We can argue philosophically that being in the military is the same as any other job. That in the end people are all the same, so no matter what, there is no difference between the man who puts on a military uniform and the one who doesn’t; nor the family who follows. Except, the one who decides to wear the uniform doesn’t philosophically take an oath. The oath is absolutely taken and it is the first and most emphatic difference between the two men:
“I, [name], do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same…So help me God.” From that oath to each day he puts on the uniform and beyond I consider that man exceptional, flaws and all. For in swearing to uphold our rights, he gives up a measure of his personal rights. For in enduring separation from the ones he loves, he sustains our choice to stay close to home. For making the ultimate sacrifice America remains free.
And what of the family? They do not take an oath. There is a sacredness to military life– and no, I do not believe that’s too strong of a word. While the service members honor their charge to defend the Constitution from enemies foreign and domestic, the family members support that charge without the glory. They, too, give up personal rights and endure separation. They carry on, with a folded flag in hand, when the ultimate sacrifice is made. Their story is the most neglected. Not on purpose. In the midst of all this I can’t help but think of the family. Each respective spouse, Mr. and Mrs. Petraeus’ two grown children and Ms. Broadwell’s two young boys.The aforementioned female, former Navy, exclaims, “It’s amazing how our decisions matter!” Conduct matters. Decisions matter.
Just the month before the resignation, Anne Petraeus, their daughter, was married. I thought back to my wedding when my father wore his Army dress blues. The only other time I remember him wearing it was at my college graduation. When I saw him I was taken aback by how handsome he looked. My mother, though not in a uniform, was stunning in her cream suit. My heroes. I was so proud of them. At least one woman ‘asked’ about my father. It was the first time I ‘got’ that some women saw him differently than I. I don’t know Anne, but if I were to meet her I’d give her a long hug. Daughter to daughter.
By: Cynthia Shaffer
Cultural and Political Blogger
ReelUrbanNews.com
