It is once again the time of year in which the United States pauses to reflect upon and celebrate those who have held what is supposed to be its highest office. It is therefore once again the time of year in which I find myself wrestling with that reflection and celebration, trying not to fall into the traps of hero-worship and hero-denial, that of unthinking veneration or that of reflexively cynical denial of what good has been done in office by many of those who have held it.

I am well aware, living where I do for as long as I have, that there are many who are not pleased to see particular people in the office, now or at any of several points in the past. I am also well aware that nobody who has held the office has been a pure soul; even the greatest to have sworn the prescribed oath of office has erred, has failed, has faltered. The one in this page’s image, often held to be, indeed, the greatest of them…there are reasons that his first inaugural address is little reported, while his second is perennially republished–and there are other issues that do not take much looking to find. With even the best of them thus…nuanced…those who are less must me all the more so–which, again, does not take much looking to find.

I know I end up being a contrarian much of the time, rising to take an oppositional view regardless of the notion voiced. It is not one of my more charming character traits, and I wonder as I look back now how I developed it; the practice has certainly not done me much, if any, good during my life, and it has occasioned no small amount of harm to me, physically and socially. I have been working on it, albeit not with as much success as I would like to have had–but then, I never do do as well as I hope to do. I wonder if, in keeping with that work, I ought to set aside my ruminations, raise a flag, and let it wave in the winds that are blowing through my part of the Texas Hill Country even now, standing to face it with my hand over my heart–for I have never had the right to salute it, as no few have reminded me, and with varying degrees of distaste for me in their voices as they have done so–and simply join along in the celebrations I know are ongoing. How much of a coward and a liar would it make me to do so? How much wiser a man would I be if I did?

Holidays and observances, for me, are more often invitations to reflection and consideration than for celebration. I am not a happy man, as those who know me know, and as those who read me have had ample opportunity to find out. Joy does not come easily to me, and revelry is not much more commonly my guest. I think that much is clear from my writing, as well. Even on so relatively restricted and minor a holiday as this–and it is restricted and minor, even in the mythos of the place it is celebrated–I find myself responding to the invitation once again, turning inward rather than looking outward for what I can praise. I wonder if it would be better for me to do so or if it would be better for me to have more company as a guest.

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This isn’t the first time I’ve had a post to this webspace go live on this calendar date, to be sure. (I looked to be sure.) Nor yet was that the first time I’ve written about the day’s holiday; I’ve been a reasonably avid blogger for a while, now, even as it’s more than a little passé that I would be one, and holidays do tend to invite reflection and introspection such as prompt writing. So much I’ve shown, and so much’ve others shown, across not only the years in which blogging has been a thing, but across much of written record. To such a thing I turn again.

I have a somewhat fraught relationship with holidays. Cheer, such as is often demanded, does not come easily to me, nor does it linger long. To my recollection, it never has done either, although I will admit that my memory has limits, seemingly more with each day. (That’s a concern, but one I’ll address another time…if I can remember to do it.) I do and have done better with quiet and thought, with looking on from the edges of things, rather than being in the middle of them and loudly reveling. It makes me a terribly fun person, I know, but I don’t think I’ve often been sought out for fun.

Each year, though, I work to be a little…happier with events, to be a little more present with the people I love. Each year, I think it works a little better. Each year, I try to shut my mouth just a little bit longer, to stifle my misgivings. Each year, I do a little more that might be thought “normal” for a holiday, participate in one more thing that I mightn’t’ve done in a previous year. Each year, I get out a little bit more, spend one more night out and among events being hosted. Each year, I do one more thing to try to create a situation where the people I care about can be happy more easily.

Each year, I don’t do enough. This year’s not different from any other in that regard. But I do what I can, and not only on or about the holiday.

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This is not the first time I’ve made a post to this webspace on Veterans Day, having done so here and here previously. As in previous years, I am somewhat…tense…concerning what I would write here, being myself not a veteran and not apt to become one at this point in my life. (If I am needed to fight, being currently aged 42 and with sciatica, never in my life having been able to do a pull-up, the war is long lost already.) I know that the standard line is “Say ‘thank you for your service’ and then shut the fuck up,” and perhaps that is the most fitting thing for me to do–but those who know me know that “shut the fuck up” isn’t really something I have it in me to do often or long. (It’s not a good thing, usually. I suppose we all have our vices.)

(Yes, I know I’m using naughty words. If you have pearls of your own, clutch away, but do kindly keep your hands off of mine.)

Some of the veterans I have known–and I know and have known more than a few, some quite well–have made much of being thanked for their service. Some have made as much about not thanking them for it, saying such things as “it was just a job” or “you don’t know what I did, so you might not want to thank me.” And it’s true; I don’t know. I know there are things that should not be said (under threat of punitive action or because they are even more impolite to discuss than the naughty words I use above). I know, too, that there are things that cannot be said, things to which words do not suffice. Which of them apply, and to what extent, is unclear to me.

Most often, the standard line is delivered in tones of snarling contempt. I’ve heard it enough, both in person and in recordings included in reporting, to know that much well. (It might be imagined easily that I’ve been told it a lot.) Like most, I bristle at it–understandably, if not perhaps always rightly. But if there are good reasons to shut up, a lack of knowledge is certainly one, and the recognition of words’ inadequacy is another. And though I am a person of words–sometimes, far too many or far too coarse–

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I‘ve opined once or twice on the observance made publicly today, which a bit of recent reading I’ve done tells me was only fully institutionalized in the late 1960s, despite less-formal observances in and by the United States prior to it. I’m minded that such is younger than my parents (and, if memory serves, even some of my cousins), and it’s not a hell of a lot older than my wife. She’s not (at the time I write this; who knows when you’re reading it?) an old woman, to be sure, so something less than a decade her senior is not, to my mind, especially ancient or to be revered on account of its age alone. (Indeed, there’re many things younger more deserving of laud and honor.) And my feelings on the matter have not changed overly much from a year ago or from four years ago (again, as I write this); I don’t think I’ve been obscure about them, truly.

The thing is, I’m not opposed to taking time off, as such. (I might not want to take a specific day off, and it may well be the case that I don’t do as well as I might with other days off, but that’s me and not necessarily a guide for others.) I’m not opposed to a formalization of time off, even if it is the case that those most likely to be in need of an extra paid day off are among the least likely to receive such a thing (something else about which I’ve opined at times in this webspace). I’m not opposed to the commemoration of historical events, although I am opposed to the lionzation of things that ought not to be lionized even as they ought well to be remembered across years. This year, given the timing and the work that I do as my day-job, I’m a bit more vexed by the specific observance than might be the case in other years, but I readily admit that so much is a personal concern, and while I value my personal circumstances, I know that few others will do so or should be expected to do so.

Again, I know I give more thought to this kind of thing than many people do. I give more thought to it than many people would think is good. They may be right who have told me, time and again over years, that I need to loosen up and lighten up about things. (Of course, it’s only the things about which they are loose and light that they think it’s okay for me to be so; the things I don’t care much about seem to occasion annoyance or more that I do not ascribe them the same importance…and there’re several observances that fall into that category, certainly.) But I cannot be the person I am and not do as I do, and there are enough people who show me they’re fond of who I am that I’m not entirely eager to change much of it. Some, sure, but not a whole lot, and certainly not at this point.

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