All the Stars in the Night Shine in Your Name

I am stressed the fuck out.

On a number of fronts, I've just got a lot of shit going on.

Today, on top of everything else, I got to try to follow the manhunt for a cop killer in my hometown from the safety of my new job 25 miles away.

And I fought back tears all day long.

Maybe it was because of the stress that was already there, making things worse.

Maybe it was because for the first time in my life, and the only, I was glad that my kids don't live with me and attend the schools that were on lockdown.

Maybe it was because my mother felt the need to lock herself in the house until my dad got home.

Maybe it was because the little burg that I grew up in, tried so hard to get away from, and ultimately ended up in was no longer just a little resort town known for its number of taverns per square mile.

It was now a national spectacle.

Even “People” magazine was reporting about it on their website.

Three men, still at large as I write this, killed a police officer, stole his gun and radio, and disappeared.

Every police department in the surrounding area is assisting, state police are assisting, federal departments and S.W.A.T. teams are assisting, and helicopters circle overhead.

For most of my life, the main tasks of the Fox Lake Police Department were breaking up bar fights and busting high school parties in the area for alcohol or music that's too loud. Maybe an accident here and there, shoplifting, neighbor complaints... there are only 7 officers on the force.

Well, 6.

This isn't the town I grew up in; not this murderous, ugly face that's on every news show in the country today.

My grandfather was a police officer.

He was respected. He was proud to serve the community. He was honored to do right and help keep the peace. But that was a different time.

There are still officers like him out there. Sometimes it seems like they are getting fewer and farther between, but they are there. There are also officers out there that don't deserve to be in blue in the least. Unfortunately, these are the ones who give the police the publicity they seem to have today as thugs and crooked, tazing or killing for no good reason.

Because of them, incidents like today are becoming more and more frequent. More and more people disrespect law enforcement and don't trust those sworn to uphold law and order.

The thing is, though... they're still police officers.

They're still in a position that deserves, and demands respect.

You don't talk back to a cop.

You don't run from a cop.

You don't fucking shoot a cop.

Maybe it was because I drove home through my little burg today, and saw streets and bridges lined with officers and tactical units with assault rifles drawn and at the ready, like something out of Red Dawn.

This needs to change.

RIP LT. Joe.

Hear them calling, you and me, every son of liberty.

My grandfather was a WWII veteran. He was a machine gunner in the United States Army. He was a prisoner of war, captured by the Germans. I remember him telling stories of the war, when I was growing up, and being fascinated by his adventures. "Every man should experience fighting in a war," he would often say. It wasn't until I had grown up that I realized what he actually meant. It wasn't because it was fun. It wasn't because of the chance to visit far-far-off lands that you would probably never get to see otherwise. It wasn't because it was an honor to do your duty for God and country. Those were things that were partly true in his mind, and for others in his generation, but they weren't the main truth. The real reason everyone should have to experience fighting in a war is so that nobody ever has to experience it in the future. If everyone knew the horrors of war, the losses experienced by any soldier gone through it, the complete devastation of humanity that continues long after the treaties are signed, surely another means to the end would be implemented. 

 

Obviously, as I am able to sit and write today, my grandfather made it home. The stories he told, that I sort of glamorized in my youth, are treasured memories now. But their true meaning didn't become clear until he was long gone. For a long time, the movies made about WWII were watchable by the family. They weren't true-to-life depictions. They didn't give you any sense of the reality of it all. Movies about Vietnam, those were vivid and made you realize what the boys over there went through; why they had such a hard time adjusting upon returning home. But WWII? That was still all "follow me boys," and "last one to Hitler is a rotten egg." Then came "Saving Private Ryan."

I wept during the opening scenes of that film. I finally understood that war was war. WWII wasn't any less horrible than Vietnam. It didn't have a different effect on the boys who fought in one or the other. It made sense, finally, why my grandfather was rarely without a drink in his hand. It made sense why he went into law enforcement and chose a life dealing with crime and accident scenes instead of going back to work at a printing press. It was what he knew. It was what he had become. It was because of what the experience of war did to him. 

 

The men of WWII came home changed forever. They came home broken and damaged for good. It was a different time, though, there was a different mindset. They pushed it away and tried to move forward with life, holding the damage hostage behind alcohol or a sense of duty that hasn't been seen since, or both. Those who were lucky enough to return home, like my grandfather, may not have lost their lives for our country, but they did lose some part of them. They left their innocence on the battlefields. They left friends. They left the possibility of a remaining lifetime free from reoccurring nightmares of their experiences. 

 

They did their best, though. They raised families and locked things away as they thought they should, giving only hints of what actually went on behind those loving eyes. 

 

On this Memorial Day, I remember my grandfather as I do every day. I remember everything he taught me, even the lessons I didn't understand until after he was gone. I take to heart what he went through so that I might exist and enjoy the life I have today; so that all of us can. I remember all those who did the same, those who lost their lives doing it, or just pieces of their lives. They gave so that we may gain. Every one of us must always remember this.