My love/hate relationship with the military

Pacific arch at National World War II Memorial, Washington, DC

I just watched the first four episodes of The Pacific on HBO; my first reaction is that it's not quite as compelling as the excellent Band of Brothers, but it has me hooked nonetheless. My Dad spent most of his working life in the Army, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. I was an Army brat, an officer's kid. Growing up I spent 5 years living on Army bases in Japan; the rest was spent mostly in Richmond (VA), Atlanta and Chicago, living like a civilian, though never in one place for more than three years. Growing up this way has some real benefits -- and a down side too. I crossed the country and the ocean four times, I learned to get along with all sorts of people who came from all sorts of places and I experienced life as always-changing, always-new. On the other hand, I never felt like I truly belonged anywhere, I had no roots. On balance though, it was good -- it was the only life I knew.

Then came the Vietnam War. I was staunchly opposed to the war, just as my Dad strongly supported it. We fought over it until we realized it was a subject best avoided.

Then came the draft. I lost my student deferment when I dropped out after Kent State. The government came calling soon after. There was no way I was going to go into the Army. I would go to Canada or go to jail before I would allow myself to be drafted, but first I would do all I could to stay out.

I told the draft board I was gay. That was not quite as true as I pretended, but "checking the box" was enough to get me an appointment with an Army shrink. I remember well the morning I headed to that appointment. Dad and I had coffee. I had been sufficiently vague with him so that I didn't have to tell him my strategy. I said something opaque like "I'll make them see I'd be a bad soldier." Lord knows what he thought. As he left he asked me what I would do if I failed, if they drafted me anyway. I said "I won't go." He told me that would break his heart; I said "I know."

It didn't come to that. The shrink believed I was gay and I was free to go. I'm sure Dad was heart-broken nonetheless, but at least I wasn't leaving the country or going to jail. (For the record, I probably would have gone to jail. Canada was just too difficult and meant -- we thought at the time -- never coming home. Jail meant just making one decision and then everything else would be decided for me. It was the easier way out.)

After the US fled Vietnam the issue of the Army and the draft receded. As I grew older Dad and I got along better and better. Coming out to him -- a story for another day -- was a bump in the road, but we weathered that too. I didn't think much about the military.

Until June of 1994, as the country and the world celebrated the 50th anniversary of D-Day. I watched a lot of TV and I kept getting choked up, watching those old men -- my Dad's fellow soldiers -- being honored for what they did back in the 40s. I was proud of what they had done and shamed for the disregard with which I held the military. I read Tom Brokaw's "The Greatest Generation" and came to a full understanding of the sacrifices my Dad, and countless like him, made for me. I applauded wildly when the Yale Band recreated a Glenn Miller concert and celebrated the veterans in attendance.

I said thank you to my Dad.

So I watch another miniseries about World War II through conflicted eyes. I love my country. I love my Dad. I am proud of both. Yet I hate war in general and the wars in Vietnam and Iraq in particular. I know the government lies to us to pursue goals I don't approve of. I know that lots of young men join the Army because their future holds no other real option. I know that violence is not the answer.

As I said, it's a real love/hate thing I've got going.