My closest association with a war veteran is my cousin Pete. I have vivid memories of the days right after his return from Vietnam. He walked gingerly and could wear only flip-flops, his feet a mass of sores inflicted by unforgiving combat boots that he often had to wear for days at a time.
But I also remember how proud my family was, and how my grandmother many, many times thanked God for Pete's otherwise safe return. We were thankful again when another cousin, Carlos, came home in one piece.Half a dozen young men in our neighborhood in Corpus Christi, Texas, weren't so fortunate. A memorial in their honor now stands in a nearby park.
Growing up, it always seemed to me that the six boys - and they were just boys, all enlisting right out of high school - were a disproportionate number to lose from our relatively small, predominantly Latino neighborhood. Certainly, the draft was in force, but I've come to suspect we would have had as many serve anyway without the order.
Latinos are a patriotic bunch. Malign us as you will about learning English and our citizenship status, but we have always stepped up to defend this nation. Correspondingly, Latinos are the most highly decorated ethnic group in the United States, with 38 having received the Medal of Honor, the highest prize for valor that can be awarded to a person serving in the U.S. armed forces.
The history of Latino medal recipients is long, dating to the Civil War. Three men of Spanish ancestry - one from Boston, Mass., another from Chile and a soldier from Spain - were recognized for their extraordinary courage. And the history is obscure, with one recipient, Marine Pvt. Frances Silva of Haywood, Calif., honored for his bravery in the Boxer Rebellion of 1900.
A Navy guided missile destroyer bears the name of Alfredo Gonzalez, a Marine sergeant from Edinburg, Texas, who posthumously was awarded the Medal of Honor for his brave actions in Vietnam.
For all the pride, there remains a sense of loss, as I'm sure many families of all backgrounds feel this weekend when the nation commemorates those who valiantly have served to protect it. A loss not only of lives, but of innocence.
That loss was punctuated for me and my family in recent years with the suicide of my cousin Carlos.
At his death, family members lamented that Carlos, a tenderhearted young man, never overcame his grief at all the killing he witnessed and likely also had to do. "He was never the same," they said.
Neither is this nation, which bears the scars of each war on its soul. But still it stands, as if in tribute to our heroes, Latinos and non-Latinos alike.