By Tracy McCormick-Dishman
Twelve years ago, my oldest son signed some documents and was whisked away into a life I knew nothing about, but one that he craved. His calling in life is to serve and protect our nation.
I knew how to build a career following a college pathway. I knew nothing about the military as a career. All I knew was this was important to him, and he had to go. He belonged to the United States Army now. I didn’t have mom’s authority to know what he was doing, where he was going, or who he was going with. I was a military mom.
There are two memories of my son’s early military days that changed what it means to me to be an American.
The first memory is my son’s graduation from boot camp. It was my first experience being on a military base and getting a peek into where he had been living for 10 weeks. The anticipation of waiting to see him was exhilarating and painful.
I remember hearing them march in as a newly formed team of soldiers. The cadence was one of the coolest songs I had ever heard. The pride of accomplishment showed in their form as they marched in unison. The stern looks of leadership on their faces were more than impressive.
In my opinion, the definition of a great leader is written in the eyes of an American soldier standing at attention; fully engaged in the moment, with every fiber of their being, and ready for whatever is next.
The feeling of pride in my son at that moment when I looked at his face for the first time in many weeks came bubbling out of me in sobs of joy. He was an American soldier. He was a man, standing at attention, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient. I could tell by the look on his face that he was exactly where he was meant to be.
The second memory was attending a welcome-home ceremony for his tour of duty overseas. My soldier had been active duty for several years at this point and had traveled to many places. We kept in touch over the phone, sometimes late in the evening for him after a grueling day, but an entire day in the future for me because of the time zone difference.
I moved mountains to make arrangements to get myself and my family to the base for his arrival. We gathered in a huge gymnasium and sat in the bleachers with other military families. The program started with a recap of what our soldiers had experienced and accomplished while away.
I knew my son was behind the big doors across the gym from me. We could see shadows under the doors of feet moving around. My heart was racing, and my eyes were starting to fill with happy tears.
Then, over the loudspeaker, “Proud to be an American,” by Lee Greenwood, started playing. Special-effect smoke came from under and around the two sets of big doors I had been staring at. The doors swung open, and we all jumped to our feet as our soldiers marched in and filled the room.
The soldiers looked similar in their fatigues. We were squinting and scanning each one to find our soldier as the group marched in and lined up in formation to face us. I recognized one of the forms that moved just a hair differently, one that I knew like the back of my hand. That’s him! There he is!
The rush of emotions is something that is difficult to put into words. I soon got my hug and looked into the eyes of my very exhausted son. My healthy, strong son.
My son is a career military man in his 12th year of service. He now leads his own platoon and trains the next generation of soldiers. The pride he has in his country is evident on his face and in his voice whenever we talk about work.
I pray that pride in this beautiful nation is heard in your voice and shows on your face. I pray you take time to remember those who signed papers, were whisked away from their families to serve and protect, and gave the ultimate sacrifice.
God bless you and your family, and God bless America!
