I remember going to Veterans Day programs all throughout my school years. The smell of the recently waxed gym floor wafting in the air, the faint hum of the archaic sound system ringing in your ears, and the hush that fell over the crowd as the first notes of the National Anthem came to a crescendo.
In elementary school I remember rows of chairs set out for honored veterans in attendance. I remember there being so many veterans (even at our tiny school) that additional chairs had to be brought out. Each of the preset chairs having been filled quickly by men and women wearing uniforms adorned with patches and pins that told stories we were far too young to truly understand. I can still hear the twang of metal as school staff members hurriedly dug out more folding chairs from storage.
In middle school, the number of attending veterans had thinned, but only slightly. Every chair was still filled but the last minute scramble for extras had gone. Still teachers would usher in late arriving visitors as community members came to show their respect and appreciation. Still students could be heard whispering in awe as local heroes filled into the rows set aside just for them.
By high school the number had decreased once again with a few empty seats – two or three – here and there. Just enough to show the loss. They remained on the floor throughout the assembly for those who could no longer attend but were never forgotten.
This year I attended the same Veterans day assembly that I had for all those years when I was young. The same gym. The same songs. The same sense of respect for those sitting in those seats of honor. But something had changed. This year of the three rows of chairs set out for veterans, only one row was needed. The other seats remained empty. It was an unexpected and unwelcome sight.
Those empty chairs spoke louder than any speech or song could. They told the stories of time’s relentless passing and of generations fading quietly into memory. They reminded me that the heroes we honor each November are not symbols – they are people. And they are disappearing.
“We will never forget” is a common phrase we use when referencing fallen soldiers but remembering requires more than reciting names once a year. We need to listen to those who are around that can still speak. We need to ask the questions despite being fearful of the answer. We need to hear the stories behind the medals, the photos, the folded flags. We need to show up and not just on Veteran’s Day but every day. We need to acknowledge the lives shaped by service and sacrifice.
This is what is needed now because if we don’t then someday, if we’re not careful, those rows of chairs might not need to be set out at all.