Remember to thank those who served

Memorial Day looms large in my family’s psyche.

My dad served in World War II, my great uncle was gassed in the trenches of France in World War I, and great, great, great uncles represented both sides in the Civil War.

That’s not unusual for citizens of this democracy. My family’s journey through two centuries of American history is typical of stories you’ll find in countless families.

My father was 19 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. And he was there.

It was not only a day that would live in infamy, but would also insure that my parents would meet in 1943. And that I would follow before the war’s end. I can’t look at those historical occurrences with detachment or indifference.

But that’s water under the bridge. We’re all tied to earth-shaking — and not so earth-shaking — events.

My dad was an Army PFC that Sunday morning in 1941. He was stationed at Schofield Barracks, Oahu. A Japanese fighter plane strafed his barracks.

He was a member of the “Greatest Generation,” a product of the Depression and World War II. When I was in school, it seemed that all my friends had fathers who were veterans. It was so common as to be almost irrelevant.

I don’t recall anyone ever going up to Dad and thanking him for his service. That was just assumed, and we were plenty appreciative. No one in my father’s generation ever made a big deal about it.

In recent years, I’ve attended many public functions in which members of the audience who served in the Armed Forces were asked to stand and be recognized.

Had that request been made of almost any audience when I was 10 — in 1955 — a huge percentage would have stood. Not so nowadays.

I was at a Veteran’s Day church service a couple of years back with about 2,500 other folks. The pastor asked veterans in the audience to stand and be acknowledged. Dad’s generation, for the most part, wasn’t there. Only a couple of dozen of us stood. I was stunned.

It seems to me fewer and fewer Americans take time today to serve their country — in any capacity. But it’s such an invaluable experience. It leads to greater selflessness.

A few months ago, Hedy and I attended Grandparents Day at our 6-year-old granddaughter’s private school. Several hundred grandparents were in attendance.

Veterans were asked to stand while the children sang a military medley. I was surprised at the small number of vets in the audience: three ex-GIs, a couple of Marines, two sailors and three Air Force vets.

Serving in the military can be life-changing. It was for me. While serving, I learned to appreciate and love this great country, to value its history, to appreciate the sacrifices and service of its people, to be a team player, to cherish our shared story, to relish our diversity.

And I learned of the huge honor and responsibility of wearing my country’s uniform, particularly overseas. I served as an ambassador of my country, and I took that responsibility seriously.

National service is beneficial to the nation and to the individual.

I joined the Army because countless others in my family had served before me. I never felt my service to be an obligation, and no one in my family pressed me to enlist.

But the pattern was set. I knew I owed America a huge debt. It was my wish to give back to the nation that had so blessed my family.

I joined the Army in 1964 at age 19. I was discharged three years later, a mature and disciplined 22-year-old. After my service, I returned to school to pursue and complete a associates, bachelor’s and master’s degrees and embark upon a deeply satisfying career.

It was the Army that introduced me to my eventual profession. And it gave me the skills and G.I. Bill benefits that I needed to succeed.

This Memorial Day, thank someone for his or her service. And honor America for its generosity.

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Tuesdays.