Diary

On Meeting a Hero

My father, brother, and I were coming home from a trip to Ontario and were in the Calgary airport waiting for our bags. While standing around the baggage dispenser we saw a veteran. A bomber pilot.

Now in Canada there had been much handwringing at the time (about 2 or 3 years ago) about how the Heroes who risked their lives to take the fight to the enemy were not some of the greatest men who ever lived, but were actually comparable to the SS Deaths Head killers. War Criminals. This narrative, to me, still, is one of the most vile and toxic ever advanced by the lying cowards.

My father walked up to the man, and asked him if he had flown over germany. I could tell by the look on the mans face he didnt want to say, probably because of the hoopla. But, being a war hero, and being a Man, in every sense of the word, put his chin up and said yes, he had. I think he thought he was about to get a face full of lying coward spit. My father, who doesnt do the physical affection thing, gave the man a hug, and called him what he rightly was, a Hero.

By the mans reaction, I could tell he was relieved. Who knows how many poison pill swallowing children had bought the acidic war criminal story. Perhaps his own grandchildren. Who knows. Lying cowards had taken the pulpit in the country. But the real, good people, like my father, knew the truth. The Hero and my father talked about the war; How woman and children were forced to spend their nights in the tubes living in fear of the Nazis; How Justice and Duty required reprisal.

The Requirements of Justice, and of Duty. God Bless all those who served and serve. You are Heros.