Seth Hopper

So I left my reader biting their nails last week with what is probably the biggest cliff hanger since Sly Stallone made the movie Cliffhanger back in 1993.  Hopefully my astute readers cuticles have recovered since then.  I definitely don’t want readers all over the world suing me for their necessary nail salon visits to repair the beaver-like damage done to their fingernails (or toenails, although that would be rather impressive if they were able to chew their toenails, and rather gross as well). 

So to recap, Cliffs Notes version: heroes; veterans; Battlestar Galactica.  All caught up now?  Sweet.  That was easy!

For real though, I was making my way through some of the arguments for why you tend to hear veterans called heroes.  I don’t think I really need to go into any more, as I feel most of the readers here have heard them all once or twice. 

Why am I so opposed to veterans being called heroes, and “treated” deferentially?  Look, do not take this the wrong way.  I absolutely have no issues with giving veterans of past wars such as Vietnam their proper due.  They came home not to ticker tape parades, but a country that hated them and wanted to bury them away forever.  Those guys, absolutely give them their due. 

This current generation though?  Why?  We got our parades/TYFYS when we deployed and came back.  We got credit where credit was due.  Now that it’s no longer due, why are we still getting it? 

The entitlement of the modern day veteran community; “I’m a veteran, so you need to listen to me.”
“I’m a vet, so that makes me an expert on anything.”
“I’m a vet. You can’t talk to me like that.”
“I’m a vet, and I’m broken. You need to treat me different.” 
I can’t help but feel the hero platitudes showered on us for all these years have seriously screwed up our mental process. Our OODA loop is now stuck on Observe: observe the praise for what we did. 

What did I do that was so damn heroic?  You tell me, because I got nothing.  What I can tell you is I’ve got friends and brothers of mine that are buried in Arlington.  Buried at home in their family plots.  Alive but missing a part of themselves, or a lot of themselves.  You want to talk about heroics?  Talk about them.  Shift the focus to where it belongs, and let’s fix this hero mentality before it gets any more out of hand than it already is. 

If you want to call me something, I’m more than happy to be called a friend.  A hero I am not.  Thankfully, most of my friends know me well enough to know I’m not a hero, and that word never comes up outside of sarcasm. 

Seth is a former Marine Staff Sergeant who was medically separated after 14 years. Often referred to as “Eeyore” due to his naturally dour expression, monotone voice and often gloomy sounding outlook on things. He writes when he has time, and breaks the stereotypes as a Korean born Asian-American who dips, drives diesel trucks, hunts, and used to ride bulls in his younger and skinnier days.

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