound lanes. It was kind of surreal to see hundreds of cars parked on the interstate. "We don't care. This is Alabama and we're gonna bury a young Marine today. Nothing you have to do today is as important as that."

When the funeral procession pulled out of the church to make its way toward the cemetary, you could have heard a pin drop. Every hat was taken off, right hands over hearts while left hands held flags - it was beautiful. A police vehicle led the way, followed by three cars and a limosine - presumably the immediate family - followed closely by the hearse. I stood there and saluted for the eighth time today, this time in civilian clothes, as the hearse drove by with Lcpl Rivers' flag draped coffin visible through the back window.

The silence only lasted for a minute though, because directly behind the hearse were probably 200 Harley Davidson motorcycles. The Patriot Guard had come to town to ensure WBC did not come within view of the church. Patriot Guard is a motorcycle club consisting exclusively of veterans that have made it their mission to serve the families of lost servicemen by putting themselves between the protestors and the family. They travel the country to serve as a buffer between the mourners and the lunatics.

If WBC had by-passed the church and was waiting at the cemetary, they were about to have a rude awakening.

What an emotional rollercoaster. From swelling with pride as those young kids took their oath as new lieutenants to seeing that flag draped coffin and needing every bit of strength inside me to hold back tears (a battle I've lost since getting home). Seeing those riders with license plates from as far away as Kentucky, Florida and Indiana - at least half of them obviously Vietnam-era vets probably old enough to have been Rivers' grandfather - following the casket of a fallen brother-in-arms to his final resting place.

As I left and got on the interstate heading north through unobstructed traffic, I looked over at the southbound lanes that were backed up for at least five miles. I thought about all those people sitting in those southbound cars in the 90 degree heat, undoubtedly furious because they had somewhere to be that was so terribly important, completely oblivious to the fact that a family was burying their 22 year old son today.

It's days like this that make you remember why you did what you did and make everything you ever dealt with while wearing a uniform so worth it, whether anyone else realizes it or not.