We Were Soldiers Once. We Still Are.

Every Veterans Day, we bring out the flags, thank a few veterans for their service, and perhaps attend a ceremony. There are photographs of young men and women in uniform, stories of courage and sacrifice, and reminders that freedom isn’t free.

All of which is appropriate. All of which is deserved.

But I’ve come to think that Veterans Day is about something more than remembering what people did while wearing a uniform. It’s about understanding what that experience meant to them, what they carried home, and what remains long after the uniform has been put away.

I was a young Army officer during the Cold War, serving in Germany when the Soviet Union was very much the enemy. We trained for a war we hoped would never happen. We knew where we would fight, what our mission was, and had a pretty good idea of what the consequences might be.

We were young. We thought we were invincible, although the Army occasionally reminded us otherwise.

Looking back, I realize how extraordinary that experience was. Not because we were particularly extraordinary people. We weren’t. We were ordinary young Americans entrusted with extraordinary responsibilities.

We commanded soldiers, operated enormously destructive machines, and prepared to make decisions that could cost lives. At an age when many of our contemporaries were still trying to figure out what they wanted to do with theirs.

Becoming a soldier (or member of any other branch of service) is not simply about wearing a uniform, following orders, or (often frequently) enduring the absurdity of military life. It is far more complex.

The military creates a peculiar kind of family. You don’t choose its members. They come from different backgrounds, different parts of the country, with different beliefs and ambitions. Some become lifelong friends. Others you might never have associated with under different circumstances.

But you learn to trust them. And they learn to trust you.

You become part of a “Tribe.” Each member has a role – something critical to the unit’s success. Often those traits don’t manifest themselves until it “hits the fan.” And they are often not transferable to civilian life.

When veterans talk about missing the military, it is about something beyond the experience itself. They miss belonging to something larger than themselves. The clarity of purpose. The people who understood them without explanation.

For combat veterans, that bond can be especially powerful. Shared danger creates relationships that are difficult for society to fully understand. It is intense. And losing those relationships, whether on the battlefield or simply through the passage of time, leaves a hole that is impossible to replace.

They lose their Tribe.

My generation of Cold War soldiers spent years preparing for a conflict that never came. Our success was measured, in part, by something that didn’t happen. There were no victory parades for preventing World War III.

In many ways our experience was very different from that of the generations who followed us.

The young Americans who went to Iraq and Afghanistan weren’t preparing for some future war. They were fighting one. Often against an enemy they couldn’t see, in places where the distinction between battlefield and civilian life was dangerously blurred.

Many served multiple deployments, returning home only to leave again. They lost friends, witnessed terrible things, and sometimes came home carrying wounds that weren’t visible. And for some, the war didn’t end when they returned.

Those of us who served during the Cold War recognize that distinction. We accepted the possibility of combat and its consequences. They lived with its reality.

That doesn’t diminish the service of one generation or elevate another. Military service has always involved different experiences and different sacrifices. A sailor aboard a ship, a helicopter pilot landing in a hot LZ, a marine on patrol through dusty alley, or a young Cavalry officer standing watch along the old Iron Curtain. All answered the same fundamental call.

They agreed to serve, wherever that service might take them.

And none of us knew, when we raised our right hands, exactly what that promise might require.

And as time passes, another realization begins to settle in.

The young soldiers we remember are growing old. Some are already gone. The stories that once seemed so vivid are becoming memories carried by fewer and fewer people.

I look at photographs from my Army years and see faces that remain forever young. I remember the laughter, the frustration, the friendships, and that extraordinary sense of possibility that comes with being twenty-something and believing the world is yours to shape. Not only do I miss my comrades, I miss that younger version of me.

Somewhere today, a veteran of Iraq or Afghanistan is looking at a similar photograph. Different uniforms, different weapons, different wars. But probably many of the same memories. And perhaps a few that I am fortunate not to share.

Some veterans fought wars. Others helped prevent them. All accepted an obligation that most Americans will never be asked to assume.

And perhaps the greatest legacy of their service isn’t found in monuments, medals, or victories. It’s found in the values they carry forward. And the understanding that freedom requires more than simply enjoying its benefits.

It requires people willing to accept responsibility for preserving it. Thankfully, there have always been Americans who will stand on that wall and defend our society and its values.

We were soldiers once. Some part of us always will be.