Veterans come from all walks of life. They are the mailman, police officer, baker, cook and school teacher.

© 2003 Gary L. Benton

Maude turned, gave me a big grin, and winked. Her smile seemed to reflect her deep affection of the whole situation. I smiled back and held down a chuckle I felt coming on. The whole situation was unbelievable to me.

“Ten-hut! Preeeseeent arms!” Came the yell from the platoon leader as the flag came into view.

“Order…arms!” Echoed through the streets of my hometown.

I felt the usual pride in seeing the American flag as it passed in review. I had served under it for more than twenty-six years, so I was well aware of what our freedom cost. I knew, personally, men who had died to give us the freedom we enjoy today. Now, I do, at times question our governments foreign polices, but I know the soldier, airman and sailor has no choice but to obey. Our military does not make our country's policies, instead it is used as a tool when all else fails. Or, that is what I believe. Ask ten people about the subject and you will get ten different responses I am sure.

“Dang Gury, how come y'all ain't in uniform today?” Came a loud voice in my right ear as soon as the flag had pasted.

Turning, I saw Bubba Lee, Willy Eugene, Maude, and Uncle Ben standing on the sidewalk. All four were in their old military uniforms and none of them would have made it in one of them fashion magazines. Nope, they were a sorry looking lot. And, my boy Bubba, well, he was the sorriest pup of the whole litter.

“Hey Bubba! Willy, Maude, and Uncle Ben! Y'all enjoyin' the pa-rade?” I asked really surprised to see them all together during the veteran's parade.

“I'll ask ya once more, Mule. How come you ain't in uniform?” Bubba asked as he placed his hands on his wide hips and threw his chest out. Even with his chest out there was no hiding his beer belly.

“Bubba, I wore a military uniform for years. I wore it proudly, but now I am a cee-vilian now and I don't wanna wear one. I got my Vee-it-nam veterans hat on, myDesert Storm t-shirt, and holdin' a flag, what else do you expect me to do?”

Willy Eugene looked at Bubba, gave a crooked grin and said, “Yea, Bubba. He's a gen'wine normal person now. He ain't gotta wear his unni-form if he don't want to.”

“Well, I thank hits down right unpatriotic and all. I mean, you got all them medals and stripes and you don't even wanna show ‘em off ‘er nothin'.” Bubba slowly shook his head as he spoke.

“Bubba, I defended our country so we, as Americans, could make decisions like this. See, in other countries I would have to wear my uniform. Here, I don't. I am still proud to have served, but life goes on.”

“Not fer many of the men I served with in Germany, hit don't.” Uncle Ben spoke for the first time.

“Ben, I know. Many people have died protecting us all, but I think you unnerstand where I am comin' from on this.” I had to comment in a respectful way to Uncle Ben, he is older ya know.

“Looky heah, “ Maude said, “let's all go down to the VFW and have us a beer and ree-lax a bit.”

“Not jess yet, Maude. I wanna see the floats and such.” Came from Willy Eugene.

“Willy, ifn y'all want a float, I'll take ya by the A and double you on the way to the VFW.” Bubba said with his face all a glow. I tell ya, the boy could smell a beer fifteen miles away, and that at night during a blizzard.

I looked at Maude and was not the least bit surprised at how poorly her uniform fit her. I think the only part that was not too small was her little blue hat. The sleeves on the coat were high and tight, not to mention the fact that the buttons on her blouse were straining in a row. I watched, expecting one or all of them to start popping. I knew if one went, they all would, then it would be Honey save the bacon.

Turning to look at Bubba, I just shook my head. He had on a fatigue shirt of olive drab color, a pair of jeans (with his snuff in the right rear pocket), his stipes (both of them) looked like they had been super glued on, all three ribbons were old and frayed, and his belt was unner his belly, maybe. He looked like a clown. But, he strutted around like he was General George Patton in review. It reminded me of how fragile the human mind is.

Ben's uniform looked as if it was made only for him. I knew, nonetheless, it was the same uniform he had worn when he was discharged from the Army back in 1946. On his left chest were ten medals, including the silver and bronze stars. He had a Combat Infantry badge on, just below his jump wings. I gave a low chuckle and looked down at his boots. The pants were bloused over the boot tops and the boots had been spit-shined. You could see your face in the toes. The man had changed little since his war days. He was still a paratrooper.

Willy Eugene had the best looking uniform on of the whole group. Now, I don't care how ya look at it, a Marine uniform is by far the most attractive of the whole shootin' match. The whole appearance was one of dark blues, reds, and white trim. He looked so professional as he stood there in the early morning light. He brought back the old adage, “once a Marine, always a Marine.” His hair had been cut to the skin, or high and tight as we called it. Nonetheless, his extra fifty pounds took away some from the overall affect.

In less than thirty minutes we were all seated at the VFW. I have to admit, a stranger group had most likely never been in the place. Here we were, three men and a woman, home from America's wars, celebrating the honor of our fallen comrades. We sipped our beers, but, as usual, the conversation turned to current events.

“Did y'all heah ‘bout that feller up Veer-mont way that said southerners were dumb or some such thang? He done said we all drove ‘round wid the rebel flag on our pick'em'up trucks.” Bubba said as he took a slow sip of his cold beer.

“Yep, some feller named Dean or Dan or somethang like that. He one of them political types. They don't know fetch from come heah anywho. Y'all know that.” Maude added as she looked around the small bar.

“Well, now, the boy may have jess stepped on his shirt tails with that comment. I unnerstand he said the Yankees is a-caterin' to southerners too. Now, what in the Sam's hill do ya reckon he meant by that statement?” Willy, always the intellectual of the group, added his dollar's worth.

“Guys, he don't care what a bunch of ragged rednecks thank ‘bout him. I bet he pays more fer a haircut than we do for a truck payment. Even if the comment costs him a ‘lection he don't pay no neveh mind. See, they all thank we are dumb ‘cause we have a different culture and language. They see what they call a rebel flag as a symbol of our resistance to become good Yankee wannabees.” Uncle Ben spoke, then pulled out his pipe and lit it. After takin' a few puffs, he looked at each of us and said, “Well, don't y'all ‘gree?”

“Uncle Ben, I hain't shore. I know some up north see us as ignert and a bunch of in-bred fools, but we hain't. Shore, we talk different, and we still take a man ‘er a woman's werd on thangs, but we ain't dumb. Down heah, yer werd may be all you own. We won't cut a throat to make a dollar and we still love our famblies and believe in God.” Maude spoke once again.

“Maude, the man ‘pologized fer his comments today. I thank we should let it go.” I spoke for the first time.

A loud laugh erupted from the whole table. I looked around and all of them were red in the face and Bubba had beer leaking down his chin. Not that that was really unusual.

“What is so funny? Did I say a funny?” I asked in frustration. See, talkin' to rednecks can be a chore, even if you are one of ‘em.

“You make me so laugh!” Bubba yelled in his best Curly, of three stooges fame. This was all followed by a loud, “Nuk, nuk, nuk.”

“I'm getting sick of Yankees a-tellin' us how stupit and uneducated we are. I mean, look…..” Uncle Ben stopped speaking, looked at Willy Eugene, and said, “Willy, I don't mean fer you to really LOOK. I meant that in a figure way.”

“Oh.” Willy responded in a weak voice and a slight smile that was visible only for a second as he lowered his head.

“I meant, we have some educated folks right heah at the table. Gury, he has one of them Master's degrees, Bubba has a Bachelor's degree, Willy, you been to technical school to learn how to make cabinets outta empty fifty-five gallon oil drums, I got me one of them Associate degrees, and Maude has a degree from the redneck school of hard knocks.”

“Uncle Ben, that Dean feller, he don't mean there ain't no educated rednecks. What he means is we don't dance to the music his fiddle is a-playin'.” Bubba said, and for once I was surprised by his statement. See, the comment was pretty deep for Bubba.

“Well, you know what he can do with his fiddle and his music don't ja?” Willy said with a loud laugh. I watched as he opened his chewin' tobacco pouch and place a world's record chaw in his left cheek.

“And, the horse he rode to Washington on too!” Ben added.

“What is all the uproar oveh the flag? It is just a bunch of stars and bars on a red material.” Maude asked and I could see she was really cornfused over the issue.

“Maude, Yankees see the rebel flag, or southern flag, as a symbol of resistance. They see it as a sign of slavery and bondage of our fellow man. They see it as a rally point for southerners.” I gave her all I knew about the subject and then took a drink of my cold beer.

“Horse feathers.” Ben said.

Willy pick up an empty beer can, let loose a stream of brown juice into it, and then said, “You know, the Civil Woah done been oveh fer mo than a hunnert and thirty yeahs. When are them Yankee's a-gonna leave us alone? We don't want nothin' from ‘em. We don't give ‘em no trash when they spike their hair, pierce their private body parts, listen to music with no intelligence, or when they cain't sit still fer mo' than ten minutes without usin' a cell phone or a ‘puter. But, I draw the line when they attack our flag or our culture.”

“Willy, y'all jess slow down a bit. It was jess a statement from some dumb politician that don't know nothin'. Now the boy is scared he will lose some votes oveh the comment.” I added, hopin' to dee-fused the situation.

“Let his buns come heah, and he will lose more than jess a few votes. I'd be on him like a hungry chicken on a Junebug. I hates ignert people.” Bubba said with a very serious face on him. I knew, beyond a doubt, the boy was mad.

“Bubba. Bubba. Bubba. He ain't werth the trouble. You can always tell a Yankee, but you cain't neveh tell ‘em much. He has his mind made up. He knows what he thanks and he thanks we are a bunch of animals. Let it go.” Uncle Ben spoke, sipped his beer, and then let out a loud burp.

Suddenly, Bubba let out a loud laugh, looked at each of us and said, “Ya know people, I am proud to be Uhmerikun. You see, don't you? Don't y'all see! I mean, listen to our talk heah.”

Now I was really confused. I had no idea where the boy was in this conversation so I asked, “Bubba, what are you talkin' ‘bout?”

“No, Gury, you don't unnerstand. See, only in our country can we all disagree ‘bout thangs. Oh, we stomp and yell, and we carry on, but we are all ‘mericans. We CAN DO THAT! We ‘spect to be able to do that!”

I realized right then and there, Bubba was right. We, all Vets, had fought our countries wars, so all Americans had the right to do just that…disagree. Yep, we had fought for the rights of all Americans to be free, not just for the southerners or the Yankees. We knew, each of us, the price paid for our countries freedom. We had seen the mangled bodies and the dead. We knew, yes, we knew, in our hearts, that as Americans we had paid a price that was worth the cost. We felt a pride of being Americans and of having helped preserved our nations freedoms. And, what made me the proudest was the observation came from Bubba Lee. Bubba, I love ya son.

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